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rel124c41 · 6 months ago

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IN ALL MY DREAMS I DROWN. poly!octotrio

Husband/Captain says the best medicine is sleep. You plead and beg with him to find another remedy. "I know what is best for you," Husband/Captain says.

tags: mythical beings & creatures, references to scottish folklore, seasickness, implied/referenced abuse, prophetic dreams, blood and violence, forced marriage, rape/non-con elements, no abuse done by octotrio, eventual happy ending, rescue mission, & happy mermay

word count: 6,690

There is a storm on the horizon. Alas, that is normal. Your husband has terrible luck with sailing.

Truthfully, it has felt for as long as you have breathed, you have breathed in the calmness before a storm. Anticipation for something awful on your tongue. Dry, warm air before a storm hits in your lungs. There is always a storm on the horizon. You have never seen another type of sky while sailing.

Dark clouds pile onto each other like stones. Icy blue and cold black spreads across the south like rivulets of oil. There is a faint tingling in the air. You look down. So deeply tired, the motion almost causes your eyes to lock close – like when a rocker-eyed doll is tilted. Blankets of goosebumps sleep on your arms. You know with sighed resignation that the upcoming weather will be one of the worser ones you have experienced.

No matter how many waves you sail upon, your husband cannot escape the looming storms, try as he might.

In your hand, you hold a lantern. It walks with you. Burning brightly, it works effectively to prod off the combined darkness of night and storm. Hypotonic red and yellow twirls over each other. A caged calamity which sways somniferous with each step you take.

This is the forty-second time you have paced the entirety of the ship. From stern to bow, croaking wood weeps under your aimless poltergeist motions. Some cuckoo clocks, upon the stroke of each hour, release little trapped dolls to dance and spin in circles upon the stroke of each hour. You are quite similar to them. Except, you are a doll in a broken cuckoo clock who works its dancers tirelessly. Spinning and spinning, stern to bow, then again, stern to bow, repeat, stern to bow.

With each step, the fire in your lantern sways like a hypnotist's watch, undulating red and yellow.

You have been awake for two days so far. However, you only walk at night to fend off sleepiness. In the daylight, you keep yourself busy with menial tasks. Walking helps to fight off the sleep before it envelopes and rains upon you.

Yet, it seems you are making too much noise with your endless pacing. Your scolding comes with the cry of a single creak. The wooden door of the captain’s cabin opens.

Eyes once up to absorb the sight of the creeping storm, the layout of the ship, and any sight you wanted to see suddenly drop down. Eyes now on the floorboards, you listen to the pitter of feet marching down steps. Wind howls in your ears and rakes through your hair. Endless pacing comes to a sudden halt. With retreating eyes, you stand by the shrouds.

When a pair of boots enter your eyesight, thorns wrap around your heart. Panic settles in when he speaks, “Another sleepless night, my dear?”

You have no idea what your husband looks like. Never gathering the bravery to look up and with him never having the want to tilt your chin up, neither of you have made eye contact. His face is like tenebrous darkness casted by storm. Numerous features could lay on it. Numerous possibilities yet no answers. No beard though; you know this when he places a palacting kiss on your forehead where your brain stews with undreamed dreams. No coarse hair tickles your skin.

However, your husband knows what you look like. Taller than you, stronger than you. Knowing your features and face shape in this uneven marriage, that is his right in nuptial laws. Spouses should submit to their husband, he told you when the ship first departed from the dock of your hometown.

Though, you cannot remember your hometown. Or really anything before him.

All of your life (because you must have had one) before him is blank like empty waters. From the Memory Sea, you search desperately for something. No matter how many lines you cast out, all you pull up is stringy, golden brown kelp or thick, ebony black kombu. The fishing rod of your desperation cannot possibly successfully make a catch in empty waters. How foolish of you to even cast a line, Husband/Captain would tease.

You know him only as your husband. He never gave you his name. You heard the men under his command call him captain. He adopts two names on your tongue, Husband/Captain; though you hardly use either.

You hardly address him first. He addresses you.

“My dear (Name),” a finger oscillates gently on your cheekbone. “I do not think the moon is as lonely as I am without you in bed. I miss you.” When you move your head to the side in shame, the finger guides you firmly to look at him – or at least his shoes.

“Speak.”

Lips feeling looser, you weigh your next words carefully. What can you possibly say this time around? Is there anything left to say? Fitful in your resolve, your eyes travel to take in the pulsing glow of your lantern and how it illuminates different colors. The image paints itself in your memory: the empty lantern that is devoid of anything but a pile of ash, the chest in the corner which you are not allowed to open, the bed with its silky sheets that inundate you with dreams of drowning.

You dream of drowning every time you sleep. When your head hits the pillow, it is like falling into a bottomless puddle that goes much deeper than anticipated. Idiosyncrasy to yourself, you are only one of this swaying ship that fears the reality of drowning.

Below your feet, almost breathing, the ship rocks back and forth. It feels like you imagine how it feels to be rocked gently by a mother. Maternally, even the ship wishes for you to sleep. The captain and his vessel conspiring against you together.

But – you cannot – so you must bargain some way to stay awake until the vessel docks. “I was … I was growing a bit uneasy over the storm. And I could not –.”

Husband/Captain hums and you know to immediately fall silent.

The pattern of the lantern handles indents in your hand. Digging steel hurts like a bad punishment. What a silly excuse. For two months all you have known is encroaching storms, why would you suddenly develop an anxiety over them now? You look out upon the ebony, mature cumulonimbus clouds.

“Isn’t there an old saying: out of sight, out of mind. I’m positive that watching it does little to quell this uneasiness,” he says.

If anything a rainstorm would be a blessing, diverting his attention from you.

“If I’m aware of it, it helps dispel that anxiety. If I’m away from it, not watching it, I feel quite worried about what could happen.”

“I share that sentiment. I’m quite anxious with you out of my sight.”

So it seems, you think, so it really seems. Your husband has pulled you away from the ship’s railings on multiple occasions, hand a shackle on your wrist, reeling you back onboard. Staying within his sight is an unspoken wedding vow.

You tense prematurely, already knowing his next words. You have lost for the night. Oh, how you have lost deeply. “I don’t want to sleep tonight … please … –” in all my dreams, I drown. But you cannot talk anymore because –

“Now hush, love,” Husband/Captain coos.

“Here’s your gown.”

What he holds out to you is rivulets of soft cotton. A sleeveless gown with fragile, ornamented straps which will hang gently on your shoulders. The pattern is a delicate stitch like doyle napkins and a little bow rests on the chest’s center. Ending at the shin, white lace replicates the look of distance waves, twisting up and down.

You take it within your scarred arms. Diagonal slashes racing down and then another group of diagonal scars racing up coat your forearms. Memory Sea has yet to unveil how you got these scars.

“Please,” you plead. It takes so much bravery to say that one word that you feel winded after.

Your head is patted in fruitless consolation.

The captain is not happy about today’s catch. Not happy is really too subtle of a way to put it. He boils with a rage known of a tyrant’s disposition, body exploding into a mess of volcano-esque fire. It is a strange sight to the men. What they pulled up from their nets would feed the crew without the need of rationing. Their catch was bountiful; what is there to be possibly upset about?

It is because all they caught is codfish. Codfish pyramiding upon codfish. A family reunion of hundreds of generational codfish. Oh, and one common ling. Which he took from the nets, it serpentine amber and white body oscillating in hand, as he howls at his crew, “A fucking ling! A ling!”

Eyes down, you had a perfect view of the ling being dropped to the floorboards and the captain raising his boot to mallet it down upon the fish’s head. Red and white puss splattered in a gory firework, piscine epidermis popping loudly.

Then, the captain stomped off, leaving a one-footed trail of red behind him.

Antipaction and questions lingered in the eyes of the crew. The crew looked upon you with high expectations. Well, aren’t you going to follow the yellow-brick road, the red footprint trail? Weren’t you going to head into the captain’s cabin and help your husband – lie on the bed, stomach down, as he punched fireworks into you, until he worked out his anger? This ship’s crew really has no delicate manner of speaking with their eyes.

Averting your eyes, sheepish, you shake your head. You are not inclined to want pain. Fleeing, you took to entering the kitchen to cook, growing ill at the sight of nets.

Nets. Just the cross-hatching pattern could make you feel consumptive. Like your stomach is empty or your stomach is bloated, it makes you so incredibly sickly to watch the crew pull up their meshwork that cradles school upon school of fishes.

Upon your forearms are scars, scars of an identical pattern.

When the men take to dumping their catch into a circular, steel tank that is about the size of a Queen bed, you thank them in a whisper. Looking into their eyes is like falling off a cliff, missing the water, and landing upon a bed of jagged stones. Eyes like stone, not resentful but still dangerous. You work to keep your head down until they all leave.

With the captain so vexed, you delegate yourself to preparing his meal first. The rest of the crew can wait until mid-afternoon. So, you prepare a dredging station with quick work. Find a shallow bowl, cut the lemon, mix together a double serving of spices with the flour. Your husband is fond of sharp herbs mixed in with fish.

You have learned to cook with his guidance. He likes to say, “A country’s cuisine reflects their culture and history. It’s a fascinating field of study.” Then, fingers guide you with firm resolve to work upon dicing, cutting, and slicing.

Now, you are almost a veteran at preparing fish. Mostly codfish, though you would have longed to experiment with a ling – you remember the pomace of oozing brains and otoliths, multiple streaks of red like lightning on the floor.

But you suppose you are not allowed to. It is probably for the best. Staying with your routine.

Seasonings scenting the air, you hear your stomach growl. Ah. Perhaps just a bite won’t hurt.

Triple-checking, you make certain that none of the crew lingers by the kitchen. No curious eyes are peeking through the window. When you are assured in your resolve, down to the bone and up to the skin, you crouch down by the bucket. Into the pool of threshing codfish, your hand swims.

The one you take out is a medium-sized portion. Green and yellow skin a similar hue of summer moss. As it squirms wildly, you turn it belly-side up. It takes a great deal of effort with such dull teeth. Yet, after a bit gnawing, the piscine epidermis finally breaks with a loud pop in your omnivorous mouth.

Rotating it around like corn-on-the-cob, you munch down upon the live and raw codfish with ravenous hunger.

A fortnight after, you wake up gasping for breath. Saliva is like a second tongue in your mouth, overcrowding. Unhesitant, you turn over the edge of the bed and wait for a soup of briny seaweed, torrential waves, and a codfish to splatter upon the captain’s bedroom floor. A single jellyfish tail of bubbly saliva is all that hits the ground.

Lungs so incredibly strained cannot comprehend where all the water went.

Coughing, you cringe against the sensation of water in your mouth. The natural lubricant of saliva is suffocating, pressing hard on the walls of your buccal cavity.

And though your lungs kick painfully, there is nothing more to spit out the tiny dime of water already spat out. Coughs come and go until they ebb to you panting softly in bed. Fatigued breaths eventually wither, to you just breathing steadily and staring off to the only light source.

Pointed spirals of light move in a kaleidoscope pattern. Leather red brightens to a bloody crimson. Rich blue wood absorbs the glow. You are a bit unsure what is really rocking back and forth, swaying with such somnolence: the boat itself or the chest where a star is locked inside.

The chest you are not allowed to open.

In your ears, you hear the ocean gnash and moan.

Blech and blarghhh. Blech and blarghhh, you go.

Over the bow of the ship, you puke.

Bile falls heavy into the awaiting waves below. One teary, squinting eye watches the pallid greenish-yellow sludge sink. Your nose is sour by the scent of imaginary citrus oranges; your head is a spinning dreidel. On the night of your three month anniversary on the ship, you woke up from another drowning dream with a secondary heart heavy in your throat. Prisoned, it banged and banged for release. So, you rushed up to the bow and granted its plea for freedom.

To the sea, let me go to the sea, your bile begged. And you listened.

A powerful blech and blarghhh has you stumbling feverishly. Your feet skid on wood like a lynched cowboy’s who kicks fruitlessly to feel solid ground. Stomach and railing biting each other, you lean far with the force of your next hurl. Far enough where you too could fall into the awaiting waves below.

Your heart spikes because you realize, puke only halfway out and face winking in agony, that you are falling in. You have gone far enough. Cerulean waters seem to reach out in an awaiting embrace.

Just as your feet start to lift from the ground, the saltine noose around your neck pulling, a hand wraps gently yet firm against your waist. You gasp wetly, bile lipstick thick, as you find yourself back on solid ground.

“Easy there. Easy. I got you,” Husband/Captain murmurs. He presses a kiss to your neck but does not hold your hair back when you gurgle again. Throat fluctuating with heaving breaths, he lies his nose on that weeping patch of skin. Salt is thick on you. “Sudden sea-sickness will pass. Happens even to the veteran sailors.”

Not this extreme, you want to argue. You are too cowardly to object. And besides … Vomit acts as a reliable tape over your hatred. You wish his hand would stop rubbing a thumb on your stomach and instead gather up tendril-esque hair.

“Though I would have never expected you to succumb to such an illness,” he says, awestruck as if you are breaking some bodily law. The thumb on your stomach becomes more pressing. “Perhaps … perhaps it is not the matter of the seas that turns your stomach so.”

You realize with a cold sweat what he is referencing. “It is not that.” A helpful hand (your own) rises up to start wiping off the pallid greenish-yellow cosmetic. Fingers fling and flick the remains of your regurgitating stomach into the waves.

“I would be able to tell.”

“Is that possible,” his voice doubts. “How could you?”

“Of course I could. It’s my body.”

Husband/Captain chuckles like you have told a funny joke. Now it is not his sole thumb that oscillates back and forth on the skin of your nightgown, he opens up his hand like a flower. He takes to rubbing your stomach until his hand goes down to cradle the spot between your legs.

You wish the ocean would take you.

The night sky is full of stars. Stars are a rarity. You never get to see them often because of how normal it is for your husband’s ship to be caught in a storm. Tonight, all is tranquil. Tonight, you are in the embodiment-al heart of the calm before the storm. And, lastly, tonight, you will try something new and exciting. You will use those pinpricks of light to paint pictures; you doubt anyone has ever thought of such a fabulous game before.

It takes a while for you to get into the groove of it. When there is this strange, thrusting force behind you, bile pops out your lips like blood. Stars align to make a teddy bear, fashioned with a little bow. When your tears fall into the awaiting waves, they catch them with so much tender sorrow.

There is a melody in the air. A little different from blech and blarghhh. Far different from the harsh hit of his hips. It howls below you. Water licking on the side of the ship seems to say: dont worry dont worry i will save you.

When you strike the match, it hisses and balloons with a fierce flame before shrinking down to something petite, something weaker. With great care, you press the match through the open lantern panel. It transforms with a fiery jump.

You stick the match between your lips once you wave it in the air harshly, killing it. Lantern panels now all closed, you hold it up to illuminate the revolutionary sight before you. It has been a day and three months … you have to know what’s in there. The rich blue box sits in your path with all the magnetism of precise metals. You crouch before it, nun-like.

The top of the wooden chest is an arch, so you rest your lantern to the side. Out of your sock, you pull two fishbones – ones you had cleaned down with your tongue and whittled down to points with a kitchen knife.

You cannot remember anything of your life before this boat. Against his wishes, you have been trying to remember what could have been of you before this boat. The storybook must have more pages, a prologue of sorts left unsaid. This boat … nothing but him lives your memory. Hand outstretched like thorns, sand, snakes, poison, fire, and nightmares. A hand that puts a glittering circlet on your ring finger. Your first memory is being wed.

Into the mouth of the lock, you slowly slide in the first fishbone. Behind you, the sound of a blanket hitting the floor thumps. Thin and fragile, the fishbone snaps halfway in the lock as you rise to your feet – and you rush, hand just managing to grab the lantern, as a raging storm at your back runs at you.

“YOU UNFAITHFUL FUCK!”

You run up the stairs three at a time, heart jackrabbiting with fear.

Tears are already in your eyes before you comprehend them. Your hand depresses on the door. Wood clatters and shakes with tremendous rage below you, growing closer. Run away, you scream at yourself, just as you realize there's nowhere to run to. When the door opens, water pelts your face in a thousand exploding fists.

This is the closest the storm has ever been. But it was clear yesterday ? – calm before a –?

A scream tears from you as a reaching hand misses your arm, his dirty nails almost tickling the goosebumps coating your skin. With reckless abandon, you jump down the flight of seven stairs just outside of the cabin. The deck catches you with all the care wooden arms have – which is very little. Wide yet still finite, the deck faces off with you in the fierce, piercing rain. Where to escape to, it asks, as violent waves rock below.

Left knee bleeding and a section of your nightgown ripped, you sprint towards the bow. And from the south, a savage, ravening storm follows. Dark clouds pile over. Icy blue lunges. Maybe it would not be so bad to fall off the edge. Is that what all those ceaseless dreams of drowning meant — you have to drown to finally be at peace?

An ethery scent explodes in the rain. The marriage of the sounds of breaking glass and petrified screaming kisses in the gusty air. In the blimp of chaos, both of you hit the floor, right next to where fire from a broken lantern starts to eat up the wood.

“No … No, please,” you cry. “Please no!”

By his hateful hands, you are turned on your side. Before you can make eye contact, he punches you across the face with an intensity reserved for crewmen in brawls. The wind howls mournfully in your ringing ears. Blood pops out of your mouth in tiny lightning bolts.

As ringing and blustery winds ebb in sound, you catch the last of your husband’s words, “...I know what is best for you.”

“Scold or hit me! I cannot go back to sleep! Please!”

He grabs your head in a vitriol grip. Acid burns pierce where his fingers dig in. Husband/Captain lifts you by his hold on your head, like a lion might do with a cub by the scruff of its neck. Eyes stomp shut in fear. You fear the intensity of his face will overwhelm and drown you.

“Help me! Someone! Please, help me!”

“Now hush, love.”

“SOMEONE! ANYBODY PLEASE –!”

“Here’s your gown.” Then, he slams your body on the ground. Your head cracks with the fragility of an egg. Molten dreams with rainbowing incandescence slip out from the lightning-shaped fractures, spilling all over deck.

The moon is full tonight.

You feel in your bones that you have not seen a full moon in a very long time. Despite it being a monthly occurrence, storm clouds shield it away; even when unveiled, the nude moon is caught waning or waxing. This phase of the lunar sun kisses uncloudy skies with a powerful completeness. How you missed it with a whirlpool fervor. You feel so at peace.

A silver eye not missing any weight or heft. Hanging on a vertex, it hums with the sprinkling song of moondust and moonlight. With that melody, it shaves the weight of weakness that has shackled you. Avoirdupois lightens; the full moon brightens.

I have not seen a full moon this serene since I was a little boy/girl, you remember that much. It is such a wondrous sight that you do not notice the water rising up by your ankles.

No – not water, bedsheets. Bedsheets that snake serpentine like individual rivers connecting together. With a fluidity unique to water, white linen slithers across the curve of your calf and climbs up in gusts of silk to the tendons in your hamstrings. Moisture still clings to you; dry sheets juxtaposingly soaking you.

I am going to drown again. You frown delicately at the sentiment. Yet, despite the acknowledgement that watery suffocation is going to repeat itself, you think this time it will be a metamorphosis. Something different from previous dreams.

You only think this because moondust and moonlight hug your slowly submerging body and tell it to you. Reassures you of it, to wade off fear of drowning.

Sheets climb up to your sternum. With rocking motions, they purl and lick at your shoulders. Ribbons weaving in and out of each other, pulsing up in gigantic breaths to climb upon you. Cloth falls over your mouth and silences you. Tendrils of linen rush into your nostrils. You keep your breath for as long as you can. As the bedsheets engulf you, you keep your eyes trained upon the full moon.

A silver eye not missing any weight or heft. Complete. I want to be complete again.

Once fully submerged, you open your eyes. There is a tentacle in front of your face.

There is a tentacle in front of your face. It lies on its side. Facing you like how two lovers might turn to pillow-talk at one another. About as thick as an elephant leg, it stretches fully across the deck, dipping down into unseen depths over each side of the ship.

Suckers squirm like a breathing wall before you. Voluminous in numbers. Almost replicating plasma barnacles of the underside of aquatic vessels. Individual suckers purl and roll with fake breaths. Fluctuating up and down in uneven patterns, unorganized hive mind motions. Most of them were a vibrant lavender yet – like moles on a wrinkled face – cheetah spots of violet-whitish squirms in slower beats. Moving like bubbling lava, lavender stirs and beckons.

You cannot resist. Pushing your hand upon the breathing wall, you breathe in the scent of salt.

There is an ocean beneath the surface. Blood and plasma swims warmly underneath the skin. Despite the cold and salty water that falls like tears over shells of suckers, there is a warmth. An alive warmth.

It cannot wrap itself around you; this particular tentacle is wrapped from one edge of the boat to the other like a behemoth bow strangling a Christmas present. However, touch is reciprocated in other methods. Like an expanding stomach, lavender pushes into your starfish spread out fingers. Suckers harmonize in a circle around the area where you put pressure.

Hypnotic, eldritch beauty finds primitive comfort in you. Even though the side of your head is still sticky with clotting blood, you think you feel comfort too. It is only ripped from you when a crewman shouts, “God, help us all! A Kraken! By God, a Kraken!”

Beyond the goliath, shielding tentacle, the ship and its crew are in discord. And once it reaches your ears, awareness of it crawls into all your other senses. Drawing away from the tentacle, you realize while standing up that the scent of ether in your nose is overwhelming. Half of the deck is engulfed in flames. Warmth from fire blankets you in heavy sheets. And –

“Someone! Anybody please –!!” And men are being dragged off the boat and killed by twisting, gnashing tentacles.

The boat tilts. Stumbling feet are magnetized backwards; you trip over the tentacle you were just touching. A shriek that pains the wound on the side of your head erupts from you as you are rolled across the deck like a dice across a game-board.

Your tentacle (the one you caressed) does not reach to steady or save you. Instead, it squeezes tentatively on the vessel ensnared in its grip. Splintering wood spreads up like a field of pointy grass. Then, after a moment, it slithers back into the ocean just as your spine hits the railing of the tilting ship.

Over your shoulder, you see a raging sea. Waves curve into each other, resounding claps of exploding water striking your ears. Above, bullets of water clip fast upon the awaiting ocean. That familiar saltine noose reemerges around your neck, as your feet lift with gravity. Everything happens in a millisecond and in an eternity, dream-esque.

Your knees hit the deck when a hand pushes you away from the edge. You suck in deep breaths in a panic, prematurely housing oxygen away before you were doomed to fall in. But you had not fallen in … because … because there was a hand. Sprawled on the wet and burning deck, both elbows down on the ground, you turn over your shoulder one final time.

His hair is the color of the sea. You never expected to see hair a different shade than black, brown, or blonde, perhaps a rare red, but his is breathtakingly blue. Coping, your mind fixates on it because you cannot comprehend the three-points of fins growing where his ears should be. There must be a mystified expression on your face regardless. The man smiles at you with covetous patience.

“Hello, (Name). I wanted to be first to say on behalf of us, we are terribly sorry for our delay.”

Delay? “I don’t understand.”

“Do not stress. A great deal will soon resolve itself. Are you hungry? Can I do anything for you?”

Kindness is far more alien to you than the sight of piscine traits that your mouth falls open in a tiny circle. Words fail to form. Just as your bottom lip starts to quiver, the man amends, “Is there perhaps something you don’t want me to do?”

Meekly: “Do – Don’t go.” Apologetically (and quickly too): “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

Desperately, you wish you had something to hide in but all that you wear is a slim cotton gown. It is innate to leech onto goodwill after such a drought of it. An amused warmth settles of his features, then it softly falls into a deep sadness. Once more, you fumble for words, upset that you have upset him … “I’m sorry – I –!”

A loud noise breaks the moment. There is a pyramid of hundred or so noises caterwauling in this storm, mixing together like how a tornado tears up earth and neighborhoods to mix a smoothie of different items. Something salient breaks through all that cacophony – Husband/Captain shouting, “Give that back, you beast!” And then three consecutive popping sounds as he fires his gun.

You watch the figure of your husband, his spine facing you, wrestle with a tentacle. Like an obsidian tongue, the tentacle emerges from the door to the captain’s cabin and sways back and forth, trying to tug something from your husband. It is a tug-of-war with a predictable winner.

Strength evolves into desperation. A shout undulates into the rainstorm as Husband/Captain is thrown up. His body somersaults in the air. The tongue churns back into the mouth of your bedroom like a retreating snake. Clutched in a protective grip is the blue chest. Defeated, Husband/Captain pushes himself up on his elbows, nose broken.

Through sheets of rain, you two make eye contact for the first time in ninety-two days.

People say he is the fairest of them all. Women and men in the town swoon over him. And with a husband/wife to match, those jealous men and women think when their eyes land upon your awe-striking beauty. Yet, when you look upon him now, all you see is a hideous man. Like a swan (yourself) marrying a condor (him) – he is ugly beyond putridness.

His bloody mouth moves. His shaking hand moves. You do not move.

You cannot tell if the next sound you hear is the ring of a gunshot or the bang of a lightning bolt.

It is like when I bite into the codfish, you think deliriously, watching red soak your nightgown. Hah. What a strange color. You think the man with the blue hair is trying to get your attention but the crimson color has you in a trance. Like mold, it grows slowly on the wrinkled creases of your nightgown, a little bit below your ribcage. So much – so much red.

Yellow interrupts your mesmerization. Cheeks squished together, you look into a black pupil ringed by a honey wedding band then backdropped by a white planet. The triptych of color has you equally magnetized as the man takes his dominant hand and settles it under your rib.

“Breathe in.”

You do obediently.

“Breathe out.”

Once more, you follow instructions. With your exhale, the wound in your abdomen closes up like a sleepy eye. He cards his non-dominant hand through your hair with excellent care. “There, there, are you feeling better?” When you nod, he whispers lovingly, “I’m so glad to hear that, my dearest.”

He smiles and reveals a collection of cutting instrumental teeth, shark teeth.

The man looks like he is about to inquire more yet a voice interrupts in a lazy drawl, “Caaan I kill him now?”

You turn to see your husband covered in red, down to a level where it almost looks like a second skin or a set of clothes upon him. His body is bent over the railing and a man with almost identical features holds him by the top of his torso, a piscine hand tight around his throat. “Kinda gettin’ of tired of his squirmin’ – he’s all sticky.”

Jade knows that is not a truthful admission. Floyd likes when they squirm. Jade wants that vile man dead too with as much intensity as his brother does but – “Come now, we are not barbarians. We have rules for our way of life.”

“Don’t care. He made Sealy cry. I’mma tear off his penis.”

“Please, refrain from such violence for a moment longer. Sir – well, that is too polite for you. Hm, Captain. Captain, we have customs where we challenge the owner of a particular vessel to a certain game. Will you play along?” The only response is an opaque red-white trail of slime dropping from his trembling lips. “Good. I will say the first two lines of a poem. You must complete them.

“Floyd, if you would, please.” The squeezing hand releases and your husband gasps for breath as if he has just escaped drowning on dry land. Shadow and light from the flickering flames shudder across his choking lips. “O my Luve’s like a red, red rose / That’s newly sprung in June.”

“Get off my fucking boat!”

“Hm, another verse then. As fair as thou, my bonnie lass, / So deep in luve am I.”

“I’ll roast you alive, you overgrown fish! (Name), get away –”At the mere utterance of your name, the man returns to strangling your husband with an explosive vitriol that it almost seems his gold and olive-brown eyes will bulge from his face in anger.

“Shut the fuck up.” He seethes with rage.

The other man responds to your husband. “Sorry but the responding lines are: And I will luve thee still, my Dear, / Till a’ the seas gang dry. Go ahead, Floyd.”

Red. So much red. It sprays out when Floyd rips off the skin enveloping around your husband’s throat. Glittering seafoam rivulets that arch beautifully. Leaping and pirouetting through the air. Thicker rivers start to follow after the initial misting, jetting shower. Some of the spume lands upon your temple. Already sticky with salt and blood, you do not flinch at the sensation.

Then, the man, the man named Floyd, falls spine first into the thrashing sea, taking your husband with him. It takes a few moments before you realize the other man is gone too.

You are not sure how long you stay sitting on the deck, letting rain drench you. It could be three or thirteen minutes of absent minded staring at the skies. Cords of white lightning are thrown across the canvas like spools of yarn, wavy and disorganized. Water pelts your face angrily; the weight of it hurts. Below you, the watery depths wail with ghastly noises.

The noise does not lessen or quiet to announce his presence. He simply emerges. One tentacle pushing up from the railing is followed by a hand which is followed by another hand. Then, hovering about three feet in the air above you, the Kraken analyzes you.

Wind picks up, howling. If you were standing, it would be a very real threat to push you off the ship. Tangible winds pick up tendrils of your soaked hair and cheerfully play with, whipping it back and forth in painful, fast-paced oscillation. Entranced, you watch the Kraken’s very dry hair flow in the air with gentle grace.

“Hello.”

You almost faint. His voice is each raindrop, sleeping in each ebon cloud, racing through each electrical bolt that shatters in loud cracks. Blue eyes with a horizontal, pill-shaped pupil squint in worry at the shiver you give at his voice.

“Are you cold, angelfish? Ah, here,” only two behemoth tentacles have to umbrella over your form to completely stop the downpour. You lose sight of the man due to the massive, lilac parasol of muscle that covers you. He enters your sight again when his upper body slithers forward under his tentacles. “Is this better?”

He is so inhumanly gorgeous that he leaves you spellbound. Around you, his numerous tentacles wrap across the deck and into holes he has made into the ship’s helm like hungry snakes in a garden of mice. Prism-like, Stygian black glitters with each rain freckle that races down the arches of muscular tissue. Light shimmers evangelical on each part anatomical droplet.

Yet, his real eldritch splendor is in his human-mimcing top half which leans towards you amorously.

Silver hair, like the color palette of a full moon has dropped into it, sweeps across his face gracefully. The skin of his neck and collarbone pulse with each measured breath. A blue much mellower than the typical rough ocean hue shines in his eyes. His lips move and your eyes dilate just a smidgen.

He whispers to you in your little pocket universe. It feels you two are floating on a planet designed only for the two of you, heave ho-ing back and forth on waves made of stardust. He speaks so softly.

“I’m,” his voice breaks slightly like a chipped mug, “I’m terribly sorry for being so delayed. We tore down countless ships before we arrived upon this one … That is no excuse though. I should’ve been stronger and taken all of them down in a week.”

You do not really get what he is talking about but you still ask, “How many did you take down?”

“A hundred and thirty seven. Each one just another bleak joke. My angelfish, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s quite a number.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose. We would have done a thousand more. Floyd, Jade, and I –”

“Who’s Jade?” Then, as an afterthought. “Can I please know your name as well?”

He blinks at you in confusion. After a heavy, contemplating moment, he states resolutely, “Let’s get you out of this wrong skin and into something proper.”

“Proper?” You blink in replicating confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Hush now, hush love,” Azul says, more tender than – than someone that has drowned in Memory Sea, never to be remembered again. Honestly, you do not recall there being any reasons for apologizing.

The parasol of tentacles peels apart and, hand in hand, Azul guides you towards the railing. You take care not to slip.

“Here’s ya gown.” The man who had ripped out your husband’s throat – you do know his name is Floyd – holds something out to you, leaning over the railing.

What he holds in his hand is unlike soft cotton. It is wetly sleek, patterned with black and white which diffuse into each other with freckling gray. There are no straps for your arms to slip and where the train of a dress should end is hind flippers. A dog-esque face with long whiskers stares at you with hollow eyes, awaiting for you to slip it on. It is a seal pelt.

Boldly, you look into his eyes. Gold and olive-brown, warm eyes. They are so earnest that you have no inclination not to believe him. That is your possession in his webbed hands, and he is returning it to you.

In the span of three months and one day, you have had seventy-three dreams where you drown in them. In the span of three months and two days, you rejoin the ocean where you were always supposed to be, sunrise and clear skies on your tail.

#twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #if you notice the obvious azul favoritism hush i miss writing for him in 2022

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waiting-for-motivation · 8 months ago

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bittersweet

summary: After being separated for a very long time, two lovers reunite under challenging circumstances on Teth.

pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

warnings: !SPOILERS!, fluff, angst, no happy ending

words: 1075

a/n: the return of the king (and my writing :)

!!!SPOILERS EPISODE 6 AND 7!!!

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

One second the laughter of Echo and Gregor fills the ship, then there is a desperate call for help coming through the comm. It‘s Rex, surrounded by imperial forces. He is with clone force 99 as well as other surviving clones. Right away, Echo turns the ship around and heads back to Teth as quickly as possible. Neither Gregor nor (Y/n) need a direct order to reach for their weapons and prepare for a risky exfiltration.

For a few seconds, (Y/n)s fingers linger on her vibro knife with a significant wolf engraved into it‘s hilt. Her heart burns at bittersweet memories of a certain Commander. Closing her eyes, she can still see him smiling after he gave her the knife. Other people, maybe even some of his brothers, considered him strict and bitter, but (Y/N) could always look behind his cold behaviour. But now, he is out of her reach, and she can‘t admire the glint in his eyes anymore.

“Are you alright?“, Gregor places a hand on (Y/n)s shoulder, tearing her out of her daydreams. There is a single tear running over her cheek and she quickly wipes it away, but the clone saw it. He tries to smile at her reassuringly. The smile on her lips doesn‘t reach her eyes, though.

“Yeah, thanks, Gregor“, (Y/n) tells him with a shaky voice and turns back towards her numerous weapons. The knife slides into the holster on her thigh, and it feels heavier than ever.

As she places her rifle over her shoulder, Echo announces that they are almost at the extraction point. Gregor and (Y/n) walk towards the ramp and get into position. Standing behind Gregor, (Y/n) aims her rifle towards the opening ramp. At first, she can‘t see much because Echo is still landing the ship, but then she catches a glimpse of Rex and other clones surrounded by imperial forces.

Her crosshair moves from the regular troops to a commando and finally to the Commander of this squad. The grey paint on his armor seems familiar and takes away (Y/n)s breath. It looks too familiar, she must be hallucinating. It can‘t be him. But the moment the Commander takes off his helmet, (Y/n) recognises him. It‘s Wolffe.

The rifle falls to the ground with a loud thump, attracting everyone’s attention. (Y/n) has to take a few steps forward to stand next to Gregor and be in view to everyone. To her in this very moment only one person matters. It‘s like everyone else disappears and leaves her reunited with her lost lover.

Wolffe is as baffled as never before. His cybernetic eye must be malfunctioning because how could his cyar‘ika be right here on Teth? She might look a bit different, but so does he. War changes people. In the past year, whenever her imagined her in his mind, he would always remember her carefree in the summer sun of Coruscant. Now she is wearing a heavy protective vest and many weapons, looking almost drained. But it‘s (Y/n), for sure.

“Wolffe“, she whispers his name before approaching him with fleet steps. Running past Rex, who understands the situation unlike the clones around him, (Y/n) reaches Wolffe quickly. Without a second thought, she wraps her arms around his neck and crashes against him, making him stumble a few steps backwards. His helmet falls to the ground, and he engulfs her in a tight hug.

There are smiles and tears as they part a few inches to take a better look at each other. (Y/n) places her hands just under Wolffes scrubby jaw, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. “You‘re home“, she whispers and leans forward to connect their foreheads in a sweet keldabe kiss without helmets.

“Yes, I‘m home, cyar‘ika“, Wolffe returns and closes his eyes for some time. Then he remembers the situation they are in as his second in command shifts. Softly, he moves (Y/n) to his side but never actually parts from him. He still has to follow orders, right? But with his beloved girl and multiple of his brothers right here, he gets some doubts.

Most of the clones are already inside of the ship, only Rex and Gregor are still outside, waiting for (Y/n). The soldiers under Wolffe’s command are getting unsettled, not knowing what to do and what their orders are.

“Let them go“, their Commander orders and the troopers lower their blasters. A nod from Wolffe tells them to return to their ship. Turning his attention back on (Y/n), Wolffe can feel his heart ache. He pulls her into a tight hug once again, feeling one of her hands buried in his hair. Only when they part does (Y/n) realise this was a way of saying goodbye.

“No, I only just got you back, you can‘t leave me again. Please“, she whines and starts crying at the realisation. Wolffe takes her face in his rough hands and stops her from hiding her face in her own.

“Shh, don‘t cry. This is not a goodbye, we will see each other again. I promise. But I have to take care of a few things before we can see each other again. I have to take care of my squad. I‘m so sorry, cyar‘ika“, Wolffe tries to reassure his girl. He leans his forehead against hers, not caring what the remaining clones around them think. “We found each other once, we can do that a second time, I‘m sure of that.“

The moment Wolffe tries to take a step backwards and part from (Y/n), she presses herself as close to him as possible. Their lips meet in a teary and passionate kiss, showing their raw emotions. “I love you so much, please come back to me“, (Y/n) breathes against her lover’s lips and finally parts from him. He places one last kiss between her brows, strokes a hair strand behind her ear and whispers a declaration of love in Mando’a : Ni kar‘tayli gar darasuum.

Wiping away the tears from her face, (Y/n) approaches Rex and Gregor who look as downcast as her. They enter the ship after her, but only (Y/n) takes a look back and watches Wolffe enter the imperial ship. They get separated by the closing ramp.

But just like Wolffe said: They found each other once, they can do that a second time.

taglist: @gwenebear @skippyhopperwisdom @littlemisscare-all

#commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #bad batch spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you

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odo-apologist · 21 days ago

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Smegtober #21: Regret

It had been quite some time since Rimmer had taken over as Ace, yet even now, after numerous daring adventures and near-death experiences, after developing a semblance of confidence and courage over his period of playing the hero, his hands shook a bit as he confirmed his new course. This was all together a very different act of bravery than the ones he'd recently become accustomed to making.

There were countless universes out there, too many for Ace–however many versions of him there could ever be–to visit them all. Many of these did not contain versions of the individuals known as Arnold J. Rimmer and Dave Lister. Many of the ones that did held versions of them that would be unrecognizable to each other. In a surprising number of them, their lives become intertwined. Rimmer, this Rimmer, managed to meet some of these Listers. He'd encountered some Spanners, Debs, a couple, even, that were reminiscent of the ones from those High and Low crews from one particular misadventure he'd soon forget.

He avoided universes that, according to the Wildfire's calculations of statistical probabilities, very closely resembled his own. Ones that contained Listers a little too similar to the one he left behind.

Until now.

In the universe had just jumped into, Dave Lister–neither High nor Low–was the last known human being alive, having been in stasis for over three million years aboard the mining ship Red Dwarf. He was currently on the smaller vessel Starbug, along with a Felis Sapien known as The Cat and a Mechanoid called Kryten.

According to Wildfire, that was the entire crew. There was no Arnold Judas Rimmer–human or hologram–on board. There were infinite possibilities and reasons for that, but there was one in specific Rimmer feared was the case.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief when making contact with Starbug; it was during Kryten's shift and Lister was not at his post. “Mister Ace! What a pleasure to see you again!”

They knew him; he had been here before. Rimmer managed to maintain Ace's voice as he responded, “Right back at you, Kryters! Mind if I drop in for a quick pitstop?”

“Not at all, sir! I'll let the others know you're here, we'll meet you at the cargo bay.”

“Looking forward to it, old pal.”

A few minutes later, he was standing face-to-face with this crew. Kryten and The Cat had looked pleased. So did Lister, but there was something more in his attitude than just the admiration the others expressed.

“So, how have you lads been since I last saw you?”

Lister spoke up, “Oh, you know nothing much changes around here Ace, besides getting something other than lichen sorbet for dessert.”

“I have tried to change up the recipe, sir,” Kryten interjected.

But then Lister leveled Rimmer with an intent gaze. “It's been hard, though, adjusting to life without Rimmer around.”

Rimmer's stomach dropped. He wondered if he got noticeably paler.

“Yeah, I hate to say it, but it's been boring without Billboard Face around. He may have been an uptight coward with no style, but he was a good source of entertainment.” The Cat looked a little put out, as much as he was capable of being. Then, brightening, he continued, “But I have been able to make some more shirts! And with you stopping by, someone here might actually appreciate them.”

Despite only catching some of Cat's words over the rising anxiety Lister's words brought him, Rimmer replied, “I'm sure I will, Cat, but I've got to take a bit more time to get things settled on Wildfire. I'll meet you chummies in a tick.”

He turned back to his ship, hearing footsteps departing and a quiet “What a guy!”

“Rimmer?” In the nearly empty cargo bay, Lister's voice rang loud and clear.

Yet Rimmer wanted to give them both another out. He looked back, charming grin pasted to his face. “What's that, Davey-Boy?”

“Is it you?” Of course, Lister didn't take the out. He had spoken softly, nearing Rimmer and looking at him with hope and something that would have clenched Rimmer's heart, were one still beating in his chest.

He dropped the Ace act, replied in his own voice, “No. Not…not your Rimmer.” Once the words hit him, that hope in Lister's eyes faded. Upon seeing this, Rimmer couldn't help but add, “I'm sorry.”

“I just…” Lister let out a shaky sigh. “I just never really thought he'd be gone. Ever since he left, this tiny part of me kept on thinking he'd come back.”

“You don't know that for certain. There may still be some chance that he happened to pass on the legacy without–”

“I saw the planet. The ring of lightbees.” It was said sharply, harshly. “I know what happens. It's what always happens, what happened to the Ace that showed up here damaged and dying. My Rimmer didn't end up any differently. He didn't break the chain.”

“No,” Rimmer agreed. There was still a slight tremor through his hands. “He wanted to make you proud.”

“I wanted him to be proud of himself.” Lister laughed wetly. “I-I never told him…”

He was within arm's length of Rimmer, and he suddenly reached out his arms and pulled the hologram closer, close enough that their lips met. Lister's hand pressed against his upper back, roving further up. He felt the fingers reach his hair, and Lister suddenly broke off their kiss.

“Lister, what–?”

Desperation had supplanted hope when Lister looked at the hologram. Without breaking eye contact, his hand returned; there was a slight tug and a stripping noise and Rimmer looked away from Lister's face to see the man gripping the Ace wig in his fist. “I wanted to see you, Arn. Not Ace.”

“Hold on.” Rimmer unzipped a pocket on his flight suit, manipulated the remote held inside it; he could sense his projection shift. “Is this-is this alright?”

Lister stood silent, taking in the blue tunic, the short curls, the “H” on the forehead, then he moved forward and embraced him again.

A little later, in their–Lister’s–bunkroom, on his other self's former bunk, coming down from post-coital bliss, Rimmer held onto Lister, who had buried his face into the crook of his neck. He felt a bit of wetness against his skin. Despite the tears, his voice was quite steady when he spoke. “I missed you, Rimmer. I dreamed of you.”

“I did, too,” Rimmer whispers back. “Even during my adventures, I thought of you all of the time.”

“I wish I hadn't let you go.”

“He shouldn't have left.” I never should have left.

“I don't want you to go again.” Lister's arms gripped a bit tighter. “But you have to go back to your Lister.”

Could he go back, face his Lister with his tail between his legs? Would that make him a failure yet again? “Are you sure he–”

“I know how much he misses you. Do it for him. Do it for me.”

He hugged Lister once more when saying his farewells and noticed his shining eyes. Back in Wildfire, taking a deep breath, Rimmer set a new course.

#Hope this is coherent and not error-riddled 😅#Red Dwarf #smegtober2024 #Arnold Rimmer #Ace Rimmer #Dave Lister #Kryten #The Cat #My Fics #Original Post #Rimster

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askagamedev · 7 months ago

Note

You often talk about budget in your answers, so I was curious about something. Is it possible for the company to run out of budget before devs could complete the game as they initially planned, so that they have to wrap up all the pending storylines as best as they can even if incomplete? Talking specifically about massive story driven games with a lot of important characters having long storylines such as The Witcher 3, Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth, the Mass Effect series, etc.

It has certainly happened in the past, though not necessarily specifically the narrative part of the game. Many games are pushed to launch without development being as far as they want it to be due to reasons like hitting their budgetary limit and needing to recoup some of the investment. Our estimates are only estimates after all, sometimes we run into unforeseen problems and things take longer than expected. We can't stop paying the developers when we hit snags like that, so certain features end up more costly than others, which eats into the budget that was earmarked for other stuff instead. Most games in this situation have a lot of other launch issues too for the same reason - when you're pushed out the door to make the deadline due to running out of budget, things that should have been fixed are often not.

When World of Warcraft launched in 2004, there were several entire world zones that were incomplete and (mostly) locked off from players. Some players were able to sneak in through various exploits and take screenshots of those areas. Most notable were that the zones were primarily unpopulated by anything - no mobs, no quests, empty towns and buildings, just environment geometry that had been built out. This accompanied other incomplete bits of the game like quests that still had XML code in them. It would take years before players would finally see the incomplete-at-launch zones in some form or other.

Cyberpunk 2077 famously launched after multiple delays with numerous bugs and weird issues. Notably, the dev team also completely cut the multiplayer mode of the game that they had been building in order to consolidate resources to ship the single player game. The game came in super hot and had a huge number of launch issues that were eventually (mostly) ironed out, but the multiplayer mode was never resurrected.

The most famous example of this is probably Knights of the Old Republic 2. The publisher famously moved the deadline up and Obsidian scrapped the in-development ending since they didn't have the time to finish it. Instead, the story was wrapped up super quickly to ship the game. Notably, the partially-finished original ending was left on the disc and modders eventually discovered (and later restored) it.

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#production schedule #game budgets #the business of video games #launch problems #how things work

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sunflowhamato · 8 months ago

Text

ROTTMNT Curiosities Part.2

The turtles would take a while, but they would have ended up accepting Draxum into the family (Although Ron doesn't love the idea of thinking of him as a second father)

There are two lost sisters of the turtles, one of them is Gran Mama's assistant (Frida), and another (Camelle) is trapped in a different dimension. It was planned that the turtles would separate to rescue their sisters. Frida would have been manipulated by Big Mama since she was little. 6 turtles can be briefly seen in the episode “Goyles, goyles, goyles”

The sisters would be similar ages to the boys

Frida would have been a super serious and disciplined ninja (which would lead to funny moments), while Camelle could be a little eccentric

Frida likely joined the Resistance in the future

Pieblald would be like a sister and you would be able to interact with her more

The artists put cats in various places in different chapters (as a joke)

Those of the Council of Chiefs of the Hidden City are the leaders, although they do not have control over everything (Like with Big Mom)

The Weeping Titan may have been built by another race ancient to the Yokai A Krang spaceship crashed into the back of the Weeping Titan, and that was the source of the sludge (which was the ship's fuel). The Weeping Titan is the source of Empyrean, the nectar that gives Yokai their mystical energy.

The ship caused the other Krang to come to invade the earth

Yokai society roamed freely, happier, and more numerous, until humans arrived

The story of the Yokai driven underground arose centuries ago, Draxum witnessed it (It is something that would be told if the series returned)

After losing Shredder, Foot Shack closed and started selling cupcakes.

The original ending (when there was no cutback), in the Battle Nexus: New York chapter, the hotel was going to end up being absorbed back to the Hidden City, taking Big Mom and Shredder with it. The problem was that they were now trapped in the Hidden City. The Foot Clan would have fought to free Shredder

Cassandra's original arc was longer, her Splinter bond would have been key, although the reveal that she was Casey was just as important. She would have disappeared and appeared at the time they needed her most, it is possible that she would relapse into bad things (she is in constant conflict)

Cassandra chose the Foot Clan since she was little because she wanted to belong to something (The writers also made assumptions about her being an orphan)

CJ would be happy to see Cassandra young, surely finding her would be touching

CJ vaguely remembers Cassandra. Leo was the one who mainly raised him

The dynamic between Casey and Raph that has been seen in other series would have happened in Rise with Cassandra and Raph

Despite having information about the future, CJ would not be someone valuable to have information about, because many things have changed

The herbicide to harm the Krang works like it does on plants.

It was planned that they would travel to the Krang dimension, and to the prison dimension to free Karai

It was never discussed beyond the apocalyptic future (only what we saw in the movie), so it is not known what happened to Cassandra, Donnie, Raph, Splinter, Leo's arm, etc. The only thing we need to know is that everything was because of the Krang. How? We don't know. (The animators probably know more about this, although I'm not sure)

The wound on Leo's side from the future was the reason she didn't accompany Casey to the past (because she knew she would die)

Casey couldn't help but think of young Leo as a father figure, although it would be too weird for him since they are the same age

Mikey can open portals through space and time, while Leo's portals are over short distances.

In one of the first episodes of season 3, they would talk about how they obtained the other lair.

There could have been more episodes of Bone and Leo, these two are great friends (Although Bone does not admit it)

The names of the Purple Dragons were inspired by writers from the first season of the 2012 series. Their names would be Jeremy Schipp, Jase Ricci and Kendra Byerly

Karai would have had a longbow, but she can come back

The turtles honored Karai, and would talk to her whenever they needed guidance

#rottmnt leo #rottmnt #rottmnt casey jones #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt april #rottmnt cassandra jones #rottmnt draxum #rottmnt season 3 #rottmnt splinter

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streets-in-paradise · 1 year ago

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Anonymous Hero - Hector of Troy x (Fem)Warrior!Reader (requested)

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by @g-m-kaye

“ (...) If you’re still taking fic requests for TROY (?) I’d be super duper excited if you’d write an AU fic for Hector x reader character where Hector, instead of being married to Andromache, falls for a slender Trojan warrior who has his back in the first melee… but unexpectedly turns out to be a woman when Hector demands the warrior remove his helmet & reveal “his” identity 👀 (I’ve always loved the “girl masquerading as boy” trope - ever since Shakespeare!) … and pls do make it as steamy as you like!! Lol (...)”

Hope you will like this, darling! I loved writing it.

Word Count 2.5 K

Warnings: Hector going through a Li Shang bi panic, Single Hector AU ( sorry, Andromache. You are great, but we love your man). Very few proofreading ( it’s almost 3 AM and i’m tired, but wanted to get it posted)

Summary: In the heat of battle during the arrival of the greeks Hector ends up greatly impressed by the courageous response of a singular soldier, but this stranger refuses to claim ríghts on the feat. Feeling even more intrigued about him afterwards, the prince is determined to find him in full unawareness of how the peculiar fighter has quite a few more surprises to give.

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @helie-brain @rfkfan

The sound of the bell brought the expected news nobody wanted to hear. Greek veils in the horizon, a thousand ships about to reach trojan shore, giving the impression that Agamemnon had emptied the continent to avenge the insulted honor of his brother. As the city observed the spectacle with horror, heralds were calling all the available men to fight in what would be the first defense in a crushing war. The disastrous numerical difference forced desperate measures and the army commanded by Prince Hector needed to engross its lines somehow. For so, many soldiers who weren’t in optimal conditions were needed: young lads stepping into combat too soon and old men following the example of Glaucus.

Fillment additions, men that were there for numbers but weren’t warriors in the heroic sense of the term. They had very little possibilities of success against the myrmidons, fearless and bloodthirst beasts that were presenting a hard challenge to the Apollonian Guard even before the landing of Ajax. If some of the best in Troy were suffering because of them, arming that sacrificial reserve sounded like pointless cruelty. Those men were doomed to be nothing more than fresh meat to engross the downs of Achilles and Ajax, easily removable obstacles slowing down their encounter with more qualified enemies. No one would have expected much of them, at least until one proved the assumptions of the strategists to be completely wrong.

After Achilles performed miracles throwing a spear that killed Tecton from an impossible distance, doing so with a cocky bragger naturality, the elite warriors were completely discouraged. Even Hector experienced true horror for the first time in many years, sensibly affected by the death of the friend who had always got his back in the battlefield. Despite the myrmidons being implicitly warned to leave him for their leader, many tried to take that contextual advantage doing their shots in trying to take down the prince. Clearly, not everyone was willing to listen after being exhorted to fight through a hubris induced speech about reaching immortal glory.

In that spirit-wrecking point of the battle, with a temple destroyed and priests slaughtered by an enemy that knew no limits, the disorganized crowd of elite warriors fleeing left a chance for the relegated men of Troy to shine. A small, slender soldier that could have made Ajax laugh if he would have faced him courageously assumed the role of Tecton protecting the prince in the chaos. Hector was equally moved and amazed by the man fighting beside him. He looked weaker than his brother, probably a young lad from that desperate aid reserve, yet he was fighting with the push of a man twice his size. He followed all the way through the carnage inside the temple and would have gone to the end of the line accompanying him to the encounter of Achilles, if Hector himself wouldn’t have commanded otherwise. The sacrificial devotion of that soldier felt personal beyond any measures, it left a mark on his memory that eclipsed the shocking first impression Achilles wanted to feel being causing him.

Although relegated due to his fragile appearance, that nameless young man fought with the kind of honor the famous greek warlord lacked and Hector was finding a strange sense of hope in that. He also couldn’t help admiring some of his gracious movements at times, wondering if he could perhaps have been a disguise of the god defending his altar. That would have at least explained the most incredible aspect of the situation: his unexplainable attraction towards him.

No details of the episode were referenced in the war council that night. Archeptolemus, his political rival in religious circles, would have used it against him and the prince was already very much irritated by his misuse of religion to discredit him. If the soft looking soldier was Apollo fighting beside him or just a regular mortal he had just fallen for, he would have to figure it out by himself. The hopeful reminder of him helped the prince tolerate the newest terrible choice of his brother. Although Paris promised an easy resolution meant to take place the next morning, he was walking to his death and he wasn’t ready to let him die. Unlike his mysterious new favorite, the youngest prince didn’t possess any dormant courage to be released in a critical situation.

Paris needed to meet that man, either to exhort miraculous bravery in him or to make him desist from that purpose. It was the excuse that Hector invented to himself in his mildly desperate search for him.

“ Troy is worth fighting for because even the simplest of our men can make a difference. “ He was saying to his men in formation during the motivational speech that morning.” Agamemnon brought to us a parade of famous heroes without any inside cohesion. He expects us to tremble upon him because his battalions are all commanded by one of those, but yesterday we learned a valuable lesson. Their army is weak where ours is stronger. They are glory seekers harangued by leaders who think like arrogant children, we are men fighting for our country. We don’t rely on the fame of our heroes, but in the strength of our hearts!”

Ovations cutted him off for an instant, but he waited enough to continue and evaluated the reaction.

“ Yesterday we lost a hero, a man I loved like a brother, but that loss didn’t paralyzed us.Someone else made his way reclaiming his spot beside me. Not a fighter in a chariot, not an apollonian, but a simple man. He performed heroic acts worthy of being sung, but disappeared without claiming any authorship for his feat. While greeks are too preoccupied with making history to care about each other, even the smallest trojan is already a hero.”

Hector roamed the extension of the front lines on his horse,visually searching for the reaction revealing the man in question.

“ We have humble anonymous heroes that double theirs in courage and worth, and I now command this man to show himself and reclaim the honors he deserves.”

A tense silence followed the end of his speech, soldiers looking at their sides full with confusion searching for the one refusing such a high reward.

“ It is an order.” Hector finally reminded them. “ In the name of the loyalty he displayed, I demand him to give one step ahead.”

Suddenly, a slender figure emerged from the crowd and the prince got off his horse as he approached. His evident satisfaction made Paris hold a chuckle, especially because he noticed how his brother observed him.

“ I want the army to be a witness of my gratitude. “ Hector explained to him once he was finally standing in front of him. Only a shorter distance separated them. “ In a battle won by men desperate for recognition, you saved my life asking nothing in return. You have won my admiration and sincere affection; Troy must remember your name.”

The multitude started cheering until the honored fighter removed his helmet, surrendering himself to the pressure about knowing his identity. A sepulchral silence followed his movements, confusion spreading even further than before and the youngest prince was the only smiling face easy to spot.

Hector discovered a beautiful woman staring back at him and never before he had found anyone so desirable.His lips slightly parted despite him trying to pretend he wasn’t observing her in complete awe.

“ Do with me what you judge properly, my lord.” She fearlessly exclaimed. “ I surrender myself to you for disciplinary action.”

He recognized her, a young maiden from a remarkable family of trojan aristocrats. Firstborn daughter and her only brother was fifteen years old. The boy was named Ilus, at least he remembered that, but he couldn’t remember much of her and it frustrated him.

" I must assume you are here as a replacement for Ilus Peiroide. " He asked her in an affirmation. " A young boy, too young. His frame provided an easy hideout for you. "

" He is my brother. " The lady replicated. " Is the king of Mycenae the only one who can fight for his brother? I would rather bring dishonor to my family than burying Ilus. "

Her words resonated deeply with him. Not only his fondness of her kept increasing, Hector simply couldn't blame her. However, he had to act as a leader.

" At least allow her to plead her case, i like her." Paris commented, doing his brother the favor of saying what he couldn't. " This is my war, one that is being fought over a woman I brought here. Wouldn't it be a blatant hypocrisy if we don't let this girl speak?"

She smiled at him, only deviating her attention from Hector for a brief instant, to what Paris replied with a friendly wink.

" You don't have much time, the greeks will arrive soon..." Hector pointed out. " Your brave acts are not being questioned, but you must make yourself accountable for your transgression. Not to me, but to our countrymen."

The intense eye contact going on between them was loaded with a tension that didn't resemble a grudge of any kind.

" Look at them and tell them why you did this. "

" I listened to your speeches and felt the call deep inside, in my heart. " She provocatively replied, admitting reasons beyond the initial sympathetic motive palatable to their societal perceptions. " My prince, you harangue the men speaking about freedom, but the rules of war don't threaten theirs as heavily as they menace ours. Are we all going to pretend we don't know what happened to Princess Briseis just because the King can't stand the shame? A woman doesn't simply disappear or dies in war, she is taken by the winner. Women don't get the privilege of dying, we are the ones who will be reduced to slavery if the city falls. If Helen came here searching for her freedom to love... Why can't I defend my own freedom, and all my countrywomen? "

Even the ones who had reason to present objections couldn't argue with that, the presence of Helen was a disruptive element for trojan society. Her existence there had proven to challenge the traditional conceptions for quite a few established institutions, marriage being the main in the list but not the only one.

" If this ends in battle, you have one more chance to prove your value to the city. Only one, and i am granting it to you in honor of the great service you performed for me yesterday." Hector warned her. " Consider my debt paid with this indulgence. "

She smiled and that time it was for him. Hector had to pretend coldness, but he would have done anything to see that again.

" I will not disappoint you, my prince. If you pick me, I will follow you to the gates of Tartarus. "

His pulse accelerated hearing that, making him feel the improper effect that the woman had on him.

The promise turned out to be true, since another opportunity for fighting presented itself and she did something impressive. Trojans weren't as surprised as the greeks were when Hector slaughtered Menelaus to save Paris from that hopeless combat, unleashing a new battle through the breaking of the pact. To them it was clear that the story of the shieldmaiden who defied the concept of honor replacing her younger brother to save him must had inspired the heir prince. Curiously but not casually, a great victory was obtained and both performed the highlights of it. Barely after Hector triumphed in his solitary combat against Ajax, the lady forced the definitive retreat of the greeks for the day by attacking the mycenaeans.

Her spear throw killed the charioteer of Agamemnon. Not satisfied with that, she wounded him with the sword as he was attempting to control the horses. Nothing severe, the blade barely caressed his arm, but it reminded the power delirious king that he was a mortal and in that opportunity she did reclaimed the feat knowing it would increase his humiliation.

The very same men who were judging her in silence that morning celebrated her alongside Hector in the afternoon. She was invited to the palace, where King Priam allowed her to be acknowledged through his son's choice of allowing her involvement. She promised him to help in the case of her niece, if she could be allowed after the immense offense she gave to the supreme greek king. Helen herself praised her bravery, granting hers and Paris' support altogether.

It was like a dream, a very vivid dream where she was getting noticed being who she wanted to be. Even Hector, the man she had hopelessly loved in silence for many years, was looking at her in a different way.

Among the ladies of trojan high society she never felt particularly special and nothing made her feel that way. Despite being daughter of one of the local nobles in his own city, Hector barely noticed her. She used to be one of the many silly girls looking at him with pointless adoration at some special social event while his eyes followed only the frame of Princess Andromache of Thebe. A woman who represented everything she wasn't, a perfectly adjusted lady any man would want for a wife.

The order of the world was turned upside down, Hector couldn't take his eyes of her. Even without the disguise he still seemed to admire her and she felt it hitting way deeper than what the moral undertones of his speech implied.

" If I have been an inspiration for you, let me say I can finally repay you." He shamelessly admitted her as soon as they were left alone. " You inspired me today, sometimes you need strength to leave your honor behind for love."

" Is that an invitation?" She teased him. " Don't keep me waiting, I'm not a child anymore."

Hector sipped some wine without breaking eye contact through the action, then left the cup to subtly lay a hand on her cheek.

" Then you must be aware of how you are making me feel."

She lifted her head just a bit, showing how delighted with his touch she was.

" How can I doubt it when you are looking at me like this?" She purred with want. " I fully meant what I told you this morning. Pick me, I could be yours if you want me. "

Infatuated as he was, he could have proposed ríght there after that suggestive comeback, but he límited himself to kissing her hoping that could help him slow down.

#troy 2004 #hector of troy #eric bana #hector x reader #hector of troy x reader #eric bana x reader #troy fanfiction #troy

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flutterbyoz · 10 months ago

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I've been burnt by ships in the past, badly in some cases so I decided to try and not to get too involved in a relationship unless I knew it would end well.

Having been a huge fan of the UK Ghosts since the beginning I naively thought I'd be safe with the US Ghosts thinking they'd be similar with few ship possibilities outside the living couple.

I was proved wrong.

Hetty and Trevor kind of snuck up on me, I wasn't expecting a ship, let alone one so interesting and addictive, to appear and they very quickly steam rolled their way right through my defences.

There are so many reasons why I love them, their chemistry for one but there are numerous other reasons too. The fact that on paper they probably shouldn't work and yet they seem so right together, the apparent lack of anything in common but in reality there is quite a bit of common interest and ground between them, the way they both try to pretend that there aren't a lot feelings between them whereas in reality they do care a lot about each other, to name a few. And also, they just make me smile. If I'm having a rough day I watch them and instantly feel better, their ridiculous and adorable relationship just brightens the day.

This may be a little too deep for a sitcom but it's the truth. They are a couple who I really have no idea what the future holds, whether they stay as they are, break up or become something more I don't know. I think season 3 may take a step back on their relationship just because they did have quite a bit of time in season 2 (though more is always welcome!) and the fact the new season is shorter. I could be wrong and I hope I am, I would gladly watch an episode of literally just them being their ridiculous and adorable selves.

Whatever happens I love these two so much and while I can't really imagine them being the over the top romantic couple, a little more than friends with benefits would be great but so would staying as they are too

#cbs ghosts #hetty x trevor #h money #tretty #trevor x hetty #h-money #hetty woodstone #trevor lefkowitz

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stashandtell · 2 months ago

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Some Recommendations for Fics That Influenced My Weasley-Ship Rankings

I ranked all my favorite Hermione/X Weasley Sibiling in my most recent post Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships with REASONS. Here are some recs to back my completely biased opinons. And now, you can read my fic, Ranking the Weasleys on AO3! - - - - As I sometimes mention on the internet, I keep a WILDLY long and fairly detailed spreadsheet of all the fanfics I've read. I've not been in the fandom long at all but due to life circumstances, I've had too much time on my hands since diving in and have allowed this special interest to wash over me and my whole life like the warm, scented water in the Prefects' giant bathtub. (I hit over 800 works read on my spreadsheet a few days ago and am going to do a numerical analysis and breakdown no one requested, so come back for the data if you're curious.) I've pulled some of my fave fics for my main Hermione x Weasley Sibling pairings -- though I have SO MANY MORE. All of these are mid-length to longfics (~30K-100k+ words, except for one) and are complete, unless noted. Normally I'd copy-and-paste the author's summary but since I'm going to be recommending many here-- I'll give you my 1-3 sentence take on the fic and encourage you to read the author's summary and tags. We're going in descending birth-order by sibling here to keep things tidy: Billmione: What's nuts to me about the Billmione ship is that I don't have a ton of fics I would enthusiastically recommend that explain why I love this pairing so much. I'm not a huge werewolf-ish fan, the age-gap isn't something that inspires my reading that much, and, to be completely honest, sometimes Bill is dry toast in a fic and replaceable with almost any other character. That said, for those of us who love a rare-pair, we feast on the scraps. We love the moments that fuel our headcanons and it's the cumulative experience of developing our own understanding of these characters that drives us into the arms of these fics more than anything. I had a difficult time pulling general recs for this ship, only because so few encapsulate what's I love about Hermione and Bill together (in my mind) in a singular work. I'll keep searching though and plug away at adding my 3 Billmione WIPs to offerings out there, to keep the flag flying. To be perfectly clear: These are GREAT fics I highly recommend. I just don't think of any one of them as the touchstone fic for my love of this pair (imo.) Still Strong by DietCokeofEvil, inspired by I Am Strong by floatsdelicately

Word Count: 38,780 / 19 Chapters

Summary: When Ron leaves Hermione without an explanation a month before their wedding, Bill returns the friendship and care she gave him when he and Fleur separated. They fall in love and build a life together.

My Comments: I read I Am Strong first and I have to say, I loved the two stories together. It's maybe even worth reading I Am Strong before Still Strong because that's how the publishing/inspiration-order goes.

Through the Ages by LadyBlack3

Word Count: 30,301 / 11 Chapters

Summary: Hermione and Bill team up to help research possible causes for a disease spreading through Charlie's dragon reserve and find themselves drawn to each other.

My Comments: This is a fun fic with a plot that keeps things moving. I love them coming together as full-fledged adults with their own lives.

I was torn on recommending Cairo Nights by GillianSteele instead of Through the Ages because they're both excellent examples of this ship, so I'll drop it here as an honorable mention if you're looking for more!

- - - - Charmione: There are SO MANY good Charmiones on my list but I need limits. I would say none of these are exactly emblematic of the typical well-loved Charmione fics, as they don't spend time on the Reserve-- but if you're looking for more recs, feel free to ask me on tumblr or leave a comment and I can happily suggest many more. Last Christmas by KittenShift17

Word Count: 17,079 / One Shot

Summary: Last Christmas, Hermione drunkenly snogged Charlie when she mistook him for Ron and shortly after she broke up with him. This Christmas, she's back at the Burrow and anxious to see Charlie again after thinking about him all year.

My Comments: This was one of the very first Charmione works I read and I recommend it to most my friends looking to get into the ship. As a hefty one-shot, it's a pretty satisfying fic with great Weasley banter and it's on my list of fics to re-read this winter when it's time to get cozy around the holidays. If you like this, check out I Saw Mummy (mind the tag) by Amebb42. Last Christmas is the shortest of all the fics I'm recommending.

Creature Comforts by neilstic

Word Count: 34,588 / 5 Chapters

Summary: Hermione and Charlie are both Hogwarts professors and are into each other. They are also good friends who get to do some fun time travel exploration thanks to the secrets of the castle.

My Comments: This fic is SO well written and snort-out-loud funny. I think of it often and it's not the typical Charmione fic, which is why I wanted to shout it out.

The Eventually Ever After Series by Huffleclaws19 deserves an appreciation post on its own and I HIGHLY recommend it of you're a fan of Charmione and Theomione. It's worth reading it in order. Merry Christmas to Me (the first in the series) is already on my Top-Tier List of all-time faves but the whole series arc is so, so good. Consider this a MOST honorable mention.

- - - - Permione: The Always Series by Simply_Lovely_Reader consists of two stories: Unlikely, which is Hermione's POV and Possibly, which is Percy's.

Word Count: Unlikely - 15,537 / 11 Chapters Possibly - 26,754 / 13 Chapters

Summary: Percy catches Hermione pleasuring herself to thoughts of him in his bed in the Burrow immediately before they start working together at the Ministry. Romance and pining occur.

My Comments: I was overjoyed to find that there was a Percy POV fic for this story but if you only pick one, read Unlikley, which is Hermione's POV.

Reflector by Calebski

Word Count: 39,692 / 7 Chapters

Summary: Hermione seeks Percy's help in finding career her path after the war they're both so changed by. He finds himself seeking her out as well as they develop a friendship and so much more.

My Comments: This author wrote one of my all-time top 3, won't-shut-up-about-my-love-for-it fics, Flourishing Devotion, a Nevmione canon re-write. I really dig their style (Venus Flytrap, another Nevmione is great too.) This Permione delivered.

- - - - Fremione: Fremione recommendations tend to fall in to a few buckets, which often overlap 1) Fred Lives 2) Fred Dies, per the canon 3) Canon rewrites of Fred & Hermione developing feelings during the Hogwarts years There are several WONDERFUL canon re-writes I'll include a few as honorable mentions.

Salve Amor by moonfairy13

Word Count: 31,974 / 20 Chapters

Summary: Hermione saves Fred's life with a bonding spell that can only be cast by someone who carries love for the person they're saving. She doesn't want Fred to know or feel tied to her so of course miscommunications and meddling ensue.

My Comments: The author, moonfairy13, has so many great fics worth checking out. What was great about this one is that the whole fic centers around the Fred Lives turning point.

I Can Love You Like That by LSU Sweetie

Word Count: 31,357 / 12 Chapters

Summary: Fred and Hermione are the last two single people in their friend group at the winter holidays. Hermione wants a relationship and is interested in Fred but has also started to get gifts from a secret admirer.

My Comments: I love a grown-up Fred and Hermione. LSUsweetie has some great works with different pairings and I particularly absolutely freaking loved Festive Fates. This is worth reading because the pairing is undisclosed, so you gotta read it to find out. Paraphrasing the author's summary: Hermione ends up pregnant after a night with a mystery man at New Year's Eve masquerade party right before she has to leave for a year-long work assignment. When she returns the following Christmas, she brings a baby with red hair to the Burrow and hopes to find answers.

Honorable Mentions, Canon Rewrites:

Don't You Know You've Got the Best of Me by raquains

Deal or No Deal by LetticeDouffet

Steel and Soft Smiles by TricksterGhost7 and its companion work, Little Glimpses

Oh So Many Years by fanfictionaries*

The Two Dropouts by tryingsss*

*Denotes a partial canon rewrite (aka ends early or starts later) - - - - Geormione: There were several great Geormione pieces I wanted to recommend but both of my recs relate to navigating Fred's death in very personal ways. That has tended to be the majority of what I've been reading in the Geormione space though there are other dimensions to this ship worth checking out. Like Fremione, there are some great canon-rewrites as well.

I have not started tackling the behemoth that is The Arithmancer by White_Squirrel yet or the rest of the series, though it's queued up as a reward once I finish some very longfics I'm working through... so I know I've read a lower % of the total completed fics on AO3 in the "Hermione Granger/George Weasley" relationship tag than Billmione, Charmione, and Fremione.

To Those Who Wait by Fictionallizzy

Word Count: 56,233 / 9 Chapters

Summary: After Fred's death, Hermione and George spend a forbidden night together which leads to much more than they both expected.

My Comments: In my ridiculous spreadsheet, I give a rating for my personal love of the story and another for the spice level. This is one that has 5/5 on both counts, the smut smuts 💋 and there's some juicy angst in there (my fave.)

In Case You Don't Life Forever by xLoveMx

Word Count: 24,724 / 12 Chapters

Summary: After the battle, Hermione and George are together and apart in their grief. She tries to prepare WWW to reopen and they finds she has to deal with Fred's ghost literally and metaphorically.

My Comments: I've read a few ghost!fred fics but I really loved this one. It was hard to select just one George-Falling-In-Love-While-Grieving fic and the extra dimension Fred's ghost added to this story made it stand out for a recommendation.

- - - - Multi-Weasley Pairings: In fics with multi-Weasley ships, they tend to fall into three buckets: 1) Siblings in competition 2) Love triangle or triad (v-shaped or triangle-shaped) 3) Reverse harems or multiple hookup partners I basically had to read through the majority of all the enticing completed long fics with ALL of the individual siblings I wanted to read paired with Hermione before I started reading multi-Weasley fics. BUT I'm glad I went there because there are some really interesting works that I enjoyed. Here's a fic rec for each bucket: 1) Siblings in Competition: Yours Til The Stars Fall From The Sky by Ronsboggart

Pairings: Fremione, Charmione

Word Count: 64,178 / 7 Chapters

Summary: Hermione and Fred are going to be together until a chance meeting at the World Quidditch Cups finds her and Charlie inexplicably drawn to each other.

My Comments: Mind the tags! This fic definitely has the underage warning on it, which I totally understand isn't everyone's thing. That said, the story of Fred and Hermione falling for each other despite the magnet-pull of Charlie really got me on board with reading Fremione works. Truthfully, I sort of didn't "get" the appeal of Fred until I read this story and for that I'm so grateful. I ended up loving the characterization of Fred and Hermione's love so much in this fic, it's definitely worth it imo.

Honorable Mention: Hot Girl Summer (shorter one-shot) by Anonymous 2) Love Triangle / Triad (V-Shaped): Hic Scunt Dracones by Amebb42 & ShadowAlt

Pairings: Billmione, Charmione

Word Count: 118,498 / 29 Chapters

Summary: On a curse-breaking expedition in a tropical paradise, Charlie, Bill, and Hermione find themselves working a case that puts them face to face with old magic. Both brothers find they care for the same woman and try to encourage her to choose between them.

My Comments: If you read my Ranking the Weasleys post, you know that I don't give a toss about dragons half the time and I REALLY loved the dragon storyline here. I sing the praises of Amebb42 in just a bit but ShadowAlt also has great stories. I enjoyed reading their author's notes in this too.

3) Reverse Harem: Where the Heart Is by Mother_of_Chaos

Pairings: Billmione, Charmione, Fremione, Geormione

Word Count: 40827 / 12 Chapters

Summary: Hermione, who has special abilities and works as an Unspeakable, receives a claiming werewolf bite while helping save a member of the Weasley family and becomes part of their pack.

My Comments: This work was recently completed this past August and was inspired by The Weasley Pack by Mrsmarauders02. Both are worth reading and center around werewolf and pack power. Mind the tags!

Reverse Harem Honorable Mention: Weasley Magic by Amebb42 I included only completed fics here but I have to shoutout the WIP that lives in head rent-free on a regular basis and that's Weasley Magic by Amebb42. This author has so many great works worth reading but this fic completely sold me on the Weasley reverse harem structure and inspired me to give other works a try. Plus, it's not based on a werewolf pack. Yes, the smut is smutty which is great fun, however, all of the characters are so well developed in this massive ensemble work. The Molly bashing-to-redemption is one of my favorite kinds of family angst and there are more relationships beyond Hermione + all of the Weasley siblings that adds delicious complexity to the story. Most importantly, the world mechanics, especially when it come to the Wizengamot, the inherited Weasley family magic itself, and Bill's new status is so, so interesting! I live for this fic . - - - - As For All The Other Hermione x Weasley Family Member Ships: You'll note from my post "Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships With REASONS" I don't consider myself well-read in ships with Hermione/Ginny or Hermione/Ron or some of the other family members, so no recommendations at this time. If you have recs, please share! I'd love to know what I'm missing out on or what your fave works are for different pairings.

Don't forget to check out the newest fic, Ranking the Weasleys on AO3!

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brownald · 11 months ago

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Thought I’d repost the first Halo fanfic I wrote since it’s still one of my favorite things I’ve written and I want to look back on it every so often. I never finished part 2 but I’ll do it one of these days I guess.

Halo: Swords of Sangheilios

Sanghelios.

A dry, scathing world.

A world with ancient ruins covering scars from battles long ago.

A world with such vicious fauna that it was a wonder that so many species ravaged its surface.

To a human eye, Sanghelios was inhospitable, best left to the pirates and scum of the galaxy.

But to the noble Sangheili, it was home.

One such Sangheili stood at the helm of the Shadow of Intent now, his pearly white armor reflecting the reddish glow of his homeworld below. He stared down upon the seemingly peaceful planet underneath his warship's hull. To his side, his crew tapped upon their data pads, keeping the ship orbiting the planet out of sight of the populace below.

A door slid open at the back of the room, a lone Elite making his way to the front of the room where his commander stood, unwavering. He nervously nodded his head and spoke, his voice gravelly and rough, yet highly strung in awe of the war hero before him.

“Shipmaster?”

“You may speak, major. What news does the Arbiter bring me?” His voice was smooth, despite his missing mandibles on the left side of his face. He spoke with an air of superiority, yet if any malice was in his words, his voice did not betray it.

“The Arbiter informs me that our allies on Sanghelios have finished preparing for our arrival. We may begin our landing at Bdaoro City at once.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then return to the Arbiter and tell him this: I will land at Bdaoro City tonight, and I expect Usze and N’tho to be there with him.”

“Right away, shipmaster.”

“Thank you, Major.”

With that, the messenger turned away to inform the Arbiter of the shipmaster’s wishes. As he left, the shipmaster returned his gaze to the world below, and considered the effect that the return of order to Sanghelios might have upon the people. They had been without rule for almost a month now, and he feared that the clans had fallen into anarchy, or worse had ceased to exist. It was a worrying thought, one that the old shipmaster feared would never come to pass. That was the least of his fears, however. He knew that the path to a unified Sanghelios would be a long, difficult one, and that despite his numerous campaigns against foes both large and small, he’d never feared like this.

However he knew that this was too important a job to be left to the bureaucrats. The Elites had experienced such a rule for thousands of years, and only months ago it had threatened to kill every last Sangheili until nothing was left of their species but dust and echoes. He had an opportunity to send his kind on the best possible path, and it was an opportunity that he could not afford to let float away.

It was an odd change of pace for Lord ‘Vadum. But it was one he welcomed with caution.

__________

The messenger slowly entered the Arbiter’s chambers, taking a moment to check if the Arbiter was in the mood to be disturbed by listening for the music Thel ‘Vadam was known to play when in moments of personal crisis. Hearing only silence, he stepped forward into his commander’s suite, the lavish ornaments covering the walls taken from Thel’s various conquests throughout the galaxy. A shard of glass from Reach, an inoperable sentinel beam from the first Halo ring, and one of Sesa ‘Refumee’s holo-drones were mounted on the wall, projecting a timeline through the Arbiter’s exploits. Beyond these few mementos though, little else served to fill the room, save for basic furniture and a sink in the corner. Thel had ordered his quarters to be rid of all luxuries, to appear closer to the warriors under his command. Yet he had insisted on his relics to remain on the wall, for all to see as they entered his quarters. For what purpose the messenger did not know, but then again it was not his job to ask.

He found the Arbiter kneeling in front of a shrine in his meditation chamber, clad only in his ceremonial robe. Seeming to sense the messenger’s presence before the door was opened, he got up and turned to face his visitor. As the messenger looked upon his commander, he took care to avoid gazing at the Mark of Shame branded on him so long ago, he’d heard it was still a sore spot for the Arbiter, in more ways than one.

“Does the Shipmaster bring news from the bridge?” Thel inquired, his voice restrained and somber.

“Yes, my lord, he says that preparations are complete for our landing at Bdaoro, but I also bring news from Lord ‘Taham. He requests that you meet with him in the Blademaster’s Yard as soon as time permits. He says he’d like to debate with you.

‘Vadam sighed, the aging warrior within him resigning his anger to where it could be saved for this disrespectful act of dissent.

“Usze ‘Taham merely wishes to complain of our alliance with humanity once again. His hubris stifles any hope of our race returning to our former glory. Stil, I shudder to think what his bladesmen could do to our cause if I do not heed his request. Tell him I will be there.”

“Yes, sir. Is there any other message you would like to deliver?”

Thel did not reply, instead stepping to the window on the farside of the room, staring at the orange world below. From so high, the cavernous canyons and its blazing temperatures made it seem far too harsh for any life to survive there, let alone a spacefaring people. But the Arbiter saw not the cracked, rough texture of the planet’s surface, nor did he see the field of debris the past month of war had created. He saw a planet with cities the forerunners could only dream of, a race stretching onward into the cosmos. He saw a people joining hands and marching together into the beyond. But his dream was far off, and only a miracle could bring it to reality.

In that case,it was fortunate that Thel was once considered the will of the Gods.

He continued to stare at the planet below, now intent on asking his messenger a query he found most important.

“Tell me, major. Have you a name?”

The messenger looked taken aback for a moment, shocked that a warrior of such status would bother to familiarize himself with his underlings. Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and replied.

“Loro ‘Chamanee, my lord.”

“You ally yourself with me yet you still bear a name bestowed upon you by those who would do our species harm?” Thel’s voice was layered with confusion, baffled as to why this messenger would do such a thing. To keep the -ee at the end of a name was considered worse than the killing of a comrade in battle, to many it was considered a great dishonor.

“Yes. I’ve found my devotion to the old ways is much more rigorous than that of my peers.” Loro’s voice was now full of stubborn determination, standing up to his superior with an almost arrogant tone of voice.

“Fascinating. That will be all.” Thel’s voice was now flat, uninterested in his servant’s words.

Loro departed the quarters quickly, leaving his commander alone with his thoughts. Thel sighed and turned to face the shrine in the center of the room.

It was easily the most lavish thing on the ship. Thel had tried to remove it with the rest of his luxuries, but his warriors refused, fearing its removal would anger the Gods. Despite their newfound freedom, the Sangheili still fervently upheld the religion of the Covenant, even to a fault. Thel cleared his mind with a sigh and continued to stare at the shrine. Gold inlay complemented the platinum ring that had been engraved to resemble a Halo array, with precious gemstones where the generators would otherwise be. A hologram of the “Sacred Icon”, known to Thel as the activation index, hovered in the center of the ring, reminding all who saw it the priorities that the Covenant placed on all its citizens.

Those priorities were still fresh in the minds of the Sangheili, placing them in a state of desperate nostalgia for the days of the Prophets. They had yet to accept that the Hiererarchs were gone and they were free to act as they wished.

“A problem for when we land.”, Thel thought, now gathering his resolve in order to meet with Usze Taham. Thel’s vision of Sangheilios required the aid of Humanity, and so long as Taham continued to dispute with him that aid would never come. Thel mentally prepared himself for a vicious debate, but one he knew he needed to win.

Thel sighed and left the meditation chamber, the door sliding closed behind him. He entered his main hall and stepped over to a combination lock hidden behind a model of a flood infector that had terrorized High Charity during the Great Schism. Entering a series of digits into the pad, he stepped back as his wall began to hiss and emit steam as two panels lifted forward and pulled off to the side, casting a bright white glow across the room. Thel stared as his armor from the Covenant floated forward on a stand, waiting for him to don the holy metal. With slight hesitation, Thel began to put on the undersuit, then the leg armor and the chest, before applying the plates to his arm and looking at himself in the reflection casted by the window overlooking Sangheilios. Seeing that everything was fitted correctly, he lifted the helmet off its plinth and stared at it with resolve, the bright light reflecting off of it nearly blinding him. He flipped it around and placed it upon his head, returning the armor stand to the wall from whence he came. Now donning his iconic Armor of the Arbiter, Thel stepped out of his quarters determined.

Usze would have his debate.

_________

Thel arrived at the Blademaster’s Yard after curfew, the darkened halls stretching out in a line save for one illuminated dueling ring in front of him, a lone Elite practicing inside. He stepped to the entrance, pausing in front of the door to watch.

The Elite stood alone against several training bots at once, standing his ground as they approached him, spindly arms brandishing energy swords and lances pointed at his neck, unmoving as they readied their blades.

As one bot swung a lance with little warning, the sizzling edge met only air as the lone warrior slipped under it with an elegant slide, carving his own blade into the bot’s violet metal chassis with a crackle. Auto-locking on their adversary with mechanical precision, the remaining two androids commenced their own attacks simultaneously, trying to pince their foe between their weapons.

But they never got the chance. The Elite sliced off the hand of the first bot, leaving it defenseless before grabbing the pole of the second’s lance and yanking it towards him with a tug. Sent off balance by its foe's tactic, the robot was pulled forward, leaving its back exposed for an impaling by the blade of one Usze ‘Taham.

Usze stood motionless, surrounded by the husks of his fallen foes, seemingly in a trance. His concentration was so far removed from him that the Arbiter’s entrance went unnoticed, at least until the Arbiter cleared his throat.

“Ah, Arbiter! I did not hear you enter!” Usze shouted with surprise, turning around with a jump.

“That much is apparent.”, Thel replied with barely concealed disgust. “You wanted to meet here, yet I find you preoccupied with your toys?”

“My apologies, Arbiter. I feared the message had not been delivered. Had I been warned of your approach you would have found me much more prepared.”

“I can only hope so. You mentioned a debate of some sort?”

Usze smiled.

“I did. I was hoping we could debate over a duel, if that could be arranged. I find I speak better with a blade to my neck.”

Thel stared back, emotionless.

“It would be my honor, Lord ‘Taham.”

The two took up positions at opposite ends of the dueling ring. After bows were exchanged and blades were ignited, the duel began.

“I’d like to ask you about your alliance with humanity, if I may.”

“Go ahead.” Thel said, keeping his eyes on his opponent.

“Will you share with them our technology?” Usze’s voice was cold, forceful. What little pleasantries he’d exchanged with the Arbiter had been extinguished when he activated his sword.

Thel waited for a moment before responding. “Of course, they are our allies.”

With a bellow, Usze lowered his torso and charged at the Arbiter, sword at the ready. Raising his own blade, the Arbiter began to stomp toward his foe, calm and collected as ever. As the Arbiter sprinted closer, he lept into the air, blade ready for a skyward blow. ‘Taham, thinking quickly, ducked under Thel’s legs, sliding under his attack with an elegant slide.

As Thel skidded to a halt, he turned around to see ‘Taham already off the ground, blade already lifted above his head. Without thinking, Thel lifted his own blade into his opponents’, causing a blinding light to explode out of a shower of sparks, dazzling both duelists and sending them stepping back. Despite Usze’s skill at fighting, it was Thel who recovered first.

Thel swung his blade violently at his foe, however Usze’s impaired vision had not impacted his reflexes and he lept back before Thel’s blade could touch his armor. Pacing back and forth once again, he began to mock the Arbiter’s alliance with Humanity.

“You would sacrifice our mellenia of knowledge and discoveries for a deal with savages who would not do the same for us?” Usze shouted, anger permeating every word he spoke.

“Our knowledge was granted to us by the Prophets, and they are lost to us. If we want the Sangheili to thrive, we must allow others to do the same.” Thel’s voice was emotionless, a stark contrast to Usze’s incurable rage.

What little rationality was left in Usze’s mind evaporated, a primal roar emanating from his maw as he lept a nearly impossible amount of distance, ready to deliver the final blow.

But he never got the chance. Thel stepped to the side as ‘Taham landed bewildered, unaware of the trap he’d just sprung. Still fueled by rage, he swung a final lunge at the Arbiter, aiming for the head. However, with an outstretched hand Thel grabbed Usze’s sword arm, halting the attack, then followed it up with a headbut before kicking ‘Taham’s knee, knocking him to the floor.

Defeated, Usze looked up to see Thel standing above him with a sword pointed at his neck.

“Speak.”

Usze hesitated for a moment before replying, “What little advantage we gain from the humans will be outweighed by assimilation the humans will force us into. One does not cure a broken finger by severing the arm.”

Thel pondered Usze’s words for a moment. “Tell me, Lord ‘Taham,” he asked. “If we were to find ourselves in a civil war, would I find you by my side, or your knife in my back?”

“I would not dream of betraying you, my lord.”

“Good.”

With that, Thel reached his arm out for Usze to grasp. Usze did so, and the two pulled him up off the ground. Thel pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

“You have made the right choice, Lord ‘Taham. Be grateful I do not kill you where you stand.”

And with that, the Arbiter silently left the dueling hall to return to his chambers. Left alone with his thoughts, Usze thought about how humanity had acted during the war, and how their methods left scars on the Sangheili to this day. Usze had beared witness to the effects of human weaponry, and the savagery they inflicted on their foes.

One memory from Harvest stood out to him, all the way when the war had started. Standing among the ruins of a human structure, he’d come across a lance of Unggoy that had been ambushed by a human flamethrower. Despite their lives being taken the moment the flames coated their body, their hides were still crackling from the intense heat, their flesh melted at points revealing the cooked insides of the unfortunate Grunts. One still crawled on the ground, barely alive but still clinging to life, suffering with every movement of its limbs.

It was more of a mercy kill than anything else.

Snapping back to reality, Usze found himself with new resolve. The Arbiter had not seen what Usze had seen. As Usze saw humanity’s brutality first hand, Thel had sat high above in his warships, oblivious to the fighting below. Usze had no doubt in his mind that the Arbiter’s vision for the Sangheili would only lead to ruin. He had to stop him before Sangheilios found itself engulfed in a civil war.

But how to start? Without the support of the Arbiter’s allies such an ideological revolution was impossible. And among the loudest of Thel ’Vadam’s supporters was N’tho S’raom. However, since N’tho was more of the scholarly type rather than a warrior, Usze was certain that it would be easy to show him the error of his ways. ‘Taham left the dueling ring at last, marching toward N’tho’s study with righteous purpose.

__________

His determination led him there quickly and without delay, the sliding doors locked to prevent anyone from accessing the knowledge inside without Lord S’raom’s permission. Taking a nervous breath in, Usze raised a fist and cautiously rapped twice on the metal doors. For a moment, the doors remained steadfast, unmoving. After a deafening silence however, they slid open with a pleasant chime, allowing Usze access to the secrets held within.

Stepping inside, the stifilingly close walls of the room astounded him. Bookshelves covered the walls, some nearly empty with their contents spewed across the floor. A massive window made up the far side of the room, overlooking Sanghelios below, illuminating the room with the help of a desk lamp on a reading desk to the left of the window. Facing it was a pair of couches on either side of a small table with a glass of liquor resting upon it. Usze was still gazing around the room when from some unseen entryway emerged N’tho S’raom, book in hand.

“Ah, Lord ‘Taham! Had I known you were visiting I would have tidied up a bit!” His voice was boisterous, carefree.

“It is no concern of mine. I hope I have not interrupted your studies?”

“Not at all! I needed a break anyway, Jiralhanae war poetry begins to grow weary on the soul.”

Usze felt a pang of anger at this supposed academic’s referral to the Brutes as Jiralhanae. To address one by their proper name was a sign of respect, why then did N’tho refer to the Sangheili’s sworn enemies by their respected name? Usze forced his anger elsewhere. It would have to wait.

“That sounds…”, he muttered through gritted teeth. “Enthralling.” He was lying of course, but he did not want to risk aggravating his host by insulting his interests.

“I assure you, it is not. Please, take a seat.” N’ tho gestured to the sofa facing the window, to which Usze obliged. N’tho sat upon the couch opposite him, pouring himself a drink from the bottle on the table.

“Would you like some, Lord ‘Taham?”

“No, thank you. I would like to discuss the current Arbiter with you, if I may.”

“Of course. What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Many things, but his alliance with humanity in particular.”

“Go ahead then.”

“As you know, the Arbiter and I have butted heads over his proposed strengthening of ties with humanity. He has advocated for an alliance, while I am more isolationist in my views.”

N’tho scoffed. “A grave understatement, but yes.”

“I’ve noticed you often take his side. May I ask why?”

“But of course. Over the past weeks I’ve studied humanity’s history closely, and one common thread I’ve seen is that after a war their economy prospers. If we help them recover, they may do the same to us.”

Usze was taken aback, widening his eyes in surprise. “Is that all?”He asked. “You wish to ally with the humans for their money?”

N’tho answered. “Not entirely, no. The humans have proven themselves to be capable fighters, as well as forgiving ones. We glassed so many of their worlds during the war, yet they stood by us when the Prophet’s treachery was realized.”

“We were the enemy of their enemy. Our alliance was based on circumstances and nothing more.”

“Perhaps, but why then have they not attacked us in our weakened state? Surely such a weakened foe would make easy prey.”

“That is because they are as weak as us, Lord S’raom. Another war would cause only death.”

“And thus we circle back to their upcoming economic prosperity. Though they are weak now, in but a year they will have quickly recovered from their wounds. We will stand little chance after that.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“Unless of course, we have an alliance. They would not betray us then, and perhaps they would loan us some of their wealth.”

Usze angrily stood up. “You assume the best of those savages.” He growled.

“Well yes, that is the job of a diplomat.” N’tho nonchalantly muttered.

“Then do not come whining to me when Sunaion is reduced to rubble by a single human bomb.”

“Let us worry about Bdaoro first. Ah, that reminds me: Lord ‘Vadum has asked for us

both to be alongside the Arbiter when he lands at Bdaoro tonight. What an honor.”

Usze stared down at N’tho with hatred in his eyes.

“You’d best get moving. I doubt our hosts would like to see you so enraged.”

Usze stomped out of the room. “This is not the last conversation we will have about this, Lord N’tho”

“I know.” S’raom replied as the door slammed shut.

“I am counting on it.”

#halo #fanfiction #thel vadam #the arbiter #shipmaster #rtas vadum #usze taham #ntho sraom #halo elites #sangheili #halo fanfic

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inventedfangirling · 1 year ago

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PatPran & the Bet Era™

A week ago Bad Buddy PatPran Bet Era discourse started heating up again and i thought i should finally try to put to words my unending (that's in BOLD so you know what to expect :3) all consuming thoughts about this most brilliant, jam-packed with funny, heartfelt and equally wholesome moments of an episode- episode 7, an episode that I have watched a minimum of 14 times in the past 2 months and so yes finally, here I am, let's go.

Before anything else though I first want to scream about something i realized while writing this post which is that episode 7/ bet era is probably THE ONLY time in the whole show where PatPran truly and completely enjoyed having and keeping their secret. Like they were truly thriving off of the fun they were having at the expense of and with the other. And keeping it hidden only added to that experience.

With the whole world oblivious to what's going on between them, the secret is undemanding, mostly easy and even fun to keep cos the bet was for them and just for them...

...unlike a relationship which they would want to experience around other people too.

But for an episode that leaves you with so many good feelings (after the first watch) it is quite easy to forget just how much it took to get to that ending. Episode 7 Pran still had his reservations about their possible relationship and he still had to work through years and years of repression and trauma. Episode 7 Pat too was not always in the best frame of mind, because while all else was said and done they were still in an in-between, unlabeled, unprecedented and unfamiliar space in their dynamic. One that a simple uncomplicated guy like Pat would loathe to continue to stay in. And yet for an episode set on such an underlying premise for the most part they made this liminal space appear as such a fun, warm, wholesome and enjoyable place to be in that there are times when we forget the shakiness of the foundation of it all -> A still undefined rival-turned-friend-situation-ship.

And in the light of this, episode 7 can easily be seen as a microcosm of their incredibly layered relationship and the show as such and when packaged in such an attractive, intriguing, exciting, seldom seen set-up (that was designed to subvert years of terrible tropes in the industry) who wouldn't sign tf up for it. If i could live in an episode of the show, it'd most probably be episode 7. If i was asked to name an episode to rewatch forever it would be episode 7. If asked to write endlessly on my thoughts about the show again it would be episode 7 that would take a substantial part of it cos i just love it that much.

Here's some secret footage of Pran feeling all warm and fuzzy over thoughts of him and Pat me any time i think about episode 7.

Alright now actually getting into the episode, we know that Pran was still deciding when and how exactly to progress with his now reciprocated feelings for Pat yes, but he was also finally getting a space to express his long held affection for Pat without having to pretend otherwise.

Without rolling his eyes and "reluctantly" letting him in. Without pretending to scold him for "stealing" his breakfast when he had in fact made it for Pat himself. Without stopping himself from getting closer. Without the numerous restrictions he had placed on himself, the bet era finally gave Pran space to care for Pat openly but also unleashed the romantic in him (not that i'm ignoring the fact that Pran wrote a whole song about Pat in high school, but you geddit).

And eventhough none of his schemes to make Pat confess worked, (Pat confessed on his own like he would have on the first day of the bet if Pran had allowed him to talk about it), the baby steps he was taking was crucial for laying the base for their eventual relationship, but also for Pran as an individual making significant strides in learning to be vulnerable and more open.

It not only gave Pran opportunities to try out a lot of things, helping him figure out along the way what Pat likes and what he doesn't, and what Pran himself would like to do to and with him, things that a younger Pran would have died to have gotten the opportunity to do with Pat- the cooking, the feeding, the prolonged charged eye contact, the physical proximity (and I will never stop being devastated but also delighted over the fact that baby gay pran would be thinking that he's dreaming if he could see his future) but also of course the bet gave Pran time to process his own issues while it operated on the familiar turf of competition, with his fav and only rival and boy, and allowed him freedom to think and act in ways he wouldn't have earlier.

The seeds to Pran's "being with you already feels like freedom" to Pat in episode 11, were sown right here in this very episode. What he learnt and absorbed during this time expanded his field of vision regarding the possibilities of his own life and the power he had over his own choices, broadened his emotional horizons and quite literally opened his heart.

While earlier the dark shadow of his closed off heart would loom large over his face each time his feelings surfaced...

....post bet era Pran's face could fuel a couple of hundred thousand solar panels.

Pre-bet Pran loved Pat of course. But the feelings of love that bet era and post bet era Pran exude, is of a wholly different texture. It's borne of a more layered, luminous sort of love. The one that gets to be expressed and is reciprocated. And you observe the look of love on his face and its is as if he glows from inside out.

It's based on the foundation of reciprocation and therefore no longer something that needs to be hidden from the receiver, but it's also as if he learnt to love in a different way, like he learnt that he could love this way too, that he could make use of his heart this way too. Post bet era Pran's love just flows out of him in waves, nice and easy, minimal repression and none of the doubt that accompanied it earlier.

And at this point I can't not mention the swagger that Pran gains post Pat's episode 6 reveal (that he didn't have feelings for ink), finally secure in the knowledge that Pat really feels the same love that he feels for the other, his whole demeanor changes and its something that just hits you immediately.

The assurance and confidence of reciprocation in his face, contrasting with the hesitation and doubt each time he allowed himself to feel pre-bet (as if each time he is looking at Pat 'loving you is a losing game' plays in the background) is just remarkable. And that confidence just increases each episode and i was LIVING for it.

And again, back to episode 7 and my point which is that Pran has loved Pat for years and years by then but all that time his love was something to hide, his heart was closed off and barred from any encroachment no matter how ineffective it was against Pat. It was the bet era that allowed Pran's heart to undergo a renewal, a second coming, a rebirth so to say, of a heart that is no longer so boarded up and closed off, a heart with a lot more windows and a few more better oiled doors and a heart that most importantly Pran would eventually, wholeheartedly hand Pat the keys to.

In many ways we can see Pran's growth beyond this episode, from the "I care about you more" to the "I came quickly because i was worried about you" to "how can i stop if i think of it like that" to the brave way he stands up to both Ming & Dissaya all of it in the span of a few weeks, all of it as borne from the lessons he learnt during the bet era.

Pat also went through his own growth during this time. I have already talked a bit about the episode focusing on Pat's side of the things here. While not as evident as Pran's growth was during this episode (but only because we see him transform more gradually over the course of the first few episodes itself) Pat also learns to use his heart in newer ways that veered off a bit from how he had pre bet era. For the most part though the bet was more of a fun thing for him than it was for Pran for whose sake Pat even agreed to this in the first place.

And so while Pran tries to make Pat confess, Pat defers the confession because he knows that Pran needs more time, and Pat takes to that reality and adapts to it so beautifully, with such wisdom that's so above and beyond what could be expected from a 19-20 year old man, the thought of it still takes my breath away and turns me into a puddle.

Just look at just how careful and gentle Pat is with Pran. And think of how much he has grown and how much he will grow from here. Think of Pat as a child telling Pran to not talk to him in front of people cos "they will think we're buddies". And then years later (in episode 8 and beyond) think of him wishing wishing oh so desperately to proclaim his love for Pran out to the world, for Pran to let him do that, to claim their relationship and celebrate their love. I WILL NOT BE OVER THIS. Or anything in this episode/show actually. Cos it really is that special. Episode 7 Pat my beloved did that.

That being said, it ofc wouldn't have been all easy and he would have had his share of upsets. The confusion, the lack of clarity, the staying in the limbo, the lack of any tangible progress could all have deterred him. There is also the fact that Pat doesn't strike you as a patient guy. He is the first born male child in a patriarchal asian household having been pampered as a result of this his whole life. His every whim and wish probably granted within days. And yet for the bet, for their relationship, for Pran he learns to be patient. He learns to bide his time. He learns to not immediately take action without thinking (the time he silently walks away from Pran's room post Wai's guitar return, he could have said some hurtful things, but he didn't, he bit his tongue, kept quiet and moved on).

{I am totally in the camp of "we should have gotten a 'how could you give it away Pran?' conversation after this scene but i also understand why it didn't happen}

Over the course of the episode and his time with Pran in general, right from the beginning Pat steadily starts learning to put the other person first. To cater to people around him and not for them to cater to him, always. We see this transformation begin in episode 3 itself when Pat just goes out of his way (multiple times) to help Pran out, but that is at least partly in due to his new found need to be around Pran (courtesy his crush that he is still not aware of) and not as much a conscious effort to be better. Although ofc that is there too. His transformation from entitled boy in the episode 1 family lunch scene to the considerate helpful man in the finale family dinner scene is so stark you might think they're two different people, and a lot of that growth is owed to what he learnt and unlearned while he was falling in love with Pran.

He learns to read Pran. The feelings that won't be uttered with words, but the ones he'd have to pry out from his eyes. And he does all of that while still being respectful of any boundaries that Pran may have, while also testing the waters to come closer.

I know i've used gifs from this face cleaning scene thrice already but i just love it so much?? I love how it might look like just a fluffy scene but the layers?? Just how deep and meaningful and just full of substance it is??? I might need to write a whole essay for that itself. And also when you think about it what i said about this scene could literally be said about bad buddy (and the whole of episode 7 for that matter). With an uncritical eye you can watch it as the beautifully executed romance(cute fluffy episode) that it is. But when you unearth the layers whoa boy thats where the real beauty of the show (episode) comes out. But also this is extra special because this is the first scene where we get to see Pran completely softening when Pat tends to him. His adoring melting puddle looks reserved usually for when Pat's attention isn't entirely on him. But this time he lets himself be softened. Lets himself feel. Lets himself be babied. And even if non verbally he lets himself express, agreeing to move closer and tracing hearts on Pat's face. It is more than just a cute moment, it's a small declaration of faith. Among the first in a long series of declarations of faith that led to the ending we ended up loving.

So yes, Pat was learning to use his heart in a different way too, to love in quieter more mundane yet still special ways, but also learning to respond to Pran's emotions, and the repressed ways he sometimes continued to express his feelings, he learnt to read between the lines, not jump to hasty conclusions he would have done earlier and was thus steadily progressing into the partner that Pran could trust his heart with always.

Episode 7 shows us how patpran changed and molded themselves in various ways to fit into the other, but it also shows how they change to accommodate not just the other, but also the world. Not in a compromising way, but in a way that allows them to function in it more effectively and later on in the fake break up era, diabolically using it to pull wool over the eyes of anybody who threatens their peace.

Also i wont go into it in detail here but it is entirely possible that Pat was going through a spiral of his own issues during this time because of worries fueled by insecurities due to the fragile nature of their relationship at that point and the lack of certainty in the situation like I talk about here, but even if he was feeling all of that, even in that in-between state of limbo Pat had tons and tons of fun teasing Pran and trying to outdo him each time and we know that his cheery exterior which he may have put forward occasionally to keep it light for pran wasn't just for show, he really did enjoy the whole push-pull thing they had got going on, his smiles popping out when alone too.

I mean look at his delight each time one of their(Pran's) plans to outwit the other fails.

The bet era was without a doubt a VERY fun time for both of them (and for all of us watching) the flirting, the teasing, the act of courting one another, the familiar feeling of competition and the easy sense of play that pervades their interactions during that period....

...everything, everything, everything was just * chef's kiss *.

And also I still can't get over the fact that it's the only time the secret is theirs and only theirs and they have THE BEST TIME keeping it.

And also if Pran was able to shed his loving you is a losing game attitude to finally accept the love that Pat offered, it was possible in no small amount due to Pat's willingness to lose to Pran over and over again if that meant he was happy. And Pran having had to harbour a long drawn painful unrequited love for years and years, used to all the repression and self denial, he really needed that assurance, that dependability. And Pat readily gave it to him because that's just the way he loved. Fully, freely and fiercely. And you won't ever catch me feeling normal about any of that ever.

And also speaking of things i wont be normal about that scene at the end when Pat arrives to save the day and all eyes are on him and the flashback to Pat's audition with his callback to their rooftop conversation and Pran's 'fuck i love him so much i can't believe he's doing this here' face oozing pure love and then present PatPran exuding the sun looking at eo, with Forever May playing in the background, that scene? That scene is everything to me. I will die for that scene.

So to recap, Pat flexed his emotional intelligence muscles and his literal actual muscles and learnt to be more patient than he had ever been his whole life, meanwhile Pran got to flex his flirting skills, looming skills all while he learnt to let go, express and be more vulnerable.

And also not to forget that apart from all the space for growth that the bet provided patpran it also allowed them to indulge in their love for shenanigans and roleplaying that continues well into their relationship even years later, more on that in the ever amazing miscellar's post here . There are so many more posts of their's and a buncha other accounts i really want to reference but then we'd be here for days if not weeks and so i wont :3

And also I can't not take a second to mention just how wonderful it was that throughout this episode we see the seeds being sown of all the ways they and their relationship would grow, and especially when it came to consent and boundaries. Just how equal their relationship is. How they're always, always meeting in the middle.

No interaction, nothing is initiated without knowing what the other wouldn't want. And of course both PatPran were being respectful of each other's non existent boundaries with eo, they were all up in each other's faces but you just know that if one of them expressed actual discomfort the other would step away immediately.

And thats just so so rare not only in dramas but also real life and i love them so much for it.

Episode 7 showed us not only how patpran became better partners to eo but also better human beings as such, their influence on one another so evident, molding them on a fundamental level into better versions of themselves. Pran who gifts a bottle of liquor (to the man who ruined the better part of his & his mother's life) as a peace offering but also as a sort of pre-engagement ritual, choosing to open up, to be vulnerable, to love more loudly, being a more well adjusted adult and he did it for Pat, because of the lessons he learnt from Pat. And Pat who learns to read between the lines, who recognizes the value of gestures that might appear small but aren't, offering to wash dishes, serving food to his sister and in general taking responsibility and also the importance of order and routine to contribute to society and just be a well functional adult, and he learnt it in no small amount from being inspired from the man he loves, from Pran.

But all of that of course is in full splendor only after the time skip. That being said Episode 8 that comes immediately after this episode shows PatPran taking the lessons they started learning in episode 7 and putting it into effect with them openly communicating, asserting their needs but also compromising their wants for each other and illustrated exactly how and why they work together so well, why this isn't the product of a childish bet but a very serious relationship into which a lot of thought and effort has gone into.

A relationship based on the softest, kindest, most tender (but also often, feral) forms of love even in the more hostile of circumstances. There's a saying in my mother tongue that "What's born in the fire, won't wilt in the sunlight." And that to me perfectly captures PatPran's resilience despite their obstacles. Ming & Dissaya & the Architecture-Engineering rivalry and whatever other hurdles stood in their way never really stood a chance against their love.

TLDR; The bet era played an irreplaceable role in their lives helping PatPran pick up and refine the tools that were going to prove invaluable in their eventual relationship with each other but also with their relationships with everybody else around, but they did that while having (for the most part) the time of their lives where for the first time since they realized their feelings they were getting to act on it, each attempt at getting the other to confess a declaration of their own love, without the pressure of a relationship and...and despite whatever anxieties or worries they may have had during this time, we also can't forget that it ended up in the biggest most content whipped in love smiles known to humankind and a relationship for the ages <3

The work they put in this episode thus laid the foundation for the rest of their relationship and their lives and I'm so glad it worked out in the best way for both of them, that they worked for that together and even more that they grew up and beyond the versions of them that got together and then stayed together as the better versions that they made together.

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dragonflight203 · 7 months ago

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Mass Effect 2 replay, recruiting Tali:

Illium

-Salarian reproductive contracts are interesting. Good call on Bioware’s part that an asexual species would be pragmatic in reproduction. Of course it’s centered around politics.

-With that said, why did the salarian have his family’s reproduction information in Nassana’s building anyway?

He said that he had just had it restored after a tech attack. Nassan’s buildings are under construction, so I presume the restore did not occur there.

Ergo, he was most likely a worker for Nassana. Considering that the data is vital to his family, why did he take it to work???

-Seryna’s moved on, but left behind a message for you. What’s odd is that the option to delete the message is on the left side of the dialogue wheel, but listening to it is on the right.

The left side of the dialogue wheel is normally for extending conversations. So why have delete on the left?

For that matter, why have the option to delete it at all? Why not just have the option be to listen to it or not?

-Also, this message just once again makes Nassana’s death sound personal to Seryna. Why does Seryna hate her so much? This hatred is too intense for your average shitty boss.

It feels like Seryna’s role was initially different, and the rewrite is why so much around her is odd.

Haestrom

-Going by the planet description, the quarians specifically settled this world to observe the odd behavior of its sun.

So I take it that quarians have always been scientifically inclined. They didn’t just observe it via ships, they settled an entire colony. Not a small investment.

-This is the only quarian architecture we see in the series, and it’s a massive disappointment. It’s just numerous concrete buildings. No interesting shapes, no decorative art, no unique interiors.

Unless the takeway is supposed to be that the quarians are a strictly utilitarian species, this is missed opportunity.

Bioware, please at least try.

-It’s interesting to consider this mission from the geth perspective. They presumably don’t know why the quarians are here, and probably assume they’re scouting the world with plans to retake it. So the geth’s actions are defensive – they’re protecting their home from invaders.

Except, why Haestrom? It’s said repeatedly that Haestrom is deep in geth space. The geth must be so baffled – why are the quarians here and not making a grab at one of the outer worlds or Rannoch?

Then Shepard shows up. Shepard, who Legion is supposed to be keeping an eye on. What is that independent platform doing??? Why didn’t they warn the geth collective that Shepard was coming?

And, well, the geth don’t want to kill Shepard because Shepard is opposed to the Old Machines, but like every organic ever Shepard is shooting them so they need to take Shepard out to defend themselves.

Except, oops, that didn’t work.

And then… the quarians and Shepard pack up and leave.

Do the geth ever learn why the quarians were there? Do they send reinforcements to Haestrom expecting the quarians to make an attempt to retake it?

The geth already consider organics baffling. I’m sure this did not help.

-When you first speak to Kal’Reegar, the renegade subtitles don’t match the spoken dialogue. What caused that difference?

-The geth dragging itself along the floor when you make it past the pillar is sad. And no one even mentions it.

I’m assuming that there are servers on Haestrom so none of the geth truly “die”, but that was still a pitiful sight.

-Why are Tali’s journals scattered all over the place?

Yes, this area was quarian’s base but these logs seem like something that would be stored on omni-tool. Instead Tali’s just… leaving laptops scattered around for no explicable reason. Why does she have multiple laptops?

And they’re not set to autolock after a period of inactivity. Considering that this is a geth-controlled world, you’d think all the tech devices would be set as secure as possible. Maybe to auto wipe if there are too many failed access attempts.

I take it all back. Clearly, the geth learned what was up by just listening to the logs on these laptops.

-Tali specifically asks Shepard to keep “Reegar” alive. Not Kal’Reegar, Reegar.

The two must be close. I would have liked them to get together if you don’t romance Tali.

-And here’s yet another mention of dark energy. It’s destabilizing the world’s sun.

If ME3 had done anything with dark energy, this would have been fantastic foreshadowing.

Instead, it’s one of the most frequently mentioned dropped plot threads I hear about for the series.

Another prime example of how ME3 chose to make ME2 irrelevant. ME2 provided plenty of plot hooks for ME3 – ME3 just disregarded all of it.

Normandy

-Tali assumed Shepard was undercover and is upset to learn they’re not.

Me too, Tali. Would it have killed Bioware to have that as option? Meet Anderson, he tells you to stick with Cerberus and report to him on all you learn?

-She also mentions the experiments Cerberus did with the thorian creepers rachni.

That is such a relief to hear. The first part of ME2 is full of Cerberus apologism, but the cracks start to show the further you go in the game.

Unfortunately, that apologism is so extended (and out of character for many Shepards!) that this criticism comes too late for me to ever feel comfortable when I start another ME2 playthrough.

-If you go paragon, Shepard says they want Tali because Tali is not Cerberus – they want someone they can trust.

This is similar to what they tell Garrus when Garrus is recruited. Shepard is much less comfortable with Cerberus than they let on at the start of the game.

-Jacob’s actually pretty professional through this exchange. Tali makes it very clear she does not like Cerberus, and Jacob acknowledges that she has reason not to and hopes that will change with time. If you go paragon, he offers to get her access to the ship systems.

The infamous exchange when he tells her to introduce herself to Edi does not come off as malicious to me. It’s said in the same tone that he says everything else, and Tali should know the ship has an AI before she leaves. Given the history of quarians with AI, that’s something Shepard should have told her before she agreed to the mission.

For comparison, Jacob can do malice – he was intentionally insulting to Thane when he said he doesn’t trust mercenaries. At worst, his comment to Tali about Edi was thoughtless in its delivery.

Normandy

-The quarian Admiral Board emails Shepard to let them know Tali has officially transferred to their command.

They note that as Shepard is Tali’s former captain, they may have significant influence over her.

Good to see at least one organization in Mass Effect acknowledge the concept of power imbalances.

-Another use of the “just like old times” line comes from Joker. I did not realize just how many times this phrase was used in the series.

Joker: It’s great to see Tali onboard, commander. Just like old times.

-Thane made his first kill at 12. That’s fucked up.

The drell live into their 80s, so I’m assuming their 12 is comparable to a human 12.

As much as Thane says the hanar valued him as a person as well as an investment, they did not value him enough. The compact’s been in place for two centuries; they can’t be so hard up on personnel that they need a 12 year old to go out killing.

And if they are so hard up – maybe the hanar should reconsider what they’re asking from the drell? If what they’re asking is reasonable, why can they find so few drell willing to give it?

-Supposedly anyone can refuse to serve the hanar as part of the compact.

However, Thane started his training at six. Can a six year old really consent?

You can say his parents consented for him. Fine. However, Thane made his first kill at twelve.

Can a twelve year old consent? Is becoming a murderer something your parent can consent to on your behalf?

There was some abuse going on. Only question is if this particular hanar was shady or if it’s institutional.

-Thane emphasizes that the hanar are at a disadvantage because they’re aquatic.

On the surface, that makes sense. The other sapient species are land animals, so the hanar are quite literally fish out of water in society.

However, you know what other space faring species is aquatic?

The leviathans. And they ruled the galaxy for a damn long time. So how did they pull it off, and what do they have that the hanar don’t?

Well, besides some form of indoctrination… I’ll give that to the hanar, mind control is a huge advantage.

Still, the hanar could probably take some lessons from the leviathans on how to get by.

-Tali repeats what’s said frequently through her recruitment mission: Getting the data was a huge sacrifice, and it had better be worth it.

And it’s a damn shame, because in game it’s not. The data makes no difference at all. You don’t even get war assets from it.

This was such a huge missed opportunity in ME3.

-The first investigate option with Tali is to explain what the admiralty board is. It mentions that they deal with major crimes, like treason.

Good to see Bioware laying the groundwork for Tali’s loyalty mission early, if a bit clunkily. ME3, take notes. Foreshadowing is good!

-Love Tali calling bullshit if Shepard says Cerberus is working for them. Explain those listening devices and tracking beacons, then!

Tali has a zero tolerance policy for Cerberus, and she has my full support.

-We finally get some background on the quarian/Cerberus beef, and it is woefully insufficient. And probably long after most players have forgotten it was ever mentioned.

I maintain they could have added a Codex entry for a more detailed explanation.

-If you go paragon, Shepard says they expect Cerberus to betray them. If you go neutral or renegade, Tali warns you that Cerberus will betray you.

The writers upped their game with Tali. Everyone else is getting character focused writing, but Tali’s out here with character AND plot development in her dialogue.

-If you go renegade with Grunt, you can skip getting his loyalty mission entirely. Interesting – if I recall correctly, doing so with others still gives you the mission.

-Prior to puberty, Grunt enjoyed violence but did not feel the need for it.

Now that he’s hit puberty, he apparently craves it.

And krogans… never lose that. They just learn to direct it. However, older krogan generally seem far more chill.

If this is triggered by puberty, I like to think that it’s hormonally driven. Krogan hormones go wild in puberty, and it makes them excessively violent. As their hormones settle down, they mellow out.

-Krogans don’t trust doctors after the genophage.

Reasonable. Look at what Mordin gets up to. If that were my experience with doctors, I’d let them know the bare minimum too.

Although realistically speaking, the salarians undoubtedly have all the information they learned prior to the krogan rebellions backed up in multiple locations.

-If you go neutral, Grunt says that the krogan doctors don’t leave Tuchanka.

Again, reasonable. Still, given that most krogans offworld are mercenaries, I’m sure krogan doctors offworld could find employment.

Codex:

-The fate of the drell’s homeworld Rakhana has obvious parallels to Earth. Industrialization led to environment issues which eventually resulted in it being unable to support the drell.

When you speak to Thane, he implies that humanity was close to the same fate, but since they achieved spaceflight they were able to create colonies and narrowly avoid it.

-Many high ranking hanar are supposedly inseparable from their drell servants. I presume this is a retcon, as we see many hanar on the presidium in ME1 but no drell.

-Interestingly, I don’t recall seeing any hanar and drell together in ME3 either. We see a lot of the presidium and Citadel night life, so you’d think there could be a pair or two in the background.

-Do the hanar not have any colonies? All references to them are them being on their homeworld, Kahje. Drell are supposedly there or integrated into the society of other species.

If they don’t have colonies, why not? There must be some worlds out there with oceans that meet their needs.

Do they not have enough political capital? The elcor are minor, but they have colonies. Is it a religious thing? I presume some hanar live on the Citadel.

-If the hanar don’t have colonies, I think it’s safe to say the drell don’t. Which is a shame, because even one would probably make a huge difference to their future.

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #mass effect 2 replay

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fenharel-enaste · 2 years ago

Text

Aftermath || Elendil x Reader

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Summary: You discover your lover Elendil has been injured during the battle in the Southlands and you rush up to heal him.

Content: Angst (reader gets anxious about losing Elendil in battle), descriptions of battle, minor injuries, so much comfort, fluff, lots of kisses, cheesy lines (yes this is a warning), they're so in love ok??

Word count: 2.2k

Requested by: @aamon47 Thank you so much baby! 💖💖 (And sorry for the 2 months delay omg 😂)

Notes: I know this is Moments Before Disaster, but you will be okay don't worry. I know it because it's my fic and I say so ✨

It’s also on AO3!

You remember the moment Elendil asked you not to accompany him - you were a citizen of Númenor too! You were no different from the rest.

“It’s been hard enough to accept that Isildur's enlisting. The thought of possibly losing you too... it's unbearable. I'm not going through that again.” You felt his words sharp like a knife as you realised what he was trying to say. But you couldn’t just stay ashore and do nothing. You'd been thinking about it for days and had already made up your mind.

“I understand, my love, but that’s not your decision.” You explained with a soft voice as you cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Yes, it is, in fact. Remember that as captain of the expedition, I am the one deciding who goes on the ships. I could prevent both of you from going on board.” There was determination in his eyes, but also fear and despair. He was conflicted, for he’d like nothing more than to fulfill any of your wishes.

“But you won’t.” You knew he wouldn’t, and he knew it too. He was not unaware that you both shared that same sense of duty. He couldn't take that away from you. “I know I've never wielded a sword; I'm not asking you to bring me to the battlefield, but I can help in many other ways. Let me watch over you. Please.” You pleaded, looking deeply into his eyes. He let out a resigned sigh and nodded as he held your face in his hands.

“Isildur will be in the rearguard with the queen. And you will help at the outpost, we still need people there. Don't come out until the battle is over, understood?” He was pleading you with his voice. You knew this wasn’t easy for him, so you accept what he asks of you. And he presses a kiss to your lips, holding you so tight against him that he leaves you breathless, not wanting to let you go.

***********

Today is the day you finally reach the western coast of Middle-Earth, but when you arrive in the Southlands, you’re informed that the enemy is even more numerous than you had anticipated. You're scared to death, more for Elendil than for yourself, but the words of reassurance coming from his lips as they tenderly kiss yours restore your courage. In this moment, you can truly understand why his men would be willing to follow him anywhere, as you would as well.

You take up your position at the outpost you were assigned at, where a few more soldiers are stationed in case reinforcements are needed, but it is mainly set up as an improvised medical post. It's not too far from the battle, in order to allow the wounded to reach it as soon as possible. It is there where you kiss Elendil goodbye tenderly, imploring him with your eyes to return safely, as you did every time you bid him farewell when he had to set sail on sea guard matters. But this mission was far more dangerous.

The waiting takes an eternity. You try to distract yourself by organising supplies, but the sounds from the fighting can be heard as if it were only a few yards away. The clashing of swords, the cries of both soldiers and villagers fearing for their lives, the erratic galloping of horses, everything is a piercing noise in your ears. You had heard stories from soldiers about war, how it is life-long scarring, but you never thought it would be so unbearably overwhelming.

You even feel like you could smell death.

You can only think of Elendil in the midst of that turmoil, wondering if he was still unharmed... still alive. You feel a pressure on your chest that grows heavier and heavier, almost keeping you from breathing. Isildur is also there with his father, what if something happened to him as well?

You are not able to think clearly, you're already wearing the light armour Elendil had made you promise to wear, so all you have to do is grab a sword from the small armoury before you turn your back on the post and head for the battlefield. However, you feel a tight grip on your arm before you can walk too far away.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re going to get yourself killed!” It's the voice of one of the soldiers who were to remain at the outpost in case the first group called for reinforcements.

You want to answer back, to explain you had to go and make sure your loved ones were safe, but the words fail to leave your lips. Yet the soldier seems to read your thoughts.

“You’re one of the very few healers we have. You won’t be able to help them if you’re dead.” And those were the words that made you come to your senses. He was absolutely right; you'll certainly get killed if you go alone and with no orders. You suddenly feel stupid for acting so recklessly. You nod to the young soldier, who sits down at your side and converses with you to keep you company during the long wait.

They make you laugh telling you about that time they were so embarrassed about screwing up during training that they didn't show up for days. You're so immersed in the conversation that you didn't notice the noises of the battlefield had ceased several minutes ago. You hear the trot of a few horses and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see Elendil and a few other riders approaching the outpost. You can't hide your smile as you rush to your feet and run to him. Your heart is racing, but your chest feels lighter than ever as you get rid of the crushing weight you felt on it seconds ago. He was safe. Your man truly has the favour of the Valar.

The way Elendil looks at you when he gets off his horse is the same as when he saw you for the first time, like you were the most beautiful star in the night sky, unable to take his eyes away from you. He welcomes you in his arms and crushes his lips against yours. No words are needed to tell each other what you feel right now, just touches, kisses and relieved smiles.

However, when you lower your arm to wrap it around his side, the captain winces slightly, breaking your embrace. “What’s wrong, love?” You ask worriedly and look down to see Elendil's hand on the spot you had just brushed with your arm. “By the gods, Elendil, are you hurt?” Too many thoughts flood your mind once again and the unease returns. You rush to guide him to the post infirmary.

Elendil follows your lead, but notices your concern and makes sure to reassure you. “Oh, I’m alright, my heart, it’s just a scratch, I've had worse than this.” You believe him, but you're there precisely to treat any injuries he or any other soldier might have, his wellbeing is your responsibility now. You lead him to a bench for him to sit down and then help him take off his armour, and that's when you see it. It's not a deep wound, more like a huge, swollen bruise that covers most of his side. It wasn't that serious, but it was going to hurt him for a while.

“How did this happen?” You ask him as you bring some ointments to the table and take a sit next to him.

“I fell...” Elendil grunts as he tries to hide a pained expression when you brush your fingers gently across his punished flesh. You raise your head to stare at him in disbelief. People don't get bruises like that one just by falling. And the captain sighs deeply.

“From the horse.” You widen your eyes in horror, “Oh gods, Elendil...” You know a fall from a horse mid-battle was very likely to be deadly, for a number of reasons. You can feel your breathing quicken, and you find it more and more difficult to stay focused on the task at hand. You cannot stop thinking that you truly could have lost him, you could have lost him and you would have stood there and done absolutely nothing to protect him.

You are not aware of how erratic and uncontrolled your breathing is, nor of your tears running down your cheeks until you feel Elendil's warm hands on your face. He makes you meet his eyes as he gently wipes away your tears.

“I’m here, my love, look at me... I’m here, alright? I’m here with you now.” He soothes you with a hushed voice before placing tender kisses on your trembling lips and cheeks. “I’m alright, my stars.” And he holds you tight against him, resting your head on his chest, allowing you to hear his heartbeat, the proof that he was there with you, safe. “How could I die, my love, knowing that my heart would cease beating for you?” You feel the warmth of his words run through your body and your mind slowly quiets, your breathing decelerating, until you feel only him and his heartbeat. He really is there beside you. And you feel soothed enough to speak.

“I was so scared, I couldn't stop thinking about you there, not knowing if you were hurt, if you were...” Elendil then lifts your face to interrupt you with his lips before allowing you to finish your sentence, reassuring you once again.

“Do you understand now why I was reluctant to have you here? To have you in such a distressing position?” He asks leaning his forehead against yours, your noses nuzzling delicately against each other as he strokes your hair with his hands. “But still, I’m deeply grateful to have you here with me. I can't possibly think of anyone better than you to mend my wounds, my love.”

A chuckle escapes your lips at his words, he’s always trying to make you feel better about yourself. “You know I'm not exactly the best healer you can find, I've only done this a few times before.”

“You’ve healed me many times, my stars.” You lover says with the sweetest smile on his face. You don’t quite understand his question...

“When... I don’t...?” And you feel your words of puzzlement vanish into thin air as Elendil runs his fingers across your cheek, brushing a strand of hair away from your still tear-stained face.

“You have.” He assures you with loving eyes, as if it were just the two of you in that post, his gaze filled with something you can only describe as devotion. And then you understand what he means to tell you. Tears well up in your eyes again, this time due to a very different emotion, and you kiss him one more time with a wide smile on your face.

You can't break away from each other, completely oblivious to who might be looking, it didn't matter at all. The only thing that mattered was that you were back in each other's arms, enjoying every caress, scent and taste. You barely notice when a shy voice interrupts your moment.

“Ahem... captain?”

“What is it?” Elendil inquires with annoyance in his voice after being forced to break from the kiss. But his expression softens when he recognises the speaker. You know them too, they're the young soldier who conversed with you earlier, making you forget just for a little while where you were and taking your thoughts away from the horrors of the battle.

“It is the queen, my captain, she requires your presence.” The soldier replies in a quavering voice. Elendil is a well-loved captain, but you're aware he can also be quite intimidating sometimes.

Elendil nods and the soldier turns away hastily. “Soldier.” He calls out before they walk away and they stop to look back at the captain. “Thank you for staying and keeping her safe, I truly appreciate it.” He declares with a grateful smile. And the young soldier returns the smile before going back to their duties “A pleasure, captain.”

You then give Elendil a questioning look after listening to the exchange. How did he know...? “You told them to look after me?”

“Of course, my love.” Your lover cups your face in his hands and places a tender kiss on your forehead. “You didn't think I was leaving you here alone and unprotected, did you?” And you almost throw yourself into his arms again, but then you remember the bruise on his side and restrain yourself.

“I really should bandage that, otherwise it will hurt when you wear your armour.” You say before standing up to reach for some bandages, but the captain pulls you down to sit on his lap. “I’ll let you do that, my sweet lady, but I’m afraid my lips also need some healing, don’t you think?” You giggle at his words. You can't believe how lucky you are to be so loved by him. You would be more than willing to heal his lips every day for the rest of your life.

Tagging:@starlady66 , @grinkitty, @wint3r-h3art 💖

#elendil #elendilf #elendil x reader #elendil fanfic #x reader #the rings of power

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