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ask-iamnotanalicorn · 4 years

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Previous: The Tirek Timeline

The Discorded Timeline

The new Element bearers had not appeared. With nothing to fall back on, Celestia went to face the return of her sister armed only with her determination and desperation. With the knowledge that anything other than subduing her sister would result in Luna’s death or her ponies’ enslavement, Celestia fought with all her heart.

A thousand years hadn’t tempered Nightmare Moon’s madness, but it had grown Celestia’s magical skill. The clash of the last remaining alicorns filled the sky with light and darkness that could be seen across the entire country... including from the gardens of the castle in Canterlot, where a long-dormant statue waited.

If Celestia had known the danger... if she had known that the Tree of Harmony had grown weaker over a thousand years... if she had known that the Element magic used to imprison Discord was weakened with it, and he only needed one significant bit of discord to break the last lock on his prison... she might have preferred allowing Nightmare Moon to take the throne.

Because two alicorn sisters displaying their ground-shattering discord across the skies was more than enough.

Discord caught them mid-battle...and was honestly kinda irritated to find them more focused on fighting each other than challenging him. He couldn’t even set up a good game for them to lose at before he took over! He’d just have to fix that with a bit of chaos magic. A quick boop to the heads, and... well, things didn’t turn out quite like he expected. Celestia became haughty, snide, and violent, but Luna changed out of her (decidedly tacky, but what could you expect from pony fashion) goth look and turned all nice and weirdly remorseful. Luna tried to appeal to her sister, Celestia (who now had an interesting tinge of fire in her mane) unleashed some demeaning verbal attacks, and pretty soon it looked like they were gearing up for another fight, and...

Well, this was stupid. They were so focused on each other, they weren’t even paying attention to him! He’d fix that with another boop on Celestia’s noggin - really annoying, having to un-chaos someone, but at least it put the two ponies on the same side so they could get their priorities straight and focus on...

Ah, yes, there it was! Just what he’d waited for these past thousand years: two alicorn sisters, both staring at him with horror and worry and that oh-so-precious pony determination. Too bad they had already worn themselves out with their fight over who-knew-what. They were almost pathetically easy to overpower, especially with not an Element in sight.

The princesses were his playthings. Equestria would be shifted and reformed under his chaotic whim. And none stood able to challenge him.

The Reign of Discord had begun.

----

Meanwhile, Salespitch was visiting Canterlot at just the wrong time, and...

Well, what do you think happens when a lord of chaos notices a pony standing in the middle of the road, trying its hardest to not show how petrified it is, and it has a horn and wings but clearly no alicorn magic? And then said lord of chaos investigates said pony out of curiosity, mocks him about playing princess, and is amazed when said pony actually gets annoyed enough to scold Discord that no, he is NOT an alicorn, he’s never WANTED to be an alicorn, and he would really prefer it if people didn’t mistake him for royalty when he’s just a stallion with a genetic mutation trying to live a normal life!!!

Discord thought that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Long story short, instead of Discording Sales’ personality, Discord just... made his biggest annoyance a reality. Obviously he didn’t give Sales FULL alicorn powers, and what powers he did give him are pretty wonky - the ability to turn random objects into suitcases, and fly upside down, and speak in a dramatic Royal Canterlot Voice at random and totally inconvenient times, etc. The royal regalia was a stroke of genius inspired by one of this new era’s “cartoon characters,” a perky little alicorn called Prince Smiley. (The fact that Sales had once dressed as said character for Nightmare Night was sheer coincidence, although Discord would have found that even more perfect.)

Obviously Sales was horrified, which is really the wrong reaction, because it just made the whole thing funnier to Discord and thus made the draconequus that much less likely to forget about Sales and go pester other ponies. Anonymity is your friend in Discord’s kingdom.

Now, Discord being Discord, he gets bored of things easily - including mocking and tormenting the powerless alicorn princesses. There’s a whole nation to twist and remodel into a true chaotic kingdom! Plenty of other ponies to give him some variety. Turning them to stone would be so gauche and ruin his single moral high ground over the ponies, so when Discord tires of his princess fun, he turns the alicorn sisters into fillies and leaves them with his newly-appointed Prince of Babysitting. After all, shouldn’t an "alicorn” be in charge of baby alicorns? Discord even made him a lovely glass castle with stone windows - more of a cage, really, since Sales can’t leave it, but he has a throne and everything! Discord doesn’t even have to worry about manipulating somecreatures into worshipping the new “prince”; Sales has already got his own cult that fawns over him outside the see-through castle like a fanclub, to Sales’ eternal embarrassment. Yes, this is clearly the best setup Discord could have come up with all around, takes-hand-off-and-pats-self-on-the-back.

Time passes with no end in sight for the madness that has turned Equestria into a kaleidoscope’d chaos playground. Sales kind of falls into a perpetually annoyed resignation. He tries to be grateful - at least he still possesses full control of his mind, unlike so many ponies outside his weird castle. He has the honor of safeguarding the princesses - although he feels guilty that he can’t actually protect them from Discord’s whims. But he can keep them happy, and the few times he gets to talk with them before or after they’ve been in their baby states, Celestia manages to give him a word of encouragement or gratitude. (Plus, well, they ARE pretty adorable as fillies... even if he is NOT the world’s best babysitter and has to figure things out on the fly. He really wishes his mom were here.)

There is one actual advantage to all this. Ironically, Sales has a closer connection with Discord than most; since Discord made Sales the caretaker of the princesses, he actually talks to Sales sometimes. Granted, he mostly treats Sales as a captive audience to whine at when Discord starts getting bored of whatever recent chaotic plan he’s enacted. After all, when EVERYTHING is chaos... well, chaos almost becomes normal, so Discord keeps having to up himself. Sales actually manages to have conversations with him sometimes, and he’s gotten a glimpse of the truth even Discord can’t or won’t recognize: that he’s lonely, dissatisfied, and lacks a real sense of purpose or fulfillment.

Sales has to treat carefully, since annoying or upsetting Discord too much results in chaotic ‘punishments’ that are usually more disorienting and frustrating than actually harmful. But Sales has started picking his ear a little bit with hints that maybe Discord is bored because most creatures subject to his chaos don’t enjoy it like he does? Maybe sharing fun WITH people is better than just having fun for yourself at others’ expense? I mean, look at you, Discord, the only pony you really talk to is a nobody you made into an alicorn just to embarrass him. That’s a pretty lonely way to live, isn’t it?

Sometimes Discord listens while making snarky comments. Other times Discord gets irritated and turns Sales into a tiny alicorn who has to ride around on baby Celestia’s back and try not to get stepped on (or something of that nature). But Sales keeps trying and hoping and praying he’ll get through, because if they ever hope to stop Discord’s reign of chaos... well, it might just take teaching the Lord of Chaos what friendship is.

Even if the only pony currently able to make the effort finds him super annoying.

-----

Fun Facts About The Discorded Timeline:

- Yes, Luna’s popsicle is her cutie mark. I suppose once she digests it it will reappear back on her flank. XD

- Cadence hasn’t become an alicorn yet in this timeline. The chaos events do lead to her meeting Shining Armor, though, because TRUE LOVE and such :D

- Sales’ cult ABSOLUTELY LOVES THIS SITUATION. I mean, a lot of them hope/expect that Sales will eventually break free and defeat Discord now that he is showing his true alicorn might. Sales yells at them through the walls sometimes, but they have a hard time hearing him, so naturally they make up all sorts of “godly” nonsense he’s supposedly sharing.

- Discord did in fact accidentally cure Luna of the bad magic that was fueling and feeding off her old rage and paranoia. She and Celestia have pretty well made up through these weird events. And as Discord grows bored of their initial humiliation, his torments get less frightening and more, well, just weird, so life is KINDA bearable. Plus they really like Sales now (they don’t remember their adult selves while they are babies, but Discord makes sure they can remember every embarrassing toddler thing they did when they get aged back to normal.)

- Sales doesn’t know what’s going on with his family, they were back home when this happened. He’s hopeful they didn’t get affected too badly. In fact, Featherhorn (his hometown) got turned into a cardboard village and a few ponies had their heads swapped around, but Discord hasn’t made any connection between them and Sales, so he doesn’t think anything special of the place. Mostly just chocolate rain, flying rhinobunnies, and corncob trees. Everypony agrees it could be worse (but not out loud, that’s just ASKING for trouble!) Also Per talks backwards now, but everyone can still understand her (somehow) so it evens out.

- Black DOES run into Discord at one point while trying to sneak into Sales’s castle. Discord thinks he’s just another of Sales’ fanclub, so he turned him blue and forgot about him. Black finds this super annoying, especially when he can’t change his color no matter what magical disguise he makes.

- Don’t even worry about Sombra, he’s not touching a Discorded Equestria with a ten foot pole. Honestly Discord probably went after him as soon as he showed up, adding the Crystal Empire to his chaos kingdom.

- The Changelings are staying the HECK away in their nice little magic-negating castle, the only safe haven from Discord. Pony refugees actually try and go there, although it is tricky to get around the thick forest of living candy Discord erected all the way around their territory. Those who do get in exchange servitude and donations of love for safety. It keeps the changelings fed and the ponies feel safer working for bug-ponies in a place of order than out in the madness of Discord’s land.

- So as you might imagine, Sales can’t break through the glass of his glass castle. If he were to try and smash through the stone windows, though... let’s just say he feels really smart AND really dumb while making his escape attempt. It doesn’t go over well with Discord, especially when he manages to successfully pawn the baby princesses off to some of his cult members (one of whom is Black, don’t worry), who hide them away. This leads to a rather heated conversation when Discord catches up with him... and perhaps a moment of truth where Discord might realize he actually does maybe kinda sorta consider this silly brown pony a friend who he possibly doesn’t want to severely punish as a warning to other ponies who might defy him. Maybe.

- Art note: I didn’t draw a background for this one initially, and then I got around to coloring them and knew it needed SOMETHING. Came up with the glass castle with stone windows because that seems Discord-like. Also baby bottle trees. The idea for breaking the stone windows was literally last minute as I wrote this, so bonus!

Next Week: Industrial Devolution (Flim Flim Universe)

#mlp art #mlp comics #mlp ask blog #IANAA #discord #mlp discord #salespitch

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years

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Lily (from "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus", what else?) and Lenin and maybe some other people? Watch "Heathers". Reactions? Or what they get transported there? Sorry, it's just that I'm in this Heathers-obsession phase and since I love your work so much (and the fact that Trotsky is kinda sorta like JD) I've been wondering about a crossover like that. I honestly have no idea what your answer to this will entail.

I’ve been musing on this one for a bit now but I suppose it’s time to dig in and answer.

First, I’m not usually a fan of the “X characters watch Y thing” so we’re going to avoid that. Also, to Wizard Lenin, it’d undoubtedly be yet another one of Lily’s weird 80′s movies that she loves so much and forces him to watch. It’s less gory than Predator, but dammit Lily, high school isn’t like this!

Getting transported there is a similarly weird story. It’s such a muggle setting that it really doesn’t mesh well with the “Sisyphus” cast. Why would Lily and Wizard Lenin be stuck in this high school in Ohio? Would they even do anything besides go “That JD kid sure is weird” and “Wow, the death count here is higher than Hogwarts!”? Point being, I can’t imagine they’d get entangled in the true plot of “Heathers” and at best would be providing riff track commentary on this crazy high school.

So, instead, let’s go the good old fusion route. Let’s make the world of “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” just a bit more like “Heathers” and see how it pans out.

Because “Heathers” is all about the destruction of society from within, we’re axing Voldemort. Sorry, Tom, you got stuck in a magical mirror, eaten by bears, or something after 1943 and are going to be Sir Not Appearing in this Universe. As a result, there’s no Voldemort, but the deep societal issues that Tom took advantage of very much remain and are flourishing.

In this world, Lily is still a god, but is not immediately recognized as such by being the girl who lived. Instead, she’s just a strange, dangerously overpowered, nuisance that nobody likes. And her home life is trash.

I imagine in the world without Voldemort, Death Eaters, and a second war Lily and James’ marriage quickly crumbles. This is mainly due to the stress of marriage but also due to having a gifted, ridiculously intelligent, and creepy child. Within a few years, Lily Evans has the audacity to do what is never done: she divorces her pureblood lord husband and tries to vie for child custody. She loses, of course, as she’s a muggle born woman, and is basically banished from ever seeing her kid again.

James never really gets over this, Ellie looking so much like Lily Evans certainly not helping matters, and over the years grows very cold to her. She’s not a son so is useless to inherit, she’s nothing like him, and she’s just an all around disappointment. James very quickly gets remarried for political purposes, marrying a far less scandelous pureblood witch from pick your prestigious family, and they have a son meaning that Lily is no longer heir.

Lily thus attends Hogwarts as essentially the half-blood Potter. She’s for all intents and purposes a bastard child, one barely acknowledged by her father, and is also weird. As a result I imagine she’s bullied relentlessly much in the manner Luna is. For years.

I imagine Luna Lovegood is her only friend, as the pair have bonded over constantly having their stuff destroyed and being locked out of their dormitories.

Enter Lily’s seventh year and thus the plot.

The outside world is looming and Lily effectively has no future. Despite being the daughter of Lord Potter, she’s in a similar position that Tom Riddle was. She won’t be hired into the Ministry or basically any position thanks to her dubious heritage as well as the fact that no one likes her.

Mostly, she just wants out. She wants out of the country where everyone knows exactly who she is and where she came from. Her best hope for this is employment with the goblins but she needs recommendations from a professor. Her best bet is Slughorn, but while he’s always been awed of her ability after seven years of Lily the charm has worn off. Lily has never received an invitation to the Slug Club.

Lily realizes that to get out she must become popular so someone can vouch for her to Slughorn. Not to mention her life might become slightly, slightly, less miserable. So, Lily approaches the Heathers. Much like in the film/musical, Lily offers her services to them for the fee of making nice, pretending to like her, and getting her an in with Slughorn.

This spirals out of control as the Heathers instead do the makeover and make Lily suddenly cool. She’s suddenly invited to parties, people talk to her, it’s a whole new world.

Around this time, Lily in the room of requirement happens to stumble across the diary (nevermind how he gets there, we’ll pretend Tom just never managed to smuggle him out of the castle). Tom has been trapped in there, dying, and Lily obliviously informs him that all his ambitions and sacrifices amounted to nothing. There was no dark lord after Grindelwald, she’s never heard of a Tom Riddle, and everything she describes makes it sound like nothing has changed.

Tom Riddle inexplicably vanished off the face of the earth leaving only the diary behind.

Naturally, Tom is very pissed about this, and sets about plotting how he can return, trying to get Lily to open up by asking her for help returning him to his body. Lily does him one better and just returns him to his body without any sacrifice, casually remarking that she’s always been like this as long as she can remember, fully accepting Tom to yell “SHE’S A WITCH! BURN HER!” to her face as everyone else does.

Tom, however, is floored and everything he’s ever known to be true is thrown out the window. He decides to make Lily his new pet project.

Unfortunately for him, by this point Lily has a Slug Club to attend, only it goes horribly wrong. The Heathers have purposefully set about humiliating Luna, Lily’s only friend, and Lily has to very publicly break ties with them even though it means sacrificing her only real chance of leaving the country with gainful employment. Worse, the Heathers promise wrath the likes of which Lily has never seen before.

Lily, devastated and despairing, goes back to Tom and confesses all the shitiness of her extremely shitty life and how she doesn’t even know what the Heathers will do to her now. Tom finds this a little odd, as Lily has quickly proven herself the most powerful person on the planet, but he’s willing to play along. More to the point, Lily and Tom’s relationship goes from 0 to 100 as he is not only the first guy to show interest in her but he’s very very interested and very very hot. When Lily decides to beg Alpha Heather for forgiveness, Tom notes that he’ll come with, he’s better with people than she is.

Tom, having hit a low point of nihilist rage thanks to Voldemort having amounted to nothing, poisons Alpha Heather and dutifully covers for Lily by writing her suicide note. This works. There is an ecstasy of joyous grief throughout the school as staff and students alike confess how they never knew the true Heather. Lily is astounded, Tom is ecstatic.

Lily tries to return to life as normal, goes back to hanging out with Luna, but also has to introduce Tom to the school. Tom suggests she mind wipes everyone, that makes Lily uncomfortable, so she instead confesses what she believes is the truth in that Tom was trapped in an enchanted object. Dumbledore nearly has a stroke, but since Tom Riddle never became Voldemort, it’s more that this is a solution to an unsolved mystery and the castle is glad Tom isn’t actually dead. They’d thought he got hit by one of those muggle bombs during WWIII or whatever it was the muggles had going on.

HA HA HA HA, but no, Tom says in response.

In the meantime Tom gets to witness Lily’s weird and strained relationship with her father, his friends, and her younger half-brother. Tom points out that Lily seeking out gainful employment is unnecessary. Lily doesn’t have to be a part of society, like all these worthless people around her, she’s so powerful that she can do whatever she likes however she likes it. She can simply leave the country, she could become a dark lord even, there’s nothing stopping her. Lily’s never thought of it like that before, to become a true part of society, to be accepted on some level by that society, has always just seemed like the obvious path to her. What else would she do?

Due to this, Lily and Tom’s relationship continues to grow as they’re really the first people to see each other as they are. Naturally, this is when shit hits the fan. Thanks to Tom, Lily’s invited to another Slug Club with him (Tom can still become minister even if he was trapped in a book for fifty years! Slughorn says). Lily gets hit on and nearly sexually assaulted by some of the boys there, Lily gets out, but the next day rumor circulates around the school that Lily was in a threesome with them.

Tom Riddle sets up a ridiculous scheme in which he fakes their murder suicide where they confess to being homosexual. Lily is increasingly horrified. The school, once again, is in an ecstasy of joyful grief over the loss of these two, beautiful, oppressed, gay souls. Lily realizes that Tom is A Bad Dude (TM) and tries to confront him. He easily confesses he cares nothing about these people and has decided he wants to watch society burn. These are the people who thought he had died in the Blitz and did nothing. They are people who cannot and will not change. They’re the absentee fathers who dote on far less powerful, pureblood, sons. Tom has officially, completely, given up on the wizarding world and now he will destroy it as quickly and horrifically as he can. Lily, not belonging to society, can pour the kerosene on with him.

This is getting a little too gnarly for Lily and she dumps Tom.

Unfortunately, he quickly becomes exceedingly popular thanks to his angelic face, his natural charm and charisma, and his understanding of people. He passes around a petition for suicide and bullying awareness that everybody and their brother signs. What they’re really signing is pages from the diary which, much like Death Note, promises him both their magic and their life force.

Tom confronts Lily and admits he’s going to murder everybody, an entire generation of wizards and witches gone in an instant, AND LILY CAN BE HIS DARK QUEEN! Lily and Tom get into a fight, Tom accidentally murders the shit out of her and is devestated, only of course for Lily to wake up later after he’s left because she was unwittingly immortal this whole time.

Rising from the dead, Lily hunts Tom down before he can blow up the school, and sucks him back into the diary. Upon graduation Lily makes up with Luna, still has no prospects and plans to go and be homeless in India, has hesitantly gotten in contact with Lily Evans, basically has no contact left with her father, and has a boyfriend diary named Tom who might be let out in fifty years if he promises not to blow up a school.

#ask #anon #lily and the art of being sisyphus #heathers

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flowerflamestars · 4 years

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PLEASE elaborate on cassian and azriel as teenagers PLEASE

YES MY BOYS OKAY LETS GO

So the moment it all actually comes together and starts is in Starlight: that first blood smeared kiss with aching ribs, Cassian’s retrospectively enormous fuck you to authority, that searing absolution: he’s Illyrian.

What Azriel hears: Illyrian like me, like me, the only one.

This is where Azriel understands all at once. That he might have nothing but an uncertain future, but he can belong with this one bloody, beautiful boy who is just as deadly. That this is why Rhysand- Rhysand who has known love every single day of his life- is jealous.

It’s about recognition. That the High Lord chose Azriel and recognized his talent- even if Rhys is the one who really has a father, who gets letters and gifts, who has a father.

That Rhys’ bleeding heart that both Cassian and Azriel find incomprehensible meant that he’d dragged Cassian to shelter- but the High Lady had looked at the strongest Illyrian born of his generation and said, yes, you can stay by my sons side.

Rhys went: New? Brother?

But Cassian understood exchange. Alliance. And proceeded to prove himself further to the Camp Lords who spit on him by thrashing Rhysand within an inch of his life, every single day.

Enter, Azriel. Overpowered, out of control, almost executed because an Illyrian who can’t fly is worth less than a lame hunting dog.

Rhys might have come to learn Illyrian techniques, but at the end of the day, his power is incompatible with siphons, isn’t Illyrian at all.

Cassian has been alone his entire life. He could shake the mountains when he was eight- but it didn’t earn him anything but more fear, more anger, more people who’d called him a bastard, a monster. He doesn’t remember his mother’s name, he’s never had anyone and doesn’t count Rhys because he thinks the High Lady is trying to collect him because her precious Prince clearly needs a guard dog.

(he’s not 100% right, but he’s not 100% wrong either. Alyssar and Rhain plan for Rhysand to rule the Steppes one day, befriending Cassian has great future value if they all survive to adulthood)

And then Azriel blows up the first few shitheads they throw him in the ring with. No control, so very much power.

There’s a timeline where they ended up sexy rivals, each other’s only benchmark- but what happens instead is someone pushes Az off a cliff in training and he just falls.

Azriel can’t fly.

So Cassian teaches him. This weary, beautiful boy everyone is afraid of who the dark loves, who spends every spare moment staring at the heavens like he’s never even seen the sky before.

The snows blow in early. Cassian looks at Azriel. They’re exactly the same height, which is to say, already enormous, but Az always makes himself smaller. Always. He’s deadly and graceful and so, so, afraid. Not that anyone notices but Cas- no one else ever gets close enough to this boy the Camp Lords call a devil hidden in Illyrian skin.

Cassian sneaks Azriel back to the cabin, to his gifted bedroom that he is abruptly nauseatingly both proud of and ashamed by.

He’s so sad, Cassian can easily share, easily keep him from freezing to death.

(in the back of his mind, he knows he wouldn’t. Az is strong like him, he wouldn’t freeze. He’d live, but it would hurt. Pain is supposed to make them stronger, and they hurt each other all the time. Surely, surely, that’s enough.)

The thing is, they’re equals. They’re alike, the only people either of them has ever met who are. And, as we know from Daylight and Starlight, they get each other. As friends, as brothers, as everything, they understand one another.

Az might not talk much, but Cassian always listens when he does. Laughs, the sound so vast and lovely Azriel never knows what to do in the face of it.

Cassian is absolutely brutal, but he’s fair too. Kind. Bewilderingly willing to share whatever he has with Azriel, who has even less, for the easy price of fighting each other, watching each others backs.

They go to sleep each night in a too-soft bed, warm for once. Confounded by so many things around them- Cassian is briefly, utterly vindicated at the look on Azriel’s face when Alyssar gives him a pillow.

Flash forward through winter and spring, to that early summer day.

Rhys is jealous of Azriel- because he and Cassian belong together. That Cassian had looked at Azriel- so very wrong to behold, more shadow than teenage boy, scarred and scared, half blind in the sunlight- and seen an equal. In Azriel. Not Rhysand.

Rhys, much like the spoiled child that he was who’d never before had someone say no, never before considered that anyone could be better, is a little bitch about it. He spends their teenage years getting over it, slowly.

But in the meantime, Azriel is having a revelation.

He can belong.

It’s about recognition. Love, but also so much more than love. It’s only with each other- as friends, as lovers, as some mix in between because they know better than to think this will last forever, better still than to imagine that something so inconsequential as Azriel someday finding a man a who could love him without secrecy, that Cassian does like the way Morrigan looks at him, could ever, ever tear them apart- that they learn they can have.

They hurt each other all the time in training, they have to- Cassian learns what Azriel thinks, that Az says to himself so many times over, with every reach- Cassian would never hurt me for real. Azriel realizes that no matter how strange he is, how scared, Cassian has never been afraid of him.

They look at each and see only equals, all in the world that can really belong to each other, because no one else exists as they do.

It’s Cassian setting the bones in Azriel’s hands after he broke them, Azriel using the darkness to steal bandages and to wrap Cassian’s weeping fresh tattoos, even though they’ll heal fine untended. Sleeping in that too small bed, warmer, because now they can touch.

Gentle because no one in their world is gentle, but they can learn to give that to each other.

It’s standing shoulder to shoulder under hateful eyes, stronger, the strongest, together. Earning the exact same number of siphons, undeniable.

Cassian telling Azriel the little stories he made for the constellations he found in the summer sky as a child. Azriel reciting, carefully, the fairytales him mother told him in secret before she died, just an hour each week- of honor, of valor, of love, of Illyrians who were more than violent.

They’re family, they’re everything, and that doesn’t change when Azriel turns twenty, and the High Lord of Night calls him into service.

One last night, the desperate strength of Cassian’s embrace, his hands shaking, always gentle. Cassian telling Az not to trust those fucking high fae, Azriel making Cas promise he’ll be here when he can come back. That he’ll live. That they’ll both live.

A year of madness, a year of learning, a year by side of a High Lord who knew every inch of his territory, feared, respected, loved across of the Court of Night and beyond.

Az takes his vows, becomes something even more fearsome. And then Rhain sends him back to Illyria, to guard the Morrigan, his personal choice for his sons future bride.

(The bidding war for Morrigan’s hand has already commenced. To send her to Autumn is, more than anything, a fuck you from one High House to the highest. Rhain is hoping his terribly romantic, dreaming young son, might just elope. Do something foolhardy and reckless that he can pretend to disapprove of, and still get what he wants.)

The Morrigan thing happens.

Azriel understands- Azriel isn’t mad at Cassian. They’ve made no promises, this cannot even begin to touch what they each other.

Azriel is mad at Morrigan.

Because she used Cassian, because she hurt Cassian, and she doesn’t care. Doesn’t begin to understand. Thinks it’s nothing because of course bright, laughing Cassian would go along, act as though being dismissed is nothing to a bastard born boy.

But it’s still his job to protect her, and he will. Azriel is resolute in his duty, the best, right up until the moment Morrigan’s father takes her home.

The one relationship in which Azriel has no authority, that Rhain had ordered him specifically not to interfere in.

Still, Azriel warns the High Lord.

Still, it isn’t enough, and it takes him days to find her.

He has nightmares about it for three hundred years. It changes all of them- Morrigan, a casual rebel, who’d now rather die than not escape. Azriel, from dutiful to duty incarnate, locked in ice. Cassian, to whom the world had proved that in the end, no matter how much better he was, kinder, he was still a weapon.

A few things happen in short, dangerous succession. Alyssar takes Morrigan to Sangravah to heal. Azriel disobeys several direct orders to stop Rhys from killing Cassian.

The boys reunite, the boys mourn.

Rhys takes formal control of the Steppes.

It’s love, it’s recognition, it’s existing in the understand they will never let something like it happen again: Cassian kills Azriel’s half brothers. Azriel goes with Cassian, shrouds in unescapable and devouring darkness the camp where his Mother died. They rebury her bones.

Cassian and Azriel, shoulder to shoulder against the world. Cassian and Azriel, a promise bound if not spoken: to protect Morrigan, who they’d failed.

Cassian and Azriel, the whole sum of each others family, no matter what shape it took.

A whole world, together, Illyrian as no one else ever was.

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drawlfoy · 5 years

Text

Accio Malfoy

masterlist request guidelines (please read if you request!) requests are open!

stole the gif from @dracomalfoyedit so give them creds for draco’s pretty face

pairing: draco x slytherintransfer!reader

request: yes! you know who you are :)

summary: reader transfers into hogwarts and is sorted into slytherin. draco malfoy is the bane of her existence until suddenly he’s not

warnings: language because uh...you know who i am haha

a/n: i’m a little sorry for making this so similar to faux diplomacy, but honestly idk if i’m ever gonna finish that one and if i do it’s gonna be way different and way angstier. here’s something to hold my american/non uk readers off with until i get the next chapter of that out haha

music recs: the night we met - lord huron

word count: 5,293

tags! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique

Y/N had never felt as out of place as she did standing with the first years in the Great Hall, each of them eagerly awaiting their sorting. She easily had at least a foot on the tallest child there--but then again, they didn’t use feet here as a unit of measurement. They used...meters? Centimeters? She had no clue, but whatever it was, it was confusing.

Yet another reason why she didn’t want to be at Hogwarts. Her father was so thrilled when he told her that they’d be moving to the UK for...well, the rest of her schooling. He’d forever thought that Ilvermorny lacked the intimate education she needed with thousands of students attending and jumped on the first job opening at the British Ministry of Magic.

Was she mad? Yes, of course. She was already missing her friends terribly and felt so awkward standing with a bunch of children. Y/N didn’t have to look to know that everyone’s eyes were on her, wondering why there was an immensely overgrown 11 year old in their midst.

But was she going to make the best out of it? Yeah, probably.

A tall, elderly man with a scraggly white beard stepped up onto the podium, tapping his throat with his wand to amplify his speech. “Welcome back, fellow students of Hogwarts, and a very special welcome to our newest additions.” He tilted his head down to acknowledge the gaggle of children at his feet. “You all may notice that we have an especially interesting newcomer here tonight. Hogwarts is pleased to welcome its arms to our first Ilvermorny transfer student in over a century...a Miss Y/N Y/L/N!”

Grandly gesturing towards Y/N, he beamed down at her and and raised his free hand as if to request applause. The studentry obeyed, and soon the dining hall was filled with polite clapping that echoed.

The old man, who Y/N presumed to be the headmaster, spoke for a few more moments after, musing on the beauty of international connections and what it meant to be a gracious host. She heard it, but she wasn’t really listening. All she could think of was the sorting hat and what it was going to say.

Back home, or at least what she used to call home, she was a Horned Serpent. She had no idea what that translated to at Hogwarts--perhaps she’d be a Ravenclaw? Or a Slytherin, she had heard about their unmatched ambition, but also their petulance.

Y/N didn’t even realize that everyone was waiting on her until a kind first year tugged at her sleeve and pointed up at the podium. An older witch was standing there, holding the tattered and worn hat that had to have been the Sorting Hat.

“I said, please come up and be sorted, Y/N Y/L/N.” Her accent had a pleasing lilt that Y/N wasn’t expecting.

Fighting back a blush, she dipped her head and rushed onto the elevated platform, thanking Merlin that she didn’t trip on the way up. The witch motioned to the chair in front of her, and Y/N sat down, facing the sea of students.

Everyone watched in charged silence as the hat was lowered onto her head. An overwhelming smell of hickory and old leather overpowered her...but not much else was to be expected from a relic that was centuries old.

Y/N waited for the Sorting Hat to make conversation like it was rumored to, but the second she felt it touch her hair, it made a decision.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Gasps filled the hall with the promptness of the sorting. Even the witch that had placed it on her head looked humored as Y/N got up and walked off, slightly dazed.

She was guided towards a table with an abundance of green, choosing a seat near a black haired boy who didn’t look too threatening. He looked up as she slid onto the bench next to him, sending her a mischievous grin.

“Welcome to Slytherin. I’m Theodore Nott.”

Y/N made quick friends with Theodore, or Theo, as he asked her to call him. He told her the ins and outs of the Slytherin lifestyle and told her the password for their common room.

“Why basilisk, though?” Y/N asked as they sat in the common room together. “Did something happen?”

He shrugged, a mysterious glint in his eye. “Long story. It happened a while back. There used to be a basilisk in Hogwarts, hidden somewhere far away.”

“I would hope.”

They were silent for a few moments as Y/N picked at her nail polish.

“I’ll ask Daphne to show you to your room,” Theo finally said. “And we can sit next to each other for breakfast if you’d like. Slytherin doesn’t necessarily have the friendliest people.”

Y/N smiled gratefully as she watched him flag down a strawberry blonde girl who looked about their age.

“Let me guess,” the girl said as she approached the two. “She needs someone to show her to her room?”

Theo opened his mouth, but Y/N beat him. “Yeah, is that alright?”

Daphne studied her for a few moments. Y/N could feel her passing judgements on her.

“Yes, come with me,” she said after a bit, a vague expression on her face. “Say goodbye to Theo, though. He can’t come with us. We have wards, you know.”

“I assumed so.”

Y/N stood, turning and waving a goodbye to Theo. Daphne took her by the arm and led her to the other side of the common room, down a few stairs, and to a tall, daunting looking black door.

“You can’t bring guys in here,” she said lazily. “And on that note...”

She ushered Y/N inside, shutting the door behind them and glancing around the empty corridor they had entered.

“Don’t even think about Theo.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Good, because he’s not into girls,” Daphne dutifully told her, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

Startled by the sudden abrasiveness, Y/N took a few steps back. “No, no, of course not. Thanks for telling me.”

Daphne’s face cracked a small smile. “I think you’ll fit in alright here, then. Just don’t mess with anyone...at least not anymore than you absolutely have to.”

Y/N grinned back. “Of course not.”

The time difference sucked. Y/N had crashed the moment she had sat down on her bed the night before, but now it was 5 in the morning and she was wide awake.

Swinging up over her bed, she noticed that her roommates, Millicent and Tracey, were both snoring softly in their blanket cocoons. She sighed, taking extra care to be quiet on her way out of the room.

Theo had told her how the common room was open at all hours, just as long as you weren’t too rowdy. No one else would be up at 5am--it’d be absurd, so she was looking forward to writing letters to her friends in peace.

The cold dungeon floor chilled the balls of her feet as she ascended the steps into the dark common room. The little light available was a soft green hue cast from the lake water on the windows. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if the sun had even peaked over the horizon yet.

“What are you doing?” a male voice hissed from across the room. Y/N whipped around to see an unfamiliar looking blonde boy curled up on a dark green couch. His body faced the extinguished fireplace, but his head was turned to glare at her.

The dim lighting didn’t conceal his features, and Y/N was immediately stunned. The boy was unusually pretty, with high, defined cheekbones and moonbeam blonde hair. His silver irises were so bright that the darkness did nothing to hide them.

“I know the academics at Ilvermorny aren’t stellar, but they at least taught you how to speak, right?”

Y/N flushed red, grateful for the low lighting as it helped hide her embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here so early.”

The boy snorted, and Y/N took note of his cruel expression. Suddenly he seemed much less accessible. “Yeah, well, I am.” He stared at her, seemingly expecting her to do something.

Y/N took it as an invitation to walk over to his couch, sitting herself a healthy distance away from him.

“I was actually hoping you’d leave me be.” He glowered at her from the other end of the couch.

“And what, let you brood all alone? As if,” she responded, hardly missing a beat. Y/N wasted no time in rolling out her parchment to write. “I have just as much privilege to be here as you.”

She could’ve sworn that she heard him huff, but he didn’t verbally protest, so there was a start.

“You Americans really are pushy,” he sniggered after she had begun to write her first letter.

“And you Brits really are entitled daddy’s boys, huh?”

That shut him up.

“What’s your name, anyways?” Y/N paused long enough from her writing to look him in the eyes.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” His tone was stiff and unnatural, like a 12 year old boy trying on a suit for the very first time. “It’s Malfoy to you, though.”

“Draco?” Y/N giggled. “Your parents must be...uh....interesting.”

He frowned. “Malfoy to you!”

“Okay, okay. Anything to keep you from getting your panties in a twist.”

Another glance at Draco confirmed that he was very, very, irritated. “Can’t you just go antagonize your roommates or something? I was here first.”

Y/N shrugged. There was no way she was going to be able to finish her writing the prick kept talking anyways. “Sure. Don’t worry though--I’ll be back, Draco.”

She chuckled to herself as she saw his features darken, his mood clearly souring before her eyes. Following her judgement, she scampered back to her dorm room to avoid being hexed.

“I heard you met Malfoy, huh?” Theo asked Y/N, carefully buttering a piece of toast.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” she snorted. “Thinking he owns the whole common room and whatnot.”

“You’ve just got to stay out of his way,” Theo said. “I don’t think he’ll give you too much trouble. You are a Slytherin, after all. He’d have to be mental to waste energy going after one of his own.”

Y/N smirked at the thought as she pushed her eggs around the plate. As much as she hated to admit it, the food at Hogwarts wasn’t half bad. Meals felt much more intimate under the soft daylight, whereas at Ilvermorny bright fluorescent bulbs illuminated the room.

She finished eating with Theo quickly and turned to her right to see a grumpy looking Millicent.

“I heard you tossing and turning all night,” Millicent said. “If you make me spend another night listening to you, I’m killing you and throwing you into the lake.”

“You lot really are sweethearts,” Y/N responded absentmindedly, sipping her tea. “In all actuality, though, I’ll probably sleep better tonight. I’m sorry about that.”

Millicent visibly softened. “No, it’s alright. I know it must be hard and all...isn’t it nighttime in America?”

Y/N checked her watch, still ticking at the eastern timezone of the US.

“Yeah. All my friends are sleeping right now. I’m jealous.”

That earned a small laugh out of Millicent, prompting Y/N to smile back at her.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Y/N’s hopefulness soon diminished by her second period as she struggled to find her way to potions.

“I thought you’d have an easier time finding the dungeons, you resembling a sewer rat and all.” A cold voice sounded to her right, and combined with the sudden rough push on her shoulder, she was surprised and yelped.

“A jumpy sewer rat too, huh?” Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow and turned to keep walking.

“Hey!” Y/N’s hand darted out to snatch his sleeve. “Hey, Draco! Watch your mouth, buddy!”

Yanking his arm out of her grasp, he sent her a glare that could cut through stone. “Malfoy. Not Draco.”

“That’s funny, because I specifically remember you telling me that your name was Draco.”

He was about to say something back, no doubt a threat, but another boy swooped in.

“C’mon, Y/N, he’s just teasing you,” Theo murmured, taking care to send Draco a disapproving look. “Don’t waste your time on him. Come hang out with me and Daphne.”

Y/N allowed herself to be pulled away to Theo’s group of friends, all the while still glaring at Draco.

“Chill out, America,” Daphne said, waving her hand in front of Y/N’s face. “He’s not worth the energy. He’ll move on to someone else soon enough.”

“Whatever you say.”

Theo and Daphne walked her down to Snape’s classroom, taking extra care to keep her out of Draco’s path. Y/N was lost in thought on her walk to Potions, riding a sea of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she wanted to make sure she didn’t spend the rest of the year being harassed by a little rich boy. On the other...he was painfully attractive, and while it was shameful to admit, knowing that he was paying her mind made her blush and her heart race.

Y/N was, by no means, an attention whore, but she’d be lying to herself if she said that she wanted Draco to completely leave her alone. She was in a foreign country, after all, and British accents were, well, exceedingly hot. There was no fault in her wanting to have a little fun.

Walking into the classroom, she was pleased to spot an empty table. Daphne and Theo took seats to her left, leaving an empty chair to her right. She allowed her thoughts to wander to places she shouldn’t have, shaking her head to clear her mind afterwards.

She was being ridiculous. Draco was not going to come over and sit with her just because there was one empty seat at her table.

In that moment, Y/N felt as though she was catapulted back into her 3rd year, where she was a cringy boy obsessed mess.

Chill, Y/N she thought to herself. Stop acting like a child.

Potions went on without a hitch. Y/N saw a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare look. He didn’t come sit with her, so it wasn’t like looking in his direction would accomplish anything anyways.

“Whoa, Y/N, they said unicorn tail, not unicorn horn,” Daphne said, yanking Y/N’s hand away from the cauldron. “Can you read?”

“Yeah, do they teach that in the slums where you’re from?” a familiar cold voice added from behind them.

Y/N spun around to see an amused looking Draco sitting at the empty table behind them, propping his chin up with his palm.

“If you’re going to insult me, can you at least come up with new content?”

The side of his mouth quirked. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Y/N shrugged, tossing the shaved unicorn horn into the rubbish bin below her. “Fine, stay unoriginal. You bore me.”

Draco slunk out of his seat, retreating back to his rightful table.

“Give it roughly a week,” Theo told her sympathetically. “He’s a class A git, and then he gets bored, and then he forgets about you and doesn’t pay you any more mind.”

“But you’re not helping,” Daphne added, mincing some greengrass. “If you really want him to leave you alone, then stop engaging him. You’re making this fun for Malfoy by reacting to him.”

“I can handle myself,” said Y/N. “It seems like harmless fun, and plus, Draco can’t be that intolerable. He has friends.”

Theo paused from his chopping to look at her quizzically. “He has minions. And Parkinson, who you don’t want to associate with. The only thing Malfoy is good for is trouble and drama. I don’t think he has a kind bone in his body.”

“But he’s quick-witted and interesting. Don’t you two want to know more about him?”

“No!” Theo and Daphne answered in unison.

“Let me guess,” Daphne said, tipping her ingredients into the cauldron. “You think he’s hot.”

Y/N shrugged, her face burning. “I’m not blind.”

The witch offered her a sad smile, the most genuine expression she’d worn all day. “Be careful, then. I obviously can’t tell you what to do, and it’s not like it’d affect me much anyways, but between you and me, I wouldn’t go for him. Lots of girls like him, you know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Y/N butted in. “You’re saying all of this like I expect something to happen. I’m just bored. I don’t expect anything to come out of this, and I don’t even know if I would want...that. I hardly know him, after all.”

Theo and Daphne both seemed satisfied with her answer. Y/N took advantage of the silence to add the untangled unicorn tail, watching as it turned the potion a milky blue.

Y/N spent the next few days acclimating to her new schedule and avoiding Draco (as per the request of Theo and Daphne). Classes at Hogwarts weren’t as spaced out as they were at Ilvermorny--there were just 3x as many stairs. She was by no means grossly out of shape, but jogging up and down the moving staircases proved to be a challenge.

“Do they not have stairs in America either?”

Y/N didn’t even bother turning around to face the person who spoke to her on her way to Charms. She’d recognize that snotty voice anywhere. “If you don’t get new content, I’m pushing you down them.”

Draco snickered behind her. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

She decided to not entertain him for any longer, choosing to be silent. The staircase creaked its way over to the corridor they were heading, taking its sweet time.

The air was thick with electrified silence, and Y/N was struck with the thought that she had never seen Draco be so quiet for such a long period of time.

The staircase came to a sudden stop, lurching both students forward. Y/N fell flat on her face, her hands dangling over the top of the staircase into thin air.

“What the fuck?” Y/N exclaimed, scooting back as to not fall over the edge. The staircase was now simply suspended in midair, neither parts touching the hallway entrances.

She finally turned around to see Draco just once step down, sprawled out in a similar fashion. “It’s just something that happens every once and a while.” He was casual, seemingly unworried. “I’ve never personally witnessed it, though. They’re just due for maintenance.”

Y/N gaped at him.

“So they just let students on these things without checking if they’re maintained?”

Draco shrugged, getting up to his feet and gripping onto the railing. “To my understanding, they only need to be re-enchanted once every few centuries. I can hardly blame the administration.”

“So what do we do? Wait it out and be late for Charms?”

“Is that really the biggest of your worries?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, folding her knees up to her chest. “What, am I allotted only a certain number of concerns now? Is that how this is gonna be?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” he said, motioning over his shoulder. “It’s not like we can’t just jump off at the bottom of the stairs.”

Y/N stole a glance behind him and realized he was right. It would be a bit of a leap, but if they tried, they could make it to some random corridor she had never seen before. “I don’t think I can make that with my books, though, and I’m too afraid to levitate them over the edge.”

Draco seemed to ponder this for a bit. “Me neither. I can go first and leave my things with you, and then you can pass both our things over, and then I’ll help you across. With you having shorter legs and whatnot.”

Y/N fought back a bitter remark in response to his thoughts about her legs.

“Yeah. We can try.”

It took Y/N a bit to hype Draco up about the leap as the two stood overlooking the edge.

“Don’t worry, you can totally make that,” she told him. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll try and levitate you back to safety. Or maybe I’ll Accio Draco or something. We’ll see.”

Draco snorted. “First of all, I’m offended that you don’t trust yourself enough to levitate your textbooks but feel perfectly fine levitating me. Second of all, it’s Accio Malfoy to you.”

“Accio Draco Malfoy,” Y/N corrected. “If I say Accio Malfoy, I’m being too vague. Any one of your family members could come flying at me, full force. We’d have some explaining to do.”

“No, you would, because I’d already be a splat on the ground below us.”

Y/N laughed then, pleasantly surprised with his level of bantering. His own eyes twinkled as a few smile creases appeared around his face.

“Nothing a little Dittany and pumpkin juice can’t fix,” she said cheerily. “Off you go.”

Draco steeled his face, any vulnerability disappearing. He shed his cloak and dropped his books on the ground, walking up a few extra steps to give him more speed.

“Be careful, Draco,” she added, resting her weight against the staircase. “I’ll be even later to Charms if I have to track down a house elf to clean up a body on the base level.”

“Malfoy,” was the last thing he muttered before he jogged to the end of the staircase, gracefully leaping across the gap. Y/N’s breath caught for a split second, but he stuck the landing, spinning around to beam at her.

“Told you. Easy.”

“I literally never recall you saying that.”

He dramatically threw his hands up. “I put my life on the line, sacrifice my soul to save your textbooks and this is how you repay me?”

“I thought you said it was easy.” She cocked an eyebrow, smirking back at him.

He stood there for a few moments, his features suddenly softening as he gazed at her. “Pass me my cloak and things. We haven’t got all day.”

Y/N obeyed, gathering up his things and separating them from hers. He had thrown his books so haphazardly that she was having a difficult time telling the difference between the two. She slung his cloak over her shoulder as she worked, opening the books and searching for names. Neither of their Potions books were marked up, much to her disappointment.

“Hurry up?” Draco’s voice was no longer as harsh as before, ending like a question instead of a command.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” she told him.

Before she could finish flipping through their textbooks--she knew she had written something somewhere--the staircase began screeching again.

Y/N’s eyes shot up, meeting Draco’s. They looked just as confused as hers.

The staircase began moving again, albeit much slower and wobblier than usual.

“Y/N, you need to jump!” His voice was filled with an urgency Y/N had never heard from the boy before.

“But my books...”

“Do it!”

Against her better judgment, she grabbed her satchel with her wand and stationary and leapt off the end of the staircase, praying that she had enough momentum to make it to Draco.

A pale arm reached out and snatched her, pulling her the rest of the distance. Y/N hit the ground with ungraceful smack, pulling Draco down on top of her.

“Are you alright?”

Y/N opened her eyes to see Draco inches from her face, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He had very pretty eyes, and if she looked close enough, she could see the slightest hints of blue in his grey eyes.

“My books,” she croaked.

“You really should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

With that, Draco got off of her, sitting up against the wall and looking out at the staircase. Y/N followed suit, ignoring her aching body.

She gasped as she saw what was in front of her--the staircase was rotating, turning upside down and throwing everything that had been on it to the ground.

“Maybe I should’ve just bit the bullet and levitated them anyways,” Y/N sighed, scooting a little closer to Draco, who laughed.

“Don’t worry about it too much. I’m pretty sure the school will replace them free of charge...if that’s something you’re concerned about. This was their fault.”

Y/N decided to ignore the subtle financial reference. “Fair point. I’m just upset that I’m missing Charms.”

Draco bumped her with his shoulder. “I’m not. This was way more entertaining than that blasted class would ever be.”

“I’m touched.”

“No, really, I guess they do teach you how to banter at Ilvermorny.”

“No.” Y/N smiled. “I’m just a natural talent.”

“That you are.”

Draco looked into her eyes for a few moments before snapping out of it. “We should go back to the dorms and find Snape. He’ll get this fixed immediately.”

Y/N was already on her feet, brushing off the dust on her robes. “Of course. Here’s your cloak, by the way.”

He looked her up and down.

“Keep it, at least until you get your own washed. You look like you’ve been living in squalor. I wasn’t expecting the floors to be that dirty.”

“But this’ll be way too big for me!”

“Would you rather look like someone who accidentally ordered the wrong size or like someone who spends her free time rolling around in dust piles?”

When Y/N rolled her eyes and turned away from him, he took that as an answer. “Exactly. I’m sure they won’t look awful. Just...do it now.”

Feeling slightly self conscious, Y/N peeled off her dirty cloak, setting it on the ground and reaching for Draco’s.

As expected, the sleeves went way past her hands. Y/N held it up to him as evidence, cocking an eyebrow.

“C’mere,” he said, rolling his eyes (but still smiling slightly). She stepped forward and watched in shock as Draco gently cuffed her (his?) sleeves so they barely brushed the middles of her wrists. “You’re such a drama queen. This was such an easy fix.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen?”

“I never said I wasn’t one too!”

“You implied it!”

“I most certainly did not!”

“You’re the one who made me put it on in the first place!”

“Because I was being chivalrous!”

“Oh, because chivalry is the first thing I think of when I think of you!”

Draco stepped forward, catching her wrist and pushed her back into the wall. Y/N stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Thinking of me now, huh, are we?” His words held a light tone, but the look on his face and proximity of him hinted at a deeper meaning.

“Sure?” answered Y/N, her voice much higher than usual. “So?”

Y/N had meant to challenge him to another battle of wits, but Draco seemed to take it as a different invitation.

He leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers. It was gentler than she would’ve expected from him and took her by complete surprise.

Y/N stood frozen in his grasp, her eyes wide open. Draco seemed to realize this and sprung away from her.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I dunno what got into me, I guess I thought that you would’ve wanted...” He trailed off, shyly meeting her gaze.

“It’s okay, really,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t think you thought of me like that.”

Draco swallowed, once, twice. “I really don’t have to, either. I can leave you alone if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Y/N shifted her weight back and forth, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. “We can...try again? If you’d like, of course.”

He looked like he was about to take her up on the offer, but at the last second, he stopped.

“I’m sorry.It just feels wrong to do it here.”

Y/N tried to conceal how much the rejection stung, but the blush was obvious on her skin. “That’s o-okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go find Snape. You go get another cloak.”

Y/N couldn’t sleep.

It was just like that first night, but this time, it wasn’t the time difference keeping her awake.

Her reason was stupid; she knew it was. She had just met Draco and it was unfair for her to have already given his expectations and a role to fill...and incredibly unreasonable. Completely irrational. She might as well call up St. Mungo’s and request a psychiatric evaluation.

MIllicent was kind, but Y/N knew her well enough to know that she’d keep her word about throwing her into the lake. If she kept sighing and rolling around, she would be in for a treat.

Her body was still sore from the short meeting it had with the ground earlier that day as she eased herself out of the bed and made her way towards the common room. Out of habit, she snatched her cloak, only to realize that it was still Draco’s.

Shit.

The blade in her chest only twisted further at the thought of him.

Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it.

In any other case, Y/N would’ve draped the cloak over her shoulders, but she didn’t want to be reminded anymore of him than she had to be. She didn’t understand why he had suddenly decided to pull away--it wasn’t like anything really changed. Maybe she had had bad breath? Maybe her lips were too chapped?

It was pathetic, really, getting her heart broken within the first three weeks of school. She’d never even though of herself as a romantic, either--but Draco’s face could easily convert anyone to believe hopelessly in love.

Once again, she ascended the stairs into the common room, relishing in the quiet and calm it brought. But wait--she saw movement in the corner of her eye.

Turning, she saw Draco laying on the same couch as last time, staring straight at her.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Is that my cloak?”

Of course the first thing he had to say to her was a conviction.

“Uh, yeah. Here, you can have it.”

Y/N began striding towards him, holding her arms out to offer the cloak. Surprisingly, he shook his head, retracting his hands.

“No. You look cold.”

Y/N allowed a comeback to die on her tongue, instead awkwardly standing there.

“Well, aren’t you going to sit down with me already?” He settled back into the couch, nodding towards the vacant spot next to him.

Against her better judgment, Y/N sat down beside him, tucking her legs up under her body. She shivered as the cool dungeon air wafted past her.

“I knew you were cold,” he mumbled, taking his cloak from her hands and draping it over both of them. “Isn’t that better?”

“You sound like my parents.”

He allowed a small smile to creep across his face as they sat together in silence, leaning closer into her. Their shoulders brushed, and Y/N realized that she could feel heat radiating off of him.

“You’re very warm.”

“You’re very cold.”

Y/N shifted further away from him as the awkwardness maxxed out.

“Hey, so about today...can we talk about what happened between us? I mean, when you kissed me and then changed your mind?” Y/N’s voice crackled out. She didn’t trust herself to speak at a volume louder than a whisper.

“So about that,” he murmured back. “I never changed my mind. It just didn’t feel right at the moment, not because of you, but because of the situation.”

“Oh.”

“So...er..” he leaned towards her, cupping her face with his hand. It was warm and surprisingly soft, and his eyes nearly glowed in the dark when she looked into them. “Do you still want to try again?”

Y/N didn’t need words to answer that, only actions.

final a/n: so basically the tea is that i SUCK ass at writing actually fluff scenes when it comes down to kissing like i don’t know what’s too much and what’s too little and what’s too cringy so i just avoid it oops. hope you enjoyed. if you want to collab where i write the tension and the build up and you write the fluff please let me know because that would make my life so much easier omfg

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #slytherin #ilvermorny #hogwarts #harry potter imagine #reader insert

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Compassion

Sesshomaru was capable of many things: relieving enemies of their lives, silencing an army of humans single-handedly, and instructing those under his command. Though, what most would expect him incapable of is compassion.

For her? He could make an exception.

From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog.

Sesshomaru had grown accustomed to the idea of change. It was an inevitable, unpredictable, and untethered force constantly inspiring. In lieu of Naraku’s threat, life ebbed on as it had before, with obligations and concerns he had no prior interest in rearing their head. His mother was far more talkative than she’d been centuries past.

Though not wholly to him. While their relationship wasn’t hostile or that of strangers, she’d taken more to communicating with Rin than she did him or Jaken. Granted, he could understand why she neglected to speak with the latter. She seemed to derive some amusement out of Jaken’s plight. A terrible thing for the small imp. The Lady of the West did not tire easily and his anguish might keep her for the next millennia or so.

However, the West was one of his issues. An achievement of which he had no interest in until his mother divulged information to Rin and curiosity beset her to ask. Perhaps showing immediate interest in Rin’s revival whilst in his mother’s presence wasn’t the best idea. Unknowingly, he’d handed her quite a bit of ammunition to use against him in the form of someone he couldn’t rid himself of easily.

Or at all, if he were honest.

The years he’d spent apart from Rin gave perspective. Time to understand his place in the world, seek out stronger opponents, and wander his father’s lands. In his absence, his mother took the helm as the Lady of the Western Lands and her opposition was quickly dealt with. She would not allow his father’s hard work to be undone by unruly demons or upstarts of humans believing the aftermath of Naraku’s defeat was cause for rebellion.

“I will hold until you are ready,” she said. Her voice carrying from the mouth of Bokuseno, eyes unseeing and wooden lips shifting without the demon’s will. Sesshomaru had half a mind to turn on his heel and leave but spindly branches blocked his path as the forest reacted to Bokuseno’s will.

It both pained and amused him that the tree demon could be possessed by his mother. A pain reflected in his stoic countenance as he listened to her words.

“Once you are prepared to take the helm as your father’s successor, heed these words. You will have need of the dragon, imp, and seeress. Though we may be inu yōkai and many remain in our court, we are surrounded by vipers, waiting for the faintest showing of skin to strike. Remember compassion as it has been taught to you, my son. Blade and claw will not serve you well in an arena of words and promises. I’ve protected you as long as I could and I will continue to do so, but change is coming, Sesshomaru.“

Sesshomaru clenched his jaw but said nothing as sight returned to Bokuseno’s eyes, his boughs trembling with a shudder as best as a tree could muster.

“What did I say, Lord Sesshomaru?” Bokuseno asked to Sesshomaru’s back.

Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes as he cleared the path of branches before him with a flourish of his hand, whip cutting through the rattling wood, sending it raining down as he passed. “Nothing I don’t already know,” he said, his mother’s warning and thinly veiled assurance receding to the back of his mind as he heard Jaken and Rin’s laughter.

In the glistening waters of a stream teeming with fish, sunlight dancing upon its rippling surface, Rin and Jaken splashed about in hops of catching another fish to add to their ever-growing pile guarded by A-Un. While the imp who’d sworn himself to Sesshomaru’s service hadn’t changed a bit from they met, Rin had grown into a woman in the blink of an eye. Truthfully, he knew it had been longer than that. Years spent apart with letters and fleeting visits, her life detailed to him with words on scrolls written by her own hand and enthusiastic retellings from her own lips. Gone was the starry-eyed way she’d regard him, replaced with a sharpness and wit, along with an accuracy for interpreting his actions and words ( few, though there may have been ).

Brown eyes compelled Sesshomaru to speak earnestly, even if his words were sparse. Rin’s intuition had grown as much as she had. Deduction and sneakiness allowing her past his defenses. And try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile who she was now with the girl she’d been. The Rin that followed at his side, barely standing taller than his knee, was and wasn’t the Rin praising Jaken for a successful capture after he’d toppled into the water and nearly gotten swept away with the current. Her hands supporting him under his arms as he recounted the feat.

She lacked his former ward’s innocence.

She no longer viewed humans with contempt but remained wary of their intentions.

Kindness came to her easier but so did decisions, and her hand was swift in carrying them out.

He no longer had to shield her from a fight. Her tricks and skill made her an even greater asset.

Sesshomaru decided to concede his mother’s point. Change was coming as before. It had already come for Rin, taking his former ward and instead granting him a trusted friend and companion. Who learned throughout the years how to hide things even from his eyes.

Dusk fell over them gently. Jaken and Rin, exchanging blunted barbed words and smiles until they tired, the tall grass swaying in the breeze while the fire crackled between them. A-Un settled comfortably at Rin’s back. Since her return to their group, the dragon was rarely if ever not by her side. While Rin no longer required their constant protection, A-Un’s electricity crackled brightly in their open maw and smoke plumed through their nostrils when a threat to her was posed.

Thankfully, as Rin slept at A-Un’s side with Jaken curled beneath the dragon’s tail, there were no physical threats to harm her. Mental, however, was another tale.

Nightmares lingered in the reaches of Rin’s psyche. They were not an enemy Sesshomaru could destroy or a plot to thwart. An ill-given punishment for the actions of others marred upon her mind in scars no remedy or spell could heal. He’d been patient with her in her youth. Waking her when she was in tears and calming her when she screamed herself hoarse. It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself, and the agitation he felt waned. Worries lingering in the back of his mind during their time apart.

If others would be cruel to her when she wailed and cried.

Would they steal her voice away with callous words?

Render her unable to even muster a smile?

Gratefully, none of his concern came to fruition. To his relief, Rin no longer screamed in her sleep or woke with inconsolable hiccuping sobs.

Instead, she rose in a solemn silence. Muted shadows swallow her as she wandered from A-Un’s side and over the mumbling lump that was Jaken, disappearing into misty thickets with only the curl of her hair on the wind as if bidding farewell. Sesshomaru wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Years of battle making it nigh impossible for movement to go unnoticed. And he’d seen her the moment she rose to leave. Briefly considering letting her be until salt — sharp, heady and bitter — spurred him into movement. Rin’s footsteps were noiseless.

A faltering pride swelled in Sesshomaru’s chest as she ducked beneath low branches and side-stepped gnarled roots, likely having memorized the path after venturing it earlier in the day. Though at that time, the sun shone brightly, pinpricks of sunlight visible between the leaves haloing her in a soft golden glow. She’d been smiling and humming, skipping through the foliage freely.

Not walking quietly, back straight and head raised high, hands lingering at her side with fingers twitching. Alert and prepared, but no less weary of something and upset.

Sesshomaru’s nose twitched at the potent scent of flowering blooms, sweet and strong, overpowering the salty bitterness tinging the air. Slivers of moonlight colored the mist lingering over a decadent array of blooms swaying amidst the tall grass. Rin’s steps, careful and calculated, avoided clusters of flowers deftly as she stepped in a rhythm almost as if she were dancing. Sesshomaru lingered beneath the boughs of a withering tree, watching her quietly as she moved, only to crumple to her knees after a misstep.

Her shoulders trembled but he heard no sound. Sharp and bitter saltiness drowned by the flowers’ sweet scent, crisp snapping of flower stems joining the chirping crickets and buzzing insects. A quiet wind rustling the leaves on the trees and carrying her hair eastward. Rin’s hand snapping at another flower’s stem and tucking it in her lap before pulling a single dusky black plait from behind her ear, her thumb caressing the orange tie at the ends before falling to her lap, resuming weaving together the flower stems.

Sesshomaru refused to look elsewhere. His nose hadn’t failed him in years and he doubted it would now. But he couldn’t intrude. Autonomy had given Rin a need for privacy. However, it also hardened her stubbornness. At heart — Rin was a free spirit and akin to providing comfort to others whilst bearing her own burdens, yet she faltered when allowing others to assist her. In years prior, Sesshomaru would have never thought it was a trait they shared. Rin had always been cheerful as a child. Akin to speaking her mind, no matter how crass the thought.

But there was much he didn’t know of her. And while this was one of the lessons he disliked, he would pay attention nonetheless — finding himself at her side almost in an instant when a silvery tear rolled down her cheek.

“Rin?”

Her hands stilled. The flowers stems tremble in between her fingers and in the dim of the night, he cans the myriad of flickering emotions painting anguish across her features. Sesshomaru knelt in the blooms, careful not to crush them, but lingering close enough to her side that he could make out the dried tear streaks amidst the rivulets of newer tearfalls.

Lowering her hands to her lap, Rin muttered in a voice barely above a whisper. “… I thought the flowers would hide the smell…”

Sesshomaru’s lips twitched at the corners, threatening to dip into a frown. He told himself once more that he wouldn’t fault her for this. Her memories, while old and in the past, were just as meaningful to her in the present. Lifting his hand achingly slow, Sesshomaru carefully wiped away the streaks of tears with his thumb, wrinkling his nose as the sharp salty tinge grew stronger.

“Why would you try to hide them?”

“Have you seen A-Un try to tiptoe through flowers..?”

She tried to laugh. A tired giggle, mirthless and utterly hollow, crude compared to her usual infectious guffawing laughter. Sesshomaru could imagine what would happen if A-Un were to wake and see Rin like this. The dragon would have stopped at nothing to find the source of her pain. Curled around her as if she were their own and held her close til morning. But A-Un remained in the clearing and Sesshomaru knelt beside Rin, wiping away the tears as they fell.

“Is it the nightmares?”

Rin’s smile fell almost immediately and her eyes shuttered. Sesshomaru did frown at the look on her face. Devoid of cheer, almost completely blank, save for the tears wetting her eyelashes and the pad of his thumb with every swipe. She sighed, a wispy rattling laugh parting her lips. “… It’s funny..” She said, though the humor was both lost on him and nowhere to be found in her words. “I thought I didn’t have any tears left to cry. But… here they are…”

Sesshomaru wasn’t sure what to say. Words oft escaped him in matters such as this and he doubted they were what Rin wanted entirely. So where words failed, action prevailed. There was only a small space where the flowers wouldn’t be easily crushed and it wasn’t enough for both of them to sit comfortably side by side. With his hand leaving her face, Rin’s eyes widened fractionally and he heard her breath catch as he shifted to sit behind her. His armor carefully removed and set aside, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.

She stiffened in his hold. Every muscle tensed and quivering, the tension gradually melting as she sagged against him, her head thumping against his chest. There was little else Sesshomaru could do but rub his hand up and down the length of her arm, squeezing gently when she shifted. Content to listen to Rin’s shuddering breaths and the wilds around them until she was ready to speak, leave, or do anything at all..

After a lingering pause, a long pause broke the silence. “I lied to Master Jaken,” she admitted, sucking her teeth and brushing the back of her hands beneath her eyes. “Just a bit..”

“Mm?”

“Well, it was a harmless lie. If I told him the truth, he would’ve just panicked.. And he sleeps like a log anyway.”

“What did you say?”

Rin snickered, likely amused by the memory, and Sesshomaru was pleased that her laugh had regained some of its enthusiasm. “I had something I needed to do. Girl things. You should’ve seen how quickly he turned tail, it was a little funny.”

Sesshomaru almost wanted to smile as she laughed, but every time her hands pulled away from her eyes, the brackish scent assaulted his senses. Squeezing her upper arm, her laughter stuttered and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You don’t have to hide from me.”

Rin paused and inhaled deeply, laying her hand against his sleeve, her fingers curling into the fabric and pulling it taut. “… I know,” she managed to say and the weariness combined with the fragility of her voice tensed something in his chest. He held her tighter in response and if Rin noticed, she was gracious enough not to point it out. Continuing with a rough tear-filled sigh, her hold on his arm so tight that she was shaking. “I’m just a little ashamed, I think. It’s been so long. I should be better now.”

Sesshomaru could hear the admonishment. Her frustration, fear, and anxiousness. Perhaps at one point in his life he had felt similar to her. Though his qualms were of a different sort, and he’d had centuries to come to terms with them for better or worse. Rin was forced to confront her worst fears, death, and understanding of a species that she both feared and abhorred. Sesshomaru wouldn’t fault her for her feelings but he wouldn’t uphold the way she spoke of herself either.

Where others might have broken, Rin hadn’t.

Her pain could take centuries to heal and he would hold her throughout it all.

“You are allowed to feel what you do,” Sesshomaru insisted.

Rin said nothing and briefly, Sesshomaru wondered if that was the end of their talk. Then, the world seemed to slow as she turned in his embrace to face him. Brown eyes, glazed over and brimming with tears, met his own. Her lips trembling as he drew her into his lap and cradled her against his chest, allowing her to pull her knees in close. The soles of her feet, dirtied with damp soil and grass, brushed against the leg of his hakama and he could care less for the stain. Flowers fell from her lap as she moved and he reached out to cup them in the palm of his hand, lifting them back to her view and allowing her to pluck them from his hands.

Her fingers caressed his own for a bit longer as she gathered the last of the flowers, tracing the lines of his palm.

“Thank you,” Rin murmured, her lips soft and warm as they brushed against his cheek as he leant his head down.

“… Mm.”

He knew she didn’t mean about the flowers but chose not to touch on the subject. Allowing her to shift in his lap, spreading the flowers out in her own. The pungent scent dissipating as she brushed her fingers along the flower petals. Peace reigned as Rin gathered herself, examining each of the flowers with interest. Her fingers occasionally falling to the exposed skin of his wrist, tracing the length of his marks with interest.

“One day, I’ll grow taller than you…”

With how lazy her touches were becoming and the dreamy tone of voice, along with such a ludicrous idea, sleep must have been creeping upon her again. Rin had grown considerably but in comparison to his half-brother’s wife and the slayer woman, she was quite small. Still, he would humor her.

Burying a smile in her hair, Sesshomaru muttered low. “Will you?”

“Absolutely,” Rin protested, wiggling her toes as she laughed heartily. He drank in the sound, reveling in its return as she added. “And then we’ll see who hugs who.”

“…I look forward it,” Sesshomaru said, wiping away a few stray tears as he pulled away to see her face. Her eyes flicked up to meet his own, unspoken apologies and hopefulness glimmering beneath the fog of discontent.

“Can you stay with me for a bit longer?”

He could have told her that he had no intention of going elsewhere. That he would stay with her until she felt at ease. Carry her back to sleep at A-Un’s side or his own. But he said neither thing, simply pulling back to rest his chin against her head. “…Continue what you were doing.”

Her breath hitches but he could practically hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. “Are you sure, m’lord?” There was a slight shuffle, and he could hear the telltale sounds of her muttering as she weaved the flower stems together. “If I finish this, I will try to make you wear it.”

“Will it make you smile?”

After a short pause, Rin nodded.

Like this, Sesshomaru cared little for appearance and decorum. What he desired was the smile he adored and if he had to endure wearing one of her flower crowns, then so be it.

“I will wear it then.”

#inuyasha fandom #sesshomaru #rin #sessrin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #affections touching across time

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ladymdc · 5 years

Text

Wandering in the Dark

Well, I finished it.

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x F!mage Trevelyan (Noir AU/dark future/1930s) Rating: Explicit (for occasional smut, like 3 instances) Word Count: ~75,500 Chapters: 19/19 Summary: In a world on the verge of collapse, C.S. Rutherford did what he could to survive, at least until a routine case led him down a path he never expected to cross, and a dame with dark verdant eyes and a sharp wit strode into his office.

With nothing as it seemed, including her, perhaps it all wasn’t as hopeless as he thought.

Read it from the beginning - here & I have included CH.1 under the cut for funsies. ((For those who have been keeping up with it, I’ve included a direct link to the CH18 & I’m sure you can find the final chapter from there :D))

Special thanks to the following people: @laraslandlockedblues, @windysuspirations, @kawakaeguri, @machatnoir, @softlyue, @fadetastic, @laurelsofhighever, & @mssaboteur ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ I may not talk to all of them every day or at all anymore, but I wanted to say thanks for supporting/encouraging me in some way at some point in this journey. I sincerely couldn’t have done this without you.

The Resistance was irretrievably over; everything that could have been done had been done. He had never thought they would succeed, only a fool would believe they could, but he had never thought he would live to see the day the last Theirin was wiped from the face of Thedas.

This wasn’t the first time such rumors circulated, but it would be the last. Front and center on today’s paper was undeniable proof. The Theirin family crest affixed to the lapel of Amladaris’ suit jacket was a subtle but devastating blow to anyone still clinging to hope the Golden Age would someday return.

It had been over a decade since he last saw Alistair, but the loss stung no less for it. Perhaps even more so knowing the last words spoken to the man he once called a Brother were venomous and full of resentment. Now, there would never be an opportunity to correct that wrong, but it wasn’t like he had been going out of his way in an attempt to do so anyway. All that was left was to hope Alistair’s death was quick and painless. Though based on the sinister curl of Amladaris’ lip, it was anything but.

The thought did nothing for the migraine that had been plaguing him all morning. In addition to the throbbing tendrils taking root deep in his skull, there was also a slight halo around objects, a shimmery haze that wasn’t precisely seeing double but close enough to be an annoyance. It was one of those post-lyrium side effects he’d long since come to terms with. Once the coup took place, it was either risk injecting a tainted dose or quit.

It was an easy decision.

Automatically, he popped some aspirin into his mouth, swallowed it dry and reached for a cigarette. He tapped it twice on the desk and tucked it into the corner of his mouth before he brought the cupped lighter up, despising the slight tremor of his hands. He smoked in long, steady pulls. Repeatedly, his gaze dropped to the newspaper before him then at his watch to read the time as if it would somehow make it move faster. Eventually, the pounding in his head subsided only to be replaced by the telltale click-clack of high heels.

His interest was instantly piqued, and it had nothing to do with the shapely silhouette he could discern through the frosted glass. A lot could be determined by someone’s gait. The speed and force of their steps and the sounds it produced could indicate a wide array of emotions. This client didn’t possess the terrible wrath of a woman wronged nor the hesitant curiosity of one who suspects. She appeared to exude an air of calm indifference. A rare thing in a world gripped by fear and ruin.

Then, without one iota of hesitation, the door opened.

The woman was beautiful; her wavy, brunette hair smooth and shining. Her full lips an agreeable shade of ruby red. Her dark verdant eyes boldly held his gaze. Something flashed in their depths, green and bright, but then she blinked, and it was gone. One corner of her mouth lifted lazily.

“Rutherford.”

He could feel a sudden heat on the back of his neck at the way his name rolled off her tongue but was determined to pretend it wasn’t there. Her accent was Marcher, mixed with something else he couldn’t quite place.

She shut the door and took a seat in one of the two intentionally uncomfortable, wooden chairs before him. The woman looked at him expectantly.

Rutherford cleared his throat and mashed his cigarette into Amladaris’ left eye. “It seems I’m at a disadvantage, Miss—“

The marginal quirk of her lip became almost amused. “Trevelyan.”

His gut locked up; bile burned in his throat. Rutherford pressed his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. Trying to stamp out the visions swimming through his mind. It had been three years since Lord Protector Sethius Amladaris took control, and not a day went by that he was reminded of his unknowing role in the coup.

Having the propensity to keep his head down and work, he took notice something was off much too late. By the time Hawke stormed into his office to scream scathing accusations of his involvement, the damage had already been done. Lyrium tainted with Red had been injected into a majority of their ranks at evening rations. Red not only warped the mind but after the first hit, there was no turning back for without it there was only death. With only one source for the terrible substance available, turning the Order against country and crown was simple.

Only those with rank were given a choice. General Trevelyan was the first to refuse. Rutherford, the second. The difference, however, was only he lived because by way of answer, Rutherford put a bullet between Major General Stannard’s Red-tainted eyes.

Meeting the late General Trevelyan’s daughter’s inquisitive stare, he scraped his bottom teeth over his top lip where the scar from escaping the ordeal was. There was a brief flash of prickling numbness. He immediately regretted drawing attention to it as her eyes briefly roamed over his mouth. The room suddenly felt far too warm. It would be easier not to make eye contact, but it would be cowardly to look away.

Rutherford yanked on the knot of his tie to loosen it. “Why are you here?” It came out much harsher than he would have liked.

She ignored the outburst. “I have use of someone with your talents.”

“Talents?” He scoffed, fishing out another cigarette. The dregs of his migraine were flaring up with force.

“Yes, talents,” she insisted.

Twice, he tapped the cigarette on the desk. “And what might those be?” As far as he was aware, failure and survival were his only ‘talents.’ He had an odd propensity for both.

“We both know why you keep checking your watch.”

Despite the seriousness of her insinuation, he couldn’t help smiling. “And what makes you think you know anything about me?” He asked before fitting the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

“Are you sure you want to play this game?” she asked, plucking off some unnoticeable piece of offense from her charcoal grey skirt before returning her dark green eyes to his amber. “Because I do know everything about you.”

Rutherford leaned back in the chair and crossed ankle over knee. “Please.” He blew his smoke out defiantly. “Do tell.”

She smiled tolerantly though his cigarette smoke. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, the second eldest child of four. Mia, the eldest, your brother Branson, and Rosalie the youngest. You joined the Royal Order the day you turned eighteen. At twenty, you took your first lyrium dose, and your parents died that same year as the Blight ran rampant through the countryside. Then came Kinloch—”

“Enough,” he gritted out. A breath hissed out of him, and he turned his head to avoid her piercing gaze. It took a while before he noticed the dull ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth as he glared at the newspaper displaying the result of his most devastating failure.

“He’s alive you know,” she said, tipping her chin toward the paper.

“No shit.”

Trevelyan made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Don’t be thick.”

“I’m not. I—“ He sat up a little straighter when Trevelyan suddenly stood but didn’t rise as he should have.

“You are,” she insisted as she braced one arm on the desk and leaned over. Her long, flowing locks fell over her shoulder. The scent of her, sweet and floral with notes of something akin to spring rains, wafted his direction. Briefly, it overpowered the smoke thick in the air around him. Rutherford was momentarily struck a little dumb by it.

The motion of her hair drew his attention away from her face toward… other assets. The neckline of her white blouse cut dangerously low and there was little for him to do but glare at her when she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. He knew what she was doing, and he hated it worked so easily, especially because he jumped a little when the silk of her glove brushed his fingers.

Smirking, Trevelyan placed his cigarette between her lips and tucked something into his hand. The metal was warm, and he errantly wondered how warm she’d feel, but then his thumb reflexively ran along the familiar grooves.

His stomach bottomed out. “This could be any coin,” he snapped, holding the silver and gold coin between finger and thumb for emphasis.

“It could,” she agreed. “But it isn’t. Did you know you’re bleeding?” With the cigarette pointing down and held between thumb and middle finger, she touched the very tip of her nose.

Rutherford scrambled to find a handkerchief, but his shirt was already ruined. While he attempted to clean himself up and staunch the flow, she took one long drag and held the cigarette back out to him. He hesitated to take it, distracted by the bright red imprint of her lips upon it.

After a moment of inaction, she leaned forward and placed it between his slightly parted lips and a quiet thrill ran through him at her forwardness. The faint taste of her only served to agitate him further, and she knew it.

That semi-amused curve to her mouth was back. “I can always find someone else, so come along or don’t, it matters not to me. Either way you have your luck back. Perhaps that’s all that’s been missing all these years.” At that she buttoned a single button on her jacket, further accentuating the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts, and departed.

The woman never even hinted at what she wanted from him. Like the eye of storm, she was serene and a tad refreshing, but then left chaos and destruction in her wake. His mind was positivity reeling at what she vaguely suggested as he was left with far too many questions and not a single answer.

Rutherford owed Alistair his life. If it weren’t for the Wardens, he would have rotted in Kinloch. At the time, he felt there was nothing to thank them for. The mistakes he made were too grave, the horrors endured too fresh, and his wounds still weeping. Time healed the latter. The former two points, however… Well, they never left, and only more had been added over time. But if there was a way for him to take something he fucked up and make it right, he shouldn’t still be sitting there.

He snuffed the cigarette out on Amladaris’ right eye. There were few things he needed to grab, all within reach. Smokes, lighter, jacket and his emergency bag which contained an assortment of necessities and a good deal of cash should the regime ever care to come after him again. Within moments he was able to rush after her.

“Wait! I—“ he came to a grinding halt at the sight of her leaning against a car expectantly.

“Well, that didn’t take long did it?” Her voice was full of dry amusement.

He scowled. “Shut up.”

“And here I thought you’d be glad to see I waited.” Trevelyan’s pout shifted into something openly appraising as her gaze blatantly raked up his body. “I know I’m glad to see you’re interested.”

He was blushing. Knew he was blushing and the laziest smile he’d ever seen blooming across her lovely face did nothing to alleviate it. Rutherford pinched the bridge of his nose because that… that was dangerous. His entire body had heated through, and it had everything to do with the way she seemed to know how to push all of his buttons.

She laughed then, a high and bright sound that made his hand drop reflexively. Her smile widened a little when their gazes locked once again. His heart was racing, and he was confused as to why.

“Alright grump,” she chirped, opening the passenger door. “Get in. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Her laughter and choice of address were unexpected, and he felt himself breathing out a small huff of amusement as he stepped off the curb and reached in to toss his bag into the backseat. “What did you just call me?”

“Grump.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t like it,” he said, voice muffled from trying, in vain, to wipe away the stupid grin stretching across his face as he stood straight. The smile felt odd, maybe because it felt real.

“Are you sure? It seems like you do very much.”

What he did like, oddly enough, was how her standing on the curb put her almost face to face with him. “I really don’t.” He shook his head, smile finally fading away. “Preferably Rutherford, or Cullen if you must.”

“Alright, Cullen,” she said very slowly as if savoring the feel of his name in her mouth. She extended out a gloved hand. “Preferably Evelyn, or Trevelyan if you must.”

It took him a moment, almost a moment too long but he accepted. It wasn’t a handshake, it was something else, and it bothered him. He abruptly pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist at his side to prevent himself from wiping it off on his pants.

Her expression shifted. It was subtle, but Rutherford breathed a little easier at the hardness in her eyes for the last thing he deserved was anyone’s warmth or acceptance no matter how much he may want it deep down.

#my writing #mdcwrites #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #modern cullen rutherford #evelyn isla trevelyan #noir au #wandering in the dark #I finished A Thing #*strikes Will Smith pose thru tears*#then #*pterodactyl screech*

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notebookqueenofnarnia · 6 years

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The Just Jedi

The super long summary totally not proofread but whatevers.....

After hearing of the Caspians' demises, Edmund attempts to contact Capt. Elidor, who, he sent on a mission to rescue the rulers of Telmar. Unable to make contact, Edmund Immediately sets off with a small crew to discover the truth. On board, Edmund is overcome by exhaustion and falls asleep. He dreams on of those Jedi dreams that can only be the Force speaking...

In the dream, his betrayal to the White Whitch replays before his eyes. He and his siblings arrive on the planet of Narnia as refugees from a war on their home planet. Yet, Edmund quickly grows bored with provincial life of their forest friends (like the Beavers and Mr. Tumnus) and wants to get away from Peter's overbearing big brother attitude. Which leads him right to Queen Jadis, who instantly recognizes Edmund's sensitivity to the Force. She promises to train him, give him the ability to overpower even Peter, in return for the location of his family's ship. He consents, but does realize she's teaching him the dark ways of the Sith. Jadis then uses part of their hyperdrive (something rare on the outlying, self-sustaining planet of Narnia) to power a weapon of her own design. It (get ready for this) using a combination of technology and the power of the Dark Side, turns her victims in to carbonite upon contact. She uses upon everyone in the forest, Edmund's siblings just escaping with their lives. They retreat to the camp of the rebellion against Queen Jadis, lead by Jedi Master Aslan. As "all traitors belong to Jadis," per Narnia's ancient religions, Aslan sacrifices himself in Edmund's place. Yet, to Jadis's surprise, Aslan is even more powerful as a Force Ghost and aides the newly elected four kings and queens of Narnia in their victory over Jadis. The former queen and Sith dies, butler weapon is lost upon the battlefields.

After their victory, Aslan tells Edmund he must go to the Jedi Temple to learn to control his abilities. Edmund does, becoming Master Windu's padawan. However, Edmund is still plagued by the darkness that Jadis encouraged and constantly fears for his family's safety. After a frightening occurrence involving Susan and a Calormenian suitor, which Edmund had foreseen in a vision, he makes the decision to leave the Jedi and remain with his fellow Narnians. Many question and fear his choice, but he's at his calmest around his family.

Edmund jolts awake when the ship enters an asteroid field. Just as he wakes, he hears Aslan's voice echoing in his ears, saying "The galaxy will need you more."

At the last known location of King Caspian's ship, Edmund realizes there is debris from two ships amongst the asteroid field. He is relieved to find the crew of his rescue ship unharmed in an escape pod. Capt. Elidor tells him the attackers appeared to be pirates, but he was suspicious of that cover as they blew up the ship rather than taking it captive. Edmund suddenly feels something through the Force and directs his ship's flight to another escape pod, containing young Prince Caspian and his tutor. The tutor tells Edmund that he recognized the so-called pirates as Calormenian business associates of Lord Miraz.

Edmund attempts to contact his siblings, but is unable to. His anxiety growing, Edmund orders his ship into full attack when a small X-wing jumps out of hyperspace. To their great surprise, its pilot is the young ex-royal from Commenor (aka the Reader!). She tells Edmund that the Trade Federation has blocked all communications on Telmar. The Federation members have also encouraged Lord Miraz to take his brother's throne, to which the man agreed. King Peter has challenged Miraz to a duel to stall, which both Edmund and the reader can foresee ending in Miraz's claim on the Narnian throne next.

Edmund and the reader make the decision to leave Prince Caspian and his tutor on the planet of Alderaan. (Where he will grow up safely in refuge with Alderaan's soon-to-be-adopted princess as good company.) Best to keep his survival a secret from murderous uncles. Meanwhile, Edmund contacts Master Windu to tell him what has happened. Mast Windu informs Edmund of similar take-over tactics of the Trade Federation all over the galaxy, but tells the king that no aide will be sent to Narnia and Telmar until there are hostages. Senators who were on Telmar have already returned to the Senate.

Racing back to Telmar, Edmund has a vision of the Reader in immense pain. He doesn't mention to her, but she obviously looks quite distressed. She tells Edmund she's already seen the fall of too many leaders to watch it happen to the Narnians. They're too good a people. Edmund, tells her that, when all this is over, she can remain on Narnia as long as she like. She takes this to be an admission of his feelings and kisses him. Edmund rebuffs her, already having enough problems keeping his emotions in check. As they land back on Telmar, Edmund glances at Narnia in the sky, longing for home and wishes he could spend the rest of his days peacefully in Cair Paravel with the Reader and his siblings at his side.

Edmund arrived in just enough time to try to talk his brother out of this stupid duel. They can return to Narnia, gather the troups, and take Telmar back from Miraz and the greedy Federation. Between the four of them, they could easily provide enough guidence until Caspian comes of age. But High King Peter refuses. Declares that he would not sacrifice his troops when he could humiliate Miraz in this duel. Miraz would admit to the conspiracy and crimes when Peter had his sword, Rhindon at his throat. The brothers walk toward the duel together after a final reassuring "For Narnia. And For Aslan."

At the duel, Miraz has a very odd sort of weapon. About a half hour into the well-matched fight, once helmets had been lost, Rhindon breaks Miraz's weapon. Peter has Miraz on the ground, asks him to admit to his crimes. Miraz does, but suddenly lunges forward and pressed his broken weapon into the side of Peter's neck.

The High King of Narnia turns to stone.

It's chaos. The Narnians are surrounded and fighting for their lives. People are running towards the ship, but Lucy is running towards her brother encased in carbonite. Edmund, his anger and anxiety mixing toxically in the Force, fights his ways toward them, only to watch his younger sister turned to stone as well. The Reader drags him away, towards the forest and the ship. He sees that Susan is not with them and knows she's joined the others.

They arrive at the ship in a hail of blaster fire. The gangplank is lowered to allow the last to run, even as the ship rises in the air. Amongst all this, Edmund can feel a darkness rising in the Force, overwhelming the Light. The Reader runs to the communications port to send out distress signals and reports, but the channels are overrun by reports of similar chaos across the galaxy. The Narnians will not be heard.

Edmund stands at the gangplank in a daze. He hears the screaming on Telmar and screams millions of miles away. He hears Jadis's voice ("The traitor belongs to me") and Aslan's ("the galaxy needs you"). He hears Lucy's sobs and Susan's panicked "Peter!" It's too loud, too much.

A dozen years ago, Aslan taught Lucy how, with her minor abilities in the Force and with her relationship with Narnia's natural world, she could heal all those affected by Jadis's weapon. It was while Edmund was a padawan. No one else knew the secret. It took take years to discover how.

Edmund looks over his shoulder as his frazzled and injured people, at the Reader who is desperately trying to find some help in the galaxy. Only the Reader looks back at him and sees the broken look in his eyes before he jumps to the ground. The ship continues to try to escape.

There are troops on the ground. Edmund doesn't care if their droid or sentient, they all fall before his light saber. He fights his way back to where Miraz is showing his weapon to those from the Trade Federation. One tap to on Susan's stone head sends the Just King into a rage. Within moments, the only conscious beings for miles are Edmund and Miraz, dueling to the bitter end.

Edmund's rage dissipates as he feels a familiar presence behind him. Miraz sees him first and falls to the ground in surprise. To keep him there and to give him a reminder in the coming years, Edmund drags his light saber through Miraz's right thigh. Miraz begs for mercy.

"No one will come here." The Just King declares. "You will see to it that no one disturbs us until the end of our sun and this whole system burns. And you will destroy that weapon. Otherwise, you'll have him to answer to." He nods towards the figure of Aslan, standing behind him. Edmund deactivates his lightsaber and stands up straight. Aslan speaks, but Edmund does not turn around.

"Much worse than he will befall this galaxy, Edmund."

"Much better than I will bring an end to their terror. Do it, Miraz."

The new King of Telmar (and soon the whole Narnian system) took a moment to catch his meaning. Then, he seized up Queen Jadis's old weapon, built from the very thing that brought them to Narnia, and froze the fourth Pevensie in carbonite.

Miraz held his promise. As the Republic fell and Empire rose, as he charmed and fell in favor with those in charge, he kept his promise to the stone-faced Just Jedi. Amongst his other tyrannical rulings, he declared no soul shall ever go to the field where Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy stood together for eternity. He split Jadis's weapon and buried a piece on every planet and moon under his control.

The Reader retreated to the safety of Alderaan, where she kept an eye on Prince Caspian X and learned the stories of Narnia from his tutor.

And nineteen years later, she and the young prince sneak into the forbidden field on Telmar. Under the watchful eyes of a lion, they turn four stone faces back to flesh. Peter, Susan, and Lucy are all blind from hibernation sickness, but Edmund can see the faces of two familiar strangers. There's something in the woman's eyes that takes his breath away.

The young man with her speaks.

"Help me Narnians, you're my only hope."

And there it is! I hope this is a somewhat satisfying ending that still stimulates the imaginations. It certainly did for me! If anyone anywhere would ever like to write or draw anything inspired from this narrative, please don't hesitate. Just promise you'll send it to me.

#narnia #narnia au #edmund pevensie x reader #starwarsinnarnia #star wars au #justjedi

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electronicdelusionstarlight · 6 years

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Elder Scrolls Legends: Isle of Madness DLC: plot and lore summary for those who don't have the time or the will to play it

All Elder Scrolls legends stories have are framed as stories told by Kellen, a traveling moth priest, and Nagh, his furry boyfriend (?), who really like to hear the man talk, in their long and perilous journeys across Tamriel to better pass the time.

Kellen, who has always till now narrated stories he saw on the scrolls he carries around, stories about the shezarine Forgotten Hero, this time decides to tell a different kind of story, one he remembers from a old journal he found long ago.

As of now, we have no knowledge of when exactly any of this happening. However, since they treat the Return to Clockwork City DLC, which is happening right during the Skyrim Dragon War, as old history, we can assume this is happening way late in the 4th era, perhaps even the 5th.

Anyway, Kellen decides to tell us the story of a new "hero."

Talym Rend. He was a spy for the empire, stationed in Morrowind, and the journal was his. He narrates of how his son, Nevos, had been struck by a terrible madness, and how no healer, no temple priest, not even the ashlanders could heal the boy. He so decides to venture into the shivering isles, home of Sheogorath, corner of the house of troubles, and petition for him to heal his son.

We don't know when specifically this is also happening either. Morrowind isn't a smoking ruin, and the tribunal temple is still the local religion, so it's not the 4th era. The existence of a united empire deploying troops in both Morrowind and High Rock might make us assume this is happening during the 3rd era, before the events of Morrowind, but after the warp in the west? The details are confused.

Anyway, Talym finds a strange door in Morrowind, and by passing it he reaches the fringes of Sheogorath Realm.

There, we meet our first supporting character.

Cyriel is a sneaky little shit. She distracts Talym with the prospect of some sick weapon, and warns him about the incoming fight with the gate keeper, only to steal his gold purse one second later by going "Can't Help Being a Gemini Shadow."

Talym so ventures into the fringe, and finds a garden of swords, growing from the ground, and among them, a axe specifically grown to kill the gate keeper.

He uses it to kill the mountain of a flesh atronach, only for cyriel to come out of the bushes to thank him for all the work he's done for her, and walking onto the gates of madness.

Reached New Sheoth, however...

And so Talym is out to seek glory to amuse the mad god.

First, he meets once again Cyriel. The cheeky bugger has gotten herself trapped in a trap and is now trying to extort Talym's help via deception and false humility, all of this at the No-Rats Camp, a giant camp whose owner, the eponymous Nervous Giant, is terrified by Rats and Skeevers. Talym manages to make him run away and saves Cyriel, asking for his purse back, only for Cyriel to vanish in the shrubbery once again.

Second, he meets the second supporting cast member of his adventure.

The Orc Bard Luzrah gro-Shar, a gentle soul, who incidentally has the menu theme stuck in her head due to a magical cave filled with colored grumites. You help her finish her song, and she warmly salutes him.

And then, he meets the most peculiar of men (man?).

A man with a split personality, Tavyar (Rayvat?) who believes one is constantly following the other with ill intent. Talym makes them notice that they are apparently the same person, only for the 2 to get enraged and attack together... as one?

Killed the knight (or was it the mage?), Talym is approached by Haskill, who tells him that Lord Sheogorath is most pleased with him, and will receive him now.

Talym, reluctantly, accepts.

And so it begins. The mad god has also managed to conscript Cyriel and Luzrah in the mission, Sheogorath promising one riches, the other bodily harm if they don't comply, and the unfortunate Threesome is now forced to do the mad god bidding.

First, they must instill the fear of the dead to a Khajiit bandit lord, who lord Sheogorath calls a slur while he's at it, who has killed many a hero before like the Hero of Dawn and the Red Avenger, and is now afraid of no enemy, especially the dead ones.

Talym, who at first tries to spook the Khajiit with some smoke and mirrors, is in the end gifted by Haskill with a powerful amulet, that can capture weakened ghosts to later unleash on unsuspecting victims.

The bandit lord is left, fleeing into the night, haunted by the ghosts of those he had killed.

Second, a Dunmer Baron in Morrowind, owner of several Kwama Egg Mines, and sworn enemy of a rich Betty Netch Herder. The trio must convince the man, who has always had everything handled to him on a silver platter in life due to his noble and rich birth, that he is more than a simple mortal, is to boost his ego to comical proportions.

Talym so disguised himself as a prophet, and calls the baron "the Prince of the Prophecy, whose words always come true." He so asks the Baron to make three statement, three wishes, and see how they will hold true.

The first, is asking for his Kwama to lay golden eggs, a task easily fulfilled by Luzrah (" Didn't I tell you guys other than a hard I'm also a superb painter?").

The second, is for his rival's bull netches, the most gentlest of creatures, to rampage on his farm, another task easily fulfilled by simply harming the farm's betty netches in front of the bulls.

And third, for a snowstorm to start despite it being Morrowind in the middle of a particularly hot summer, which is another task fulfilled by hijacking a local telvanni mushroom tower and using it as a catalyst for a overpowered blizzard spell.

After the 3 portents are fulfilled, the baron, mad with power, decides to use his newfound "powers" to smite down his rival in a duel, and, once done so, he decides that he is capable of flight, launching himself from a Cliffside before anyone, let alone a horrified Luzrah, who unroll then was having a blast at the Baron looking silly and believing such obvious bull, can stop him.

The baron falls to his death, and Lurzah leaves the party, disgusted with watch she and the others have done.

Now, more somber, the zany adventures they seemed to have till now come to an end...

Starts the second part of this story.

Talym and Cyriel reach the border between High Rock and Skyrim. A rogue Reachmen Clan, the Doomfang Clan, is trying to breach the mountains and establish a small colony in northern high rock, so to keep trade between the 2 provinces on a choke hold.

The empire has sent one of their best generals and spies, General Porcia, Talym old friend and superior during his time as a imperial spy, and his next and last target in order to save his son.

The situation is dire, but Talym would do anything to save his son, even betray a old friend...

So, he intercepts and kills one of her spy couriers, so to tamper with its informations, so to Plant false ones and make her doubt her ability as a spy master...

Only to discover the unthinkable.

The reachmen had perfected a weapon, terrible in its design. A poisonous gas, with no antidote, deathly and pervasive, soon to be unleashed on the imperial garrison, the Breton contingent, stationed there and lead by Porcia.

Cyriel is horrified. She says they must warn the imperial at once, that no one is worth the life of an entire army...

Only For Talym to rebuke her with force. He would sacrifice anyone, even 100 armies to save his son.

Cyriel is disgusted. She leaves, stops, gets his unopened satchel filled with gold, and throws it on the ground at his feet. And then she's gone.

Talym can't stop now, he only has 24 hours left to complete his task, and he's getting desperate. He decides to plant false evidence that a sacred flower growing in a nearby grow, sacred to Lady Mara, can be extracted and used as a counter cloud to the poison, knowing full well that it will most likely do nothing of the sorts and will doom them all to a slow death by gassing.

But, due to the death of the courier, the Reachmen have gotten more alert, and manage to capture Porcia. Talym is so forced to save his old friend, only to later lead her to her doom.

They go together to the sacred grove, where Porcia, believing the flowers to be their only hope, and that the priestess were going to die anyway once the reachmen decided to attack them to prevent the flower from being harvested (something that was never going to happen), orders her men to kill them and take the flowers with force, committing a massacre of pacifist Mara priests trying to resist the imperials as they took their sacred flowers.

The trap is set, the weight of her actions already resting heavy on her mind, Porcia orders a attack against the reachmen stronghold, knowing full well such a enclosed space would be perfect for the deployment of the gas. So, she orders all her men to converge in a narrow passage, and, once the poison cloud is released, she orders to release the sacred flower counter cloud...

And then...

The two gasses have a terrible reaction with each other.

Fire is unleashed on Reahcman and Breton alike, the entirety of the Doomfang Clan, warrior, men, but also women and children living in the stronghold, and an entire imperial legion destroyed and eradicated in a single night, explosions disfiguring and killing and maiming soldiers for life, or kill those lucky enough to get killed. Porcia, miraculously unscathed, perhaps a punishment, or a mercy by lady Mara herself, witnessing her actions and her consequences, becoming more from that day onward, in fear her words might one day again cause such terrible fate, such senseless deaths, for nothing, and thinking it was her fault, hers and her faulty informations.

When it was all Talym's fault instead.

The war criminal, because we can't have a elder scrolls legends story mode without the main character being a bloody war criminal, returns home, the conquering hero, ecstatic to finally see his some again, whole and-

But his son is gone.

And only a tomb lays in his place. A tomb Talym himself built over a year ago.

He doesn't understand. How did that happen? Sheogorath must have tricked him somehow, so Talym returns to the isles, his mind getting more and more deranged as time passes and the weight of his actions start making itself clear, all with actions and horrors for nothing, the man slipping more and more into insanity as he forgets who he is, as he sees normal trees coming to life, and mudcrabs talking and trying to sell him their wares, and strange... colored grumites... singing... the menu theme song?

Lurzah is back, during Talym darkest hour, for the friend that helped her with her own song, despite everything he has done.

She wakes him from his delirium, and tells him that the only way for him to heal, is to face his past, maybe with the help of a ancient orc song, so powerful that it can send you in a trance and let you fight your darkest self.

But that's not enough. He must learn the truth, he must find Sheogorath and demand answers. So Lurzah tells him or a mighty warrior, someone Sheo himself was afraid of, trapped in a ancient cell in cavern at the fringes of insanity... or perhaps sanity?

So, they enter the cell, and free its prisoner, who was no other than...

Haskill's evil brother?

Dyus, keeper of the records of Jyggalag, the prince of order, the last thing of Jyggalag left in the isles, for not even Sheogorath could bring himself to kill his last link to his past.

Well, his second to last.

For the sword of Jyggalag is somewhere to be found, and, by using it against Sheogorath, he too will be faced with the memories of what he has done, of what he was, and, perhaps, will be compelled so to tell Talym the truth about what happen to his son.

Talym finds the sword, and returns to New Sheoth, bidding one last farewell to Lurzah, who tells him there are no ill feelings between them, and who probably decided to go search for where the hell Cyrial has gotten herself into to get her out of trouble, thus starting a epic Orsimer/Bosmer bard/thief lesbian love story to span the ages.

(Or maybe not, this one can dream).

Talym reaches Sheogorath, amazed that the man is still standing after his ordeal, and that he has managed to find the sword of order of all weapons. Talym directs his sword against Sheogorath, and demands an explanation.

Which Sheogorath, in all fairness, does give.

Via mind fucking flashbacks of course, but big still count as a explanation:

Back then, when Talym was still a imperial spy under porcia, the Black Worm Cult murdered his "partner" (Never mentioned if romantic or work partner. Since we see no spouse to speak of I'm assuming they killed the guy husband and spy partner and Nevos is adopted), so he decides to infiltrate the black worm cult himself to dismantle it from within, despite Porcia insists that he should take a break and spend more time with his son.

Alas, tragedy strikes. The cult discovers what his going on, and puts Talym in front of a terrible test.

Prove his worthiness to the cause...

Via the trial of ruthlessness.

This is by far the most chilling fucking scene and match in the history of this fucking game.

Whatever you do, you cannot save your son.

The spell in your hand, blood sacrament, is a damaging spell, and both creatures are ready to attack. There are 3 ways to kill your son.

Even if you pass, one of the two cultists will assume you failed the test, and comment on what a shame it was, only to then have the creature attack the boy by itself.

Memories come back like a flood. He had asked Sheogorath to forget the terrible action he had to commit, to kill his own beloved son, only for him to manipulate his memories so he could come back to him, years later, and do his dark bidding again.

Sheogorath and if he wants to do it all over again, and let him make him forget all of his pain and misery rather than have to face it for the rest of his miserable life.

But Talym has learned his lesson now. He must not run away from pain, but must healthily deal with his loss rather than strike bargains with mad gods. He has learned to live with the truth and his past, no matter the pain.

He then asks if Sheogorath if he can say the same for himself.

Talym strikes him with the sword of order one, two, three times, each strike making memories of his past as the prince of order flood in Sheogorath's mind, the mad god first disgusted by his last self, later scared, and in the end defeated, begging Talym to stop, to take away the memories with him and return home, something Talym agrees only after having the mad god swear to not harm or retaliate on neither him or on Cyrial and Luzrah again, who were probably having wild lesbian sex in Lurzah's colored music cave as all of this was happening and Sheogorath started making rain flaming cheese from the skies as he pleaded for Talym to go the fuck away from him.

And so the story end. Talym returns to his empty home to deal with his grief, alone, and leave us a warning: "no matter what devil might try to bargain with you, memories and grief are important to us, and we should never give them away, no matter how painful they might seem."

The story ends, and we return to out travelers from the start, with Nagh obligatory sarcastic closing statement: "Jeez, man, Naagh is beginning to think you only know angsty stories, it's the 3rd time you made this one cry with one," as a city appears on the horizon.

#sheogorath #elder scrolls #elder scrolls legends #shivering isles #tes lore #jyggalag #haskill #oblivion #morrowind

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diregate · 6 years

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Elsword Job Paths, but the storyline gets rewritten by me because I’m bored Pt 1/2

Hi this is me I’m doing this because why not

Also first disclaimer I’ve only played so much Elsword which in general involves me only playing up to 3rd job, non transcendent, so anything from transcendence onwards is just baseless assumption from me

Also I’m picking out all job titles that are really similar because this game tries to be original but we all know that’s false because Add is basically Geas The Character and Elesis is A FakeTM

Elsword, the Knight who really likes smacking things in the head with a flat sword, really, who does that

After a long training session, he goes back to his home and what he picks up next will determine his fate:

Sword Knight > Lord Knight > Knight Emperor*

*:Not to be confused with Knight or Emperor, which is Elsword’s first job and Jin’s fourth job respectively

He picks up a picture of his sister, whom had magically disappeared an hour prior. Developing a hard onee-chan complex because he really aspires to grow and become just like her (minus the hair), he vigorously trains in the sword, and also starts using swords with sharper ends, good on you Elsword.

Magic Knight* > Rune Slayer > Rune Master^

*: Not to be confused with Spell Knight, which is Ronan’s first job

^: Not to be confused with Rune Caster, which is Mari’s first job

He picks up Aisha’s bag of supplies while she isn’t around and takes out the first thing, which was a pair of runed gloves. With the power of robbery gone unnoticed he develops the ability to use! Runes! Wow! Who could have guessed from that job title!

Sheath Knight (really?) > Infinity Blade* > Immortal (god why)

*:Not to be confused with the hot selling mobile app game Infinity Blade

He picks up Aisha’s bag of supplies while she isn’t around and takes out the first thing, which is apparently an entire box set of anime discs and manga which were completely misarranged. Elsword decided to do her a favor by rearranging everything, after he went through her entire Shoujou series. Now with the power of god and anime on his side, he decides to smack people with sword sheaths instead. Wonderful. I don’t know where to begin.

Aisha, the Magician whom is clearly in any form not completely identical to a specific girl named Arme Glenstid, as she has the ability to cast multiple fireballs instead of just one at a time (plowed fire doesn’t count).

After going out to shop for supplies and magical items and trinkets she realize her bag wasn’t with her. What she does next will forever change her path:

High Magician > Elemental Master > Aether Sage

She decides that everything in her hackysack wasn’t important anyway, her magic power was lost! She couldn’t be sitting around watching anime. She gets a little antsy and fidgety and starts taking it out by trying to have fun smacking enemies but eventually becomes a full fledged Sage by her own capabilities, twice. A wonderful girl.

Dark Magician* > Void Princess > Oz Soceress

*:Not to be confused with Dark Magician, the monster card that Atem summons in almost every duel episode ever

She decided that she really needs to get her stuff back. After discovering Elsword rummaging through it, she starts being absolutely pouty and learns how to channel her angsty emotion into destructive power. Eventually she learns how to channel any emotion into destructive power and now she’s literally rewritten the story of Oz into a manual of her road to (re)power.

Battle Magician* > Dimension Witch > Metamorphy

*:Not to be confused with Battle Mage, which is Arme’s fourth job, but it’s pretty friggin’ close to it anyway so really what’s the difference

She decided that she really needs to get her stuff back. After discovering Elsword rummaging through it and looking through her Shoujou anime and manga, she decides to join him. Nothing like anime to de stress, right? Eventually like Elsword, she becomes suffused with the power of god and anime and is now literally a Madoka Shoujou, and also as overpowered.

Rena, the Ranger whom really likes her shape and really likes flaunting it. Even if she has a very close resemblance to a certain Eryuelian archer, the inhumanly oversized chest of abundance really points out a difference. And also her spine is really goddamn flexible like yeesh. (Also whoever shittalks me about Rena for describing her like this really needs to play her because unless you’re going Sniping path, you are getting a lot of skimpy wear)

She embarks on her journey to Elrios (Gee where had I heard of this before) and decides that if she were going to have to fight through demons, that she’d have to pick a specific school of combat to major in:

Combat Ranger > Wind Sneaker > Anemos

Rena decides that her diet will now be calcium and protein based, and her bones grow strong and her muscles bulge from the daily workout of a commando. Her kicks prove to be insanely painful and she performs backflips and soumersalts, and occasionally performs for the poor. She also communes with the wind elemental to give her feet their blessings, so she basically becomes someone that is definitely not from a certain anime named DGrayman.

Sniping Ranger > Grand Archer > Daybreak

Rena decides that her arrows were too blunt and she spends almost all of her free time fletching new, super sharp ones. Also she gets the wind elementals to bless them too. Coupled with her flexible spine, she is able to haul a rain of arrows to end people before they could even look up after being downed by her. It’s useful when you can turn things to your advantage.

Trapping Ranger > Night Watcher > Twilight

Rena decides it’s time she used that stolen blade she snuck out of the shrine because she’s secretly a kleptomaniac. The blade Eldrassil is also super magical and gives her the power of nature while simultaneously sap her positive, then negative emotions. Eventually she becomes Not Batman, wearing a hoodie and for some reason deciding only covering majority of her upper parts alone was good enough to carry on her edgy aura. She also comes with a free bowl of sass and a ton of cuts.

Raven, the Taker whom is apparently a man with a robot arm and what the hell does a Taker even mean anyway. Why are you an antagonist that dies super easily to an infinite stretch of combos that I juggle you with because you’re just that easy to lift. Obviously he’s edgy, and generally upset with himself, and constantly seeks redemption for deeds he could not control doing. Also the Nasods used him as a base to replicate more robots like him and honestly Rena, yeah I’m disturbed too.

He doesn’t do much, he just says he wants to atone and that he’s good with a sword and also his robot arm has some weird ways to turn energy into weird looking fire. When he is finally free from the mind control of capitalism, he decides that:

Sword Taker > Blade Master > Furious Blade*

*:Not to be confused with Unlimited Blade, which is apparently everyone’s 3MP attack

He hates being a robot and he hates his robotic arm with a passion. But not like, in the way where he’d rip his own Nasod arm off. Are you kidding? That thing has nerves in it. Now that he’s dedicated to destroying Nasod he starts wearing long sleeves and returning to his old self, which is apparently an emo man by first dyeing his hair fully black, and then keeping it down so that it almost always seems to obscure one eye. Yeah, very easy to kill things when you can’t see them too well, right? Also he gets a guy to rebuild his arm to look like his other one.

Over Taker (really?) > Reckless Fist > Rage Hearts* (?????)

*:Not to be confused with Burning Heart, which is one of Fake!Elesis’ 3rd job

He loves being a robot and he loves his robotic arm with a passion. But not like, in the way where he’d make love to his own Nasod arm anyway. Instead he focuses more on his burst potential. With his newfound fascination for pyrotechnics and white hair, he starts streaking his hair with white and also keeping it from his face for a grand total of one job before he feels the comforting embrace of his fringe between his eyes.

Weapon Taker (yeah, what else are you going to take next) > Veteran Commander > Nova Imperator*

*:I swear they’re just making things up by this point

He doesn’t really care honestly. But not like, in the way where he’d use both of them together in a combination way. He just uses other weapons now. He also has so much gratitude for Elsword and his team for saving him that he streaks his hair red now, instead of his white, and attaining maximum edge hairstyle. Also he likes looking very judgmental and upset about things.

Eve, the Another Code, whose introduction does not match the general sentence and has thusforth failed itself, is a Nasod. Elsword, you’re travelling with a Nasod, wake up your eyes. You’d think her slap would be good enough. But noooo, you had to give her feelings. YOU GAVE A ROBOT FEELINGS. THIS IS WHY SHE ENDS UP HAVING THESE THREE JOB PATHS:

Code: Exotic > Code: Nemesis > Code: Ultimate

Absolutely deciding that feelings is a very not okay thing in computation and artificial intelligence, she resolves to create the ability to wipe out all that stands in her way of her making her empire of Nasods. As such, she slaps that emotional circuitry out of her and starts developing the ability to make some additional machines to murderize both enemy robots and humans. And elves. But mostly robots apparently.

Code: Architect > Code: Empress > Code: Esencia

Absolutely deciding that feelings is a very okay and even important thing in computation and artificial intelligence, she decides to keep the emotional circuitry in herself. And because Elsword gave her feelings and then decide to watch anime instead of talking to her, she gets lonely. So she makes robots, and eventually after mingling with everyone she thinks that, well, maybe Nasods and humans can live together. And elves. But mostly humans apparently.

Code: Electra > Code: Battle Seraph > Code: Sariel

Absolutely unable to decide, her own emotional circuits start short circuiting and now she’s unable to control what she’s feeling, so she goes with the general method of ‘I’m a robot I can’t feel, hoooh’. Also the overloaded circuits start giving her power and pain, until it also short circuited her own pain circuits. In fact basically everything in her short circuits and she becomes a weapon herself to destroy both enemy robots and humans. And elves. But mostly elves apparently.

(Disclaimer: I played Chung for a grand total of 30 minutes)

Chung, the Guardian who apparently failed to guard his own city from demons. You had one job*. Also his surname is Seeker, and I’m almost sure that’s actually his job name in KR. You had one job. He has long hair, and in fact looks super androgynous, you could mistake him for a girl fairly easily. He’s also the heir of the throne. Like Ara. Like Lu. Like Eve. Boy, you are just one cog in a series of clockwork.

*:He actually has 3 job paths and 3 jobs in each so that’s actually 9 jobs, but details, details.

Eventually he runs into the El Search Party, whom apparently named themselves that because they’re the only goddamn people in the entire world of Elrios trying to save the entire world. Wow. Infatuated by a noble cause and in dire need for one himself because otherwise he’ll break down (and trust me you don’t want him to, his /cry is 13 seconds long), he joins in and decides to hone on his talent with a cannon on his back, or something else:

Fury Guardian > Iron Paladin > Comet Crusader

He loves his hair, he grows it longer like his cannon as he starts to make it stronger with little tinkering. He also loves shooting cannon balls and blowing things up. He ties it up in the end because the hair was getting so long it was starting to block his eyes (which miraculously affects his field of vision unlike every one else in this world). With the martial artist of Rena to help him, he swings that cannon round and round baby, round and round.

Shooting Guardian* > Deadly Chaser > Fatal Phantom

*:GEE WHAT ELSE IS NEW

He doesn’t like his hair, it reminds him of home, and probably the blood of several thousand citizens that he failed to save. So he cuts it, Mulan style, with his new weapon Go Go Geagles. Armed with two more pistols aside from his huge ass cannon he puts on his back, now he starts running around and yelling ‘FIRE’* so much you could swear he’s an audible fire alarm. In fact I’m almost pretty sure he hates fire and his cannon now too.

*: Actually I meant to put this link there but you get two links for the price of one!

Shelling Guardian > Tactical Trooper > Centurion

He likes his hair, but it could probably use a new addition. Flipping through some of Elsword’s (and Aisha’s as well, presumably) manga collection, he decided what he needs was some fox ears. So he asked Ara to see if Eun could bless him with some of her kitsune powers. So she did. Now he has fox ears. He also learns alchemy and ends up making his cannon less reliable, for more destructive purposes. Literally now his shots go everywhere. It’s almost like you don’t care to aim away from your new friends, Chung. Do you really want all of this to happen just because you want your fox ears?

Ara-Ain will all be on a later post because holy crap this is long

#i get bored #so this happens #i'm also giving this my own tag #elorigins #because one day i might pick this up #probably not until this game dies like grand chase though

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crimeamarches · 8 years

Text

more than slack rope, more than sunstroke

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken (FE7)

Pairing: Guy/Matthew

Rating: T

Summary: On some days, the contract weighs nothing at all. On other days, things get a little more complicated. Matthew, still reeling from the events of the Dread Isle, tries to struggle through on his own, and Guy gets caught in the crossfire.

Notes: title comes from mineshaft by dessa. emetophobia warning

also on ao3 :)

On an average day, the contract weighs nothing at all. It’s simply forgotten, like a grass cut on the plains, like fat trimmings off a bad cut of meat. Guy sits beside the fire and lets the conversation flow over him, Lyn and Kent and Rebecca and Lucius, with a corner of Matthew’s cloak tucked around him. Matthew hands him a stick for roasting nuts and sweets over the coals, close enough that their arms press together and stay there, and the entire army leans in close with sticky hands and happy laughs.

Not every day is so easy. The Dread Isle changed a lot of things. Most can sense it in Lord Eliwood; he goes on the same, the same as always, but he seems always to be leaning on Lord Hector, or with his arm looped through Lady Lyn’s. Guy can sense it in Matthew as well. Grief, distant and sloshing and drunk, bleeds out of him like blood from an open wound. Every person in the army honors Leila’s death and the sacrifice she made doing what is possibly the world’s most dangerous, most vital work; but Matthew spurns any attempts to approach him and, where possible, tries to avoid mentioning his connection to her at all to those not aware.

Yet, despite their insurmountable odds, there are more good days than bad. What a wonder to be surrounded by genial, good people, people chasing joy even if what they have is furtive, fleeting, now. They shake the last of that damned fog out of their brains and begin the long trek back to Bern. For once, Guy begins to feel like he belongs, contract or no contract.

On other days, however, the contract becomes a collar, a manacle, an anchor dragging him into the deep. The hours not spent fighting for his life against Fang mercs or Bern soldiers are spent wiping blood from his mouth after one of Matthew’s ambushes. His ears buzz with Matthew’s laughter and his jabs against Guy’s honor: what, you think I’m being unfair? Wanna go back on your word, Guy? It’s fine, I promise not to tell your upstanding kinsmen…for the right price. Matthew’s eyes, like flint, like a whetstone, like ash, burn gray and dying in his pale, mocking face.

Some days, Guy beds down with his hand curled beneath Matthew’s sharp jaw, and he thinks, what can I do? How can I help you? Others, he beds down alone, arm curled around his stomach, dreaming fitfully of starving and drowning in ink.

Not every battle they face is a large-scale conflict with dire implications for the future of their entire world. Some battles are simple skirmishes, small-scale affairs with troops of morphs or Bernese militia sent to test their defenses and harry their progress. They rotate watches, scouts, and rear guards to keep units fresh and ready to handle whatever the road throws at them. The schedule is consistent as clockwork, courtesy of their mysterious tactician, which means that it doesn’t take long for Guy to notice when the roster begins to skip over him in the rotation.

The week after they depart the Dread Isle, Guy is assigned to sentry duty. It’s the lightest assignment of the lot, though it can be exhausting to stay on high alert throughout the day until the night watch takes over. Still, there’s something about it that reminds Guy of his youth on the plains. The Lycian countryside has none of the warm, waving grass he remembers when homesickness grips him tight, and the smell of steel and road dust overpowers the smell of the wind and the horses; but, even so, Guy falls easily into the muscle memory of loping alongside the pack, falling back, and ranging ahead, keeping his eyes and ears open and alert.

The routine is familiar and easy to get lost in, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a shock when he’s put on the same assignment the following week as well.

“Maybe there’s been a mix-up,” Serra says directly into his ear. Neither of their names have moved position from last week. Her bony elbow digs into his shoulder as she leans over him to get a better look. “Maybe our esteemed tactician is finally losing it.”

Flinching from the volume of her voice, Guy tries to shy away. “That’s unlikely. Maybe…we’re being rewarded? With lighter responsibilities?”

“I could buy that if it was just my greatness we were talking about, but what have you done lately?”

“Yeah…you have a point.”

Her elbow jabs him at the comment, and she pulls him into a noogie. “I was teasing you, you gloomy little muffin. Don’t be such a downer; you’re as bad as Erk! Let’s just report to our posts and chalk it up to a happy accident, huh?”

It’s less easy for Guy to forget. He can’t help but feel that there’s something he’s missing, some strange new development that he has overlooked. Trepidation disturbs the slow, comforting routine of sentry duty, and Guy spends every day waiting for the other shoe to drop. Serra’s chatter grates on his nerves more than it typically does, but his conversation skills only get worse under pressure. All these factors combine to make for very long shifts.

To make matters even worse, Matthew begins avoiding him.

It’s probably because he’s working with Serra for the second week in a row. Guy rationalizes away the change; Matthew’s teasing would only stress him out more, after all, so is it really so bad that he’s backed off? No. This is for the best.

He becomes a very bad watch partner, spending hours hunched miserably in trees and other vantage points with his knees up to his chin and an unconscious pout fixed on his face. Eventually, even Serra gives up.

Another week passes; they make their cautious way across Lycia. Soon they’ll be in Ostia and on to Bern, and then the real battles will begin anew. Surely when the new week rolls around, they will want the best, most rested soldiers on the most dangerous assignments. But, once again, the new rosters are posted and Guy (and Serra) remain day sentries.

This time, some people grumble and cut their eyes at the pair. Legault eyes Guy steadily, sending cold worry sliding down Guy’s spine, though the man leaves without a word. Hoping that he can escape before anyone confronts him, Guy tries to scurry away; however, before he can manage it, a hand catches him buy the arm.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Oswin asks. His voice is as calm and low as ever—Guy has never once heard him raise his voice, and the very thought makes him shiver—but his hand is large and heavy, and Guy can feel the strength in it as he’s held tightly.

“N-no,” he stutters horribly in response, squirming away and bolting. He’s across the camp before Oswin has any hope of catching him.

Maybe it would be best to speak with the tactician about this mix-up. Soon, too, before they reach Bern and the real fighting begins. If it’s an honest mistake, then the disarray could cause problems for the entire army. Guy could end up the reason someone gets seriously injured or even—

Goosebumps break out all over his body, and he turns sharply and hurries back towards the pavilion in the center of camp.

“Oh, are you looking for the tactician?” Lady Lyn asks as he approaches, putting down her papers to smile at him. Guy nods, too out of breath to reply. “Well, you’re going to have to wait,” she adds sympathetically. “They’re very busy at the moment, and Hector just pulled them away to work on something. I’ll pass along that you need to speak with them, though, or you can wait here.”

Guy gulps in air and rights himself. “No…thank you, Lady Lyn. But I have to get back to duty or else Serra will wonder where I’ve gotten to.”

“Try coming back after supper, if you can. Have a good day!”

Of course, it was silly to think that he could just waltz up to the most important member of the army and expect to immediately have his concerns heard. The tactician is the most important member of the army and obviously wouldn’t have time for complaints. But, all the same, maybe he should have told Lady Lyn anyway in order to get the message sent along; there really could be some horrible consequence to an error even that inconsequential-seeming.

“Deep in thought, Guy?”

A finger runs lightly up the back of Guy’s neck, making him jump and squawk. He wheels around, hand clasped to his nape, to see Matthew smirking at him.

“Wh-what do you want?” He demands tremulously.

“Tut, tut, Guy, you know you’ll never beat me if you let me sneak up on you like that…”

Guy drops his hand. Ignoring the jibe at his goals, he says, “What is it, Matthew? You’ve avoided me for weeks; what is it that you need me for now?”

Like wiping blood from steel, any mirth or teasing in Matthew’s face disappears instantly. “I need to speak with you,” he says, turning on his heel and marching away towards the tree line. Guy has to jog to keep up.

“Matthew, wait! I do have to get back—where are we going?”

He doesn’t hesitate or say a word until both are well out of earshot of the camp. When they’re finally far enough away, he stops abruptly enough that Guy almost slams into his back, but he doesn’t turn around.

“In three days’ time, Lord Hector will meet his lord brother in Thria. There have been reports of mercenary armies massing around the territory, and we can’t know for certain, but it’s likely that these mercenaries are either Black Fang or unofficially hired by Bern. They wish to stop our meeting with Lord Uther and any deal for reinforcements we may strike. The battle could get bloody. But you will not be in it.”

Alarm and confusion war for control, but the need to know why it’s so important Guy not take the field wins out. “What do you mean? If there’s a chance that an entire mercenary army has amassed, then we’ll need every capable unit—“

“Lord Uther will have troops with him. Ostian regulars are the best troops in all Lycia.”

“That may be so, but I am more than capable. More hands are always better when lives are at stake.”

“We will hardly suffer from the absence of a single Sacaean swordsman. You sit this one out.”

Heat floods Guy’s face. “I’m not saying that I can make a massive difference alone, but I am skilled, and I couldn’t live with myself if something—“

“Enough. I’ve told you what will happen already.”

Matthew’s voice is so cold, his shoulders so stiff, his turned back so unresponsive, that arguing with him feels like floundering for footing on an icy lake. A helpless panic yawns in the pit of his stomach, confused and anxious. Who is Matthew to order him around? But if Guy does disobey him, would that be the end of whatever strange friendship they have between them? The thought turns him cold.

Guy squares his shoulders and sucks in a fortifying breath. He grabs Matthew by the shoulder and spins him around, refusing to quail at the furious look Matthew sends at him as he jerks away.

“I know you have a low opinion of my fighting abilities,” Guy begins, voice imploring, “But it isn’t for you to say who takes the field and who doesn’t. I follow the tactician’s orders. And if I’m going to be the greatest swordsman in Sacae someday, then—“

A harsh laugh cuts him off. “And how are you going to achieve that if you die spitted on the end of some sellsword’s blade?”

“What makes you so certain I’ll die? It’s no more likely that I’ll die than anyone else in the army; are you coming to them all with this information? What has you so worked up?”

“You ask too many damn questions.”

“Please, Matthew. I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand. You just need to listen.”

“That isn’t good enough.” Guy’s own boldness leaves him panting slightly, heart pounding in his chest like he just ran a mile. Matthew’s face is like stone, and he still won’t meet Guy’s eye.

“Well that’s just too damn bad.” Matthew’s hand comes up to cover his shoulder where Guy grabbed him moments ago. The movement looks almost unconscious, distracted.

“Matthew…”

Finally, Matthew looks at him. His eyes blaze, lined with deep circles. Guy trembles like a rabbit on a snare and hates himself for it.

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to listen. I’m calling in a favor. You can’t refuse.”

And Matthew leaves him unable to argue or answer, shivering in the increasing wind.

In the end, honor wins out. Guy explains the situation to Lady Lyn, pausing and mumbling enough to be nearly inaudible, and she nods her understanding. Guy is just happy that he doesn’t have to face Lord Hector or the tactician, though his own cowardice hounds his sleep.

He watches the group march into Thria Castle. With each soldier that passes him, Guy drinks them in as if he will never see them again. No matter how he cranes his neck, the only glimpse he can catch is of a flash of red cape fluttering through the crowd.

He’s going to die.

He feels them in their graves already as he wanders through the castle town. When will he get the news? Will he be alone as the sun goes down, straining his ears through the market chatter to listen for screams of agony? Will some scar-faced mercenary captain parade Lord Eliwood’s body through the central square?

Guy’s stomach rebels against him in an alleyway behind a butcher’s shop. He doubles over, sick into the stinking rubbish pile, flashes of slashed throats and opened bellies behind his eyes. Wiping his mouth, he straightens up despite his weak knees. Matthew forbade him from approaching the palace until he receives a message at the inn that the fighting has ended. Guy has nothing but empty hours ahead of him.

Staggering out of the alley, he scrubs at his streaming eyes. He does his best not to appear drunk or ill; the last thing he needs is an altercation with city watch.

Distracted by filtering his own buzzing thoughts, he slams directly into the wide chest of a towering man in dingy armor. Stunned and unbalanced from vomiting and worry, Guy would have fallen to the street if the man didn’t grab him and hold him steady.

“Hey! Watch where you’re headed, boy!” The man barks, righting Guy and snatching the front of his tunic.

“A-apologies. I was only—“

“Hey,” a second voice says. The owner of the voice is a second man dressed much like the first, who steps forward with glinting eyes. “Gorl, what do you suppose a lone Sacaean is doing in Thria? He’s not one of Eubans’s boys, is he?”

“That’s a good question, Jalis. Boy, you got a contract with Captain Eubans?”

“No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

The second man, Jalis, leans in closely. “Then what’s your business here? Ain’t causing trouble, are you?”

Say anything. Say you’re looking for mercenary work; you have a sword, and they’ll believe it. Guy clasps his hand around Gorl’s thick, corded wrist. He has no chance of breaking out of the hold like this, and anyway, where would he run? He can’t stray too far from the inn and risk losing his way.

“I’m only passing through,” Guy says, cursing the weak excuse.

“Don’t he look an awful lot like the Sacaean we’re supposed to be hunting?” Gorl asks. A wave of dread curls through Guy’s already-abused stomach, and he swallows down fresh bile. Gorl’s hand tightens, forcing Guy ever so slightly onto his toes.

“Don’t be a jackass. We’re hunting a Sacaean woman.”

“Could still be related. Boy!” Gorl shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “Boy, do you know anything about a girl named Lyndis?”

“Never heard of her.” Guy’s other hand settles on the hilt of his sword.

“He’s lying,” Jalis says, voice heavy with amusement. “Well, we can fix that. Take him into the alley, Gorl, and let’s teach this little shit a little bit about respect and honesty.”

Gorl takes a heavy step forward, and in the same movement Guy unsheathes his sword and slams the hilt into Gorl’s wrist. A sickening crunch fills the air, and Gorl releases him with a scream of pain and rage. This has officially crossed the line of ‘typical marketplace dispute,’ and bystanders all around exclaim in surprise and fear. Guy rams his sword back into the scabbard and takes off before Gorl, Jalis, or any passing watchman can stop him.

He runs without looking back, taking turns as they appear before him and trying to throw any pursuers off his trail. The problem that arises, however, is that Guy has spent precious little time in Lycian cities. Within the hour, he’s free of pursuers but also hopelessly lost. He has no shoes other than the thin, soft boots unsuited for running on cobblestones, and his feet throb as he slides down a wall to rest for a moment.

Apart from a large tear in the front of his tunic, he escaped from the assault unscathed. Still, the memory of Gorl’s massive hand holding him down sends a shudder through Guy; both men towered over him and were toting massive axes to boot. That could have gone very poorly, with him beaten delirious before anyone ever bothered to raise an alarm for the poor sap losing teeth in the alley. Guy shudders again. His mouth still tastes of bile, but the run did manage to wipe his mind clear of the spiraling despair of the fates of his companions that had gripped him earlier.

Guy glances up at the sky. The buildings and the city walls make it difficult to tell the time with any precision, but the paling of the sky indicates that the sun has begun to set. Who knows how long it will take for Guy to work his way back to the inn to await Matthew’s summons. Climbing to his feet, Guy begins to limp his way towards the closest main street and, hopefully, someone who can point him in the right direction.

Night is falling in earnest by the time Guy finally stands in front of the inn. Sore and bruised, the last thing he wants is for a watchman to come by and accost him for loitering; he has little money of his own, and the thought of spending it on a room at the inn that he doesn’t even need is a bitter one. He sits for a moment on the lip of a fountain as he weighs his options.

Fate intervenes before he has to decide. Guy looks up, ignoring the protesting muscles in his neck, as hooves clatter into the square. A rider in Thrian livery makes a half-circuit around the square before heading in Guy’s direction.

“Ho!” the rider calls, raising an arm to salute him.

“Can I help you?” Guy responds cautiously, the memory of Gorl and Jalis still fresh.

“I was told to fetch a Sacaean man from in front of the inn. Are you he?”

“Who sent you?”

“A spy in Lord Hector’s employ.”

A sigh of relief gusts from his lungs. “Thank you. I’ll head to the castle immediately.”

The messenger offers him a ride back on the horse, but, footsore as he is, the thought of getting on a horse right now makes him want to lie down and never get up. Matthew’s alive, or alive enough at least to send a message, and that’s all that matters right now. Anything else can wait half an hour while he makes the journey, so Guy just thanks the rider and sends her back the way she came with knowledge that he’s on his way.

By the time Guy makes it to the entrance gate, he’s limping so badly he can barely stand, but the relief humming happily in his chest mitigates the pain somewhat. He doesn’t rest, just goes directly to the main hall where, theoretically, someone should be waiting to direct him. He can rest once he’s ensured there were no casualties, once he’s seen the lot of them safe and whole.

Two guards flank the door to the hall, and they exchange dark glances with each other before stepping forward to bar Guy’s way. “What is your business here, boy?”

Too exhausted to deal with an interrogation, Guy just murmurs, “A retainer of Lord Hector’s sent for me. I’m a member of his…” He trails off as, apparently deeming his explanation insufficient, one of the guards takes a menacing step forward. I thought someone would be waiting for me, he thinks dimly as he’s grabbed for the second time that day.

“No need for that,” a smooth voice says from behind him. Guy twists his neck painfully around to catch a glimpse of Legault approaching from a side corridor. “He’s with me,” Legault continues. His heels click deafeningly on the stone floor as he approaches. The guard releases Guy slowly, and both watch with suspicious eyes as Legault drags Guy away.

“Legault? What’s going on? Where’s Matthew?”

“They’re still cleaning the bodies out of the hall, so of course it was suspicious that someone with Lord Hector wouldn’t know that. I’m fairly certain that peppy cleric is with our dear Matthew right now; I’m taking you to them.”

“The bastard could have told me somewhere else to meet him, then. Why send a message and not tell me where he’s actually going to be…”

“Because I was the one who sent for you.” Legault stops in front of a series of archways, through which Guy can see nothing but a sea of white linen and bustling bodies.

Suddenly, he can’t take in a breath. His lungs struggle feebly; his tongue feels too large for his mouth, but he stumbles his way through the words anyway. “Why? What do you mean? Legault, please…”

Legault stares past him into the ward. “Eubans’s men didn’t go easy. There were some injuries. Matthew was…unable to send for you, so I took the liberty of doing it instead. I—“

Guy shoves past him hard enough to send Legault into the wall. All the relief, all the exhaustion, both have evaporated, leaving in their wake a numb weightlessness. Only one thought makes its way through the white noise: find Serra. Legault said she was with Matthew; her hair should stand out and—

“Guy, stop.” Legault cuts in front of him, placing hands gently on his shoulders to hold him in place. “You can’t just barge in and cause a panic in a closed ward. I will take you to him.”

“Why are you being so kind? I don’t even know you,” Guy chokes out, all the fight leaving his body.

“Let’s just say that I feel a kinship with the lad. And I’m feeling a bit in a sentimental mood lately with all these wide-eyed youths around all the time. Clumsy as his attempts to protect his loved ones have been, far be it from me to let them go to waste.”

Legault’s voice fades into the background as Guy finds himself unable to focus. His eyes slide hazily over the small gaggles of nurses, friends, and mourners that cluster around the rows of cots. He has to keep up with Legault, can’t fall behind, and the thief’s legs are so much longer than Guy’s that he has to move quickly to have any hope. Any one of those white beds could be a friend, a dead man, another body he could have helped, if he’d only—

Around the corner is another, smaller grouping of beds. Upright patients occupy two of them: Wil, whose shoulder is wrapped in gauze but looks otherwise unharmed, and a green-haired man in chipped gray armor who Guy doesn’t recognize. None of those things matter, however when Guy’s eyes fall on the third bed.

Serra has put her hood up, white covering her bright hair. That detail filters in, easier to understand and process than the gray of Matthew’s skin, the paleness of his lips, the bandages swathing his chest. Guy gropes beside the bed, pulling out a stool and collapsing onto it, fingers gripping the side of the bed so tightly they go cold.

“He got caught by a poisoned axe while, I don’t know, picking a lock or goofing off or whatever,” Serra says dully. “I drained the poison, but because of that and where the wound is located, I can’t heal the whole thing right away. Elimine’s blessing can work a whole bunch of miracles, but it can’t just teleport the poison somewhere else or prevent scar tissue from stopping up important pathways in the body. So he gets to recover the hard way, which serves him right for going off on his own in the first place.”

“He’s alive,” Guy whispers, half a question, half just an exhale.

“Yeah, he’ll make it.” Serra wipes her hands on the towel at her waist, then places her cool hand on the top of Guy’s head. “Watch him for a bit while I go see if I’m needed elsewhere, will you? And you,” she jabs her foot at the cot, “don’t pretend to be asleep the entire time he’s here. Coward.”

She chucks Guy softly under his chin and smiles when he glances up at her. He doesn’t turn his head to watch her leave; he doesn’t register on any level the movements of the other people in the room. He rests his hand lightly over Matthew’s heart. A shudder rolls through his entire body; the tension curls his nails against clammy skin; Guy clutches his throat with his other hand as a sob rips out of him, shameful and loud.

Matthew’s eyes slit open. Fingers brush faint and dry against Guy’s hand, and the weakness in that touch only makes him cry harder, shoulders curling as if it’s possible to hide from what’s laying in front of him and boiling within him.

“Hey,” Matthew rasps, but all Guy can do is shake his head. If someone hadn’t found him quickly, the poison would have ravaged his system until it was too late for a healer to do anything about it. He would have writhed in agony as fire spread through his veins, until it stole his senses, his breath, his life; or he could have just bled out, trying to press the wound shut or stem the bleeding with his cape, until he grew too weak and cold to hold it firmly anymore.

And Guy would have been a half-mile away, slumped on the side of a granite fountain, complaining of his hurt feet. A low moan escapes his chest.

“I should have been there—“

“Hey.” Matthew pinches the inside of Guy’s wrist sharply. “What happened to you? Your clothes are torn, and you’ve got a bruise…”

“You’re asking about me? You’re half-dead and all—all mummified, and the poison could still do Elimine knows what to you if Serra missed any, and you’re asking me about a bruise? How can you even say that?”

“The town was supposed to be safe. Nothing should have happened.” There’s a grim set to his jaw, an all-too-familiar glint in his eye.

“Well something did happen,” Guy bursts out, wiping furiously at the tears on his cheeks with the hand that Matthew isn’t touching. “There were more mercenaries lurking around, apparently shaking down any Sacaean they see for information on Lady Lyn. One grabbed me, so I broke his wrist and ran away instead of causing a scene and getting arrested.”

Fury lights up Matthew’s face. “Those bastards—“

“They were heavily armed—if I hadn’t been able to surprise them, if I hadn’t been able to get away, who knows what could have happened. The big one could have choked me or snapped my neck like a twig.”

“Stop.”

It tastes bitter to hear the pained rasp of Matthew’s voice, but Guy pushes on. His tears have stopped, though he can still feel them drying on his face. He presses down firmly where he feels Matthew’s weak heartbeat. “So, you see, I could have died even though I was away from the fighting. And I would have died heartsick and feeling like a coward, a-and there would be one less person to sit by your bed, a-and…” His voice trails off, his indignant fire dying out. He rubs his thumb over a small, puckered scar, and another large tear drips down his chin. “I deserve to be here, to see this through to the end. I want to get stronger, which will never happen if I’m sent away from the front. Matthew, I should have been here.”

He doesn’t want to see Matthew’s reaction to his outburst, doesn’t want to see him turn to stone again and leave him without any answers. Guy folds like paper, leaning over to press his forehead into Matthew’s side. Hiding again, running again, but at this point he can hardly bring himself to care.

A hand rests gentle against the back of Guy’s neck. He tenses brutally, but then it all bleeds away as the hand begins rubbing in slow, methodical circles and lightly scratching through the thin, soft flyaway hairs escaping from the base of his braid.

“You’re right,” Matthew murmurs. “I should never have sent you away. I was afraid…and I thought that it would be better if you were safe. But that was stupid. No matter what else happens, it will ease both our minds if we can look out for each other, yeah? I treated you unfairly, and I’m sorry, Guy.”

Guy shakes his head against the canvas mattress. “I don’t want your apology. All I want is to stand by your side. As equals.”

Matthew’s hand stills.

“I know I still owe you one favor, but I hate—“

“Done.”

“What?” Guy sits up abruptly.

“As soon as I can move off this damn bed, I’ll tear up the contract.”

“You will?”

“I’m asking my last favor right now anyway.”

“…What is it?”

Suddenly, Matthew’s grip turns to iron, yanking him down . Guy yelps and tries to catch himself before their skulls collide, but before he has time to do even that, their mouths meet in the middle.

Everything goes very still. He can hear his own distant heartbeat and feel with more clarity Matthew’ pounding stronger and stronger beneath his touch. Guy is hyperaware of every flutter of his eyelids, every catch of dry skin, every wet touch hinting something more intimate. His ears burn; his skin shivers happily like stepping out of the cold and too close to the fire. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt or ever even dared to imagine and, somewhere beneath his shock, he’s caught in a rising tide of yes.

Guy couldn’t say, afterwards, which one of them breaks away first. He’s left mesmerized by Matthew’s honeyed eyes only a few inches from his own, suffused in warmth and smiling for the first time in what feels like ages.

“That’s the only favor I ask of you now,” Matthew says. “Before I destroy the contract. Just the kiss. I didn’t want to break our terms too easily and offend your honor, after all.” His thumb skims over Guy’s bottom lip, looking for all the world like he’d give anything to lean in for another taste.

Guy laughs, tired and giddy and filled up to the brim with emotion. “How about you give yourself a break from looking out for me and my honor, huh? From now on, we’ll both look out for ourselves…and each other.”

“We have an agreement,” Matthew agrees with a teasing tap to Guy’s nose, and he seizes the torn bits of Guy’s tunic and pulls him back in for more.

#fire emblem #fe7 #...how am i supposed to tag guy and matthew who have the most generic names ever #guy x matthew

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