#I too like to think that Shadow and Commander Tower have an interesting relationship even if I don't ship it myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivacissimx · 2 years

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Not the original anon but I loved your musings on interpreting queerness in asoiaf! Feels like the obvious follow up but I would really love to hear more about your reading of bi!Jon if you feel like sharing. I lean towards it myself but am afraid (as much as one can be in the free land of headcanons) that it relies a bit too much on overinterpreting descriptive passages in his chapters as attraction. Ie can GRRM even write a completely straight POV?

Oh, thank you! Yes I agree that George does have to describe the circumstances around his characters, and that does result in Ned Jon Jaime etc saying fruity things that aren't intentionally reflective of the POV's sexuality. Yes, very true

I agree with that, but I choose to ignore George's intentions here because I tend to think of beauty (not beauty as in the hierarchy placed on attraction, but beauty as in whatever you are captivated by to the point of willingness to change your own circumstances such that you can witness it again) in really specific ways. Queerness often means accepting what we are captivated by as being beautiful, as being something we have the right to find beautiful, in the place of fighting to be attracted to what we are told is beautiful. And I recognize that in Jon as well! I'll list out some examples that I hope clarify what I mean by this:

Jon's disappointment during the feast when he is sent away from the high table, unimpressed by Robert, ignored by Theon, infantilized by Benjen, and humiliated by his own drunkenness is interrupted by his interest in Jaime and Tyrion. He finds Jaime "hard to look away from" and thinks he is what "a king should look like." (AGOT, Jon I) That second quote isn't just a description - he's having a terrible night and Jaime's beauty is a bright spot in it, to the point that Jon thinks it would make sense for Jaime to be enthroned. Jon admires Jaime, and thinks that admiration should be shared by... everyone. Now, Jon also sees Tyrion later on in the night, after he's stormed out in rage, and Tyrion opens up to him in a way that perhaps few adults do, even gives him advice that Jon takes to heart. Jon then states that Tyrion's shadow makes him as tall as "a king." So is it just a turn of phrase, that he compares both Jaime and Tyrion to kings? The language is so specific: Jaime is already a shining knight of the Kingsguard, and Tyrion could well have been tall as a tower. That's not the case, though. Jon admires Jaime for his physical presence and Tyrion for his insight/empathy but the core is the same: he's attracted to them, interested in them in a similar way

Jon and Sam. This is what solidified it for me, even if the relationship is platonic I don't think there's anywhere else that we see Jon being so intensely protective, so proactive in another person's personal happiness; that is, he finds Sam beautiful and strongly desires to create a world in which Sam can thrive. Now: The Night's Watch is a nationalist organization that defines itself through a standardized and regulated masculinity (these are my brothers - I would die for them & they would for me - betraying this brotherhood is deserving of death) that excludes everyone else. South of the Wall? Sworn not to get involved. North of it? Mortal enemies. It's also true that whatever the standards of heteronormativity are in the asoiaf world, Sam absolutely fails to meet them. So a world where Sam succeeds is a world where the grip of heteronormativity is loosened, where "queerness" is allowed to exist. In ADWD, Jon forces himself to harden and also sends Sam away, in part because Jon (seemingly) doesn't like the person he's become and doesn't want Sam to see it. There's shame, in what he commands of Gilly - there's fear, in his order to Sam not to call himself a coward, because Jon won't be there to protect him in case anyone tries to bully Sam for it. Jon & Sam shared an affinity for queerness that helped bond them together, and even in sending him away to become a maester, Jon shows he thinks of Sam (and those like Sam) as part of the future

Jon & Theon have a pretty juvenile relationship in AGOT, Theon is a bit of a jerk in general, Jon is standoffish. It's sooo *has a crush* *pass them a note saying "get out of my school"* that I laugh. Anyways, I think it's interesting that Jon doesn't really think badly of Theon following, he's surprisingly empathetic and even nostalgic, to the extent he can be - he specifically thinks of Theon during his life or death battle against the Thenns, taking some strength from that memory. There's no long paragraphs about Theon being handsome or whatever, purely a matter of the heart. Conclusion being: he wanted to kiss him

Obviously, Jon is attracted to Satin. He's been around conventionally beautiful men before but Satin is the one he can't stop associating with beautiful things, the one he wants to give a chance to by appointing him as steward, the one he keeps an eye on and comes to respect. The wedding between Alys Karstark and the Magnar where Jon is flirting with Alys, keeping track of who Satin dances with, yes it's a formative moment in Jon's sexuality I'd say. Is it all an accident? Eh maybe, but it also falls in line with Jon's general attraction to misfits and outcasts, to gender non-conforming characters. What does not reading attraction into JonSatin do for Jon's arc? What characterizes their relationship otherwise? Pure benevolence? #Allyship? Jon is selfish enough to consistently choose his own ideals above others, and his personal affection for Satin in a moment where his friends are gone & he's in need of human connection shouldn't be discounted so easily

Look, Jon's perception of beauty is something that is so personal for me, but to perceive it as strictly gendered, as not conflicting with the proto-cisheteropatriarchy of Westeros is a position I could never take. If George didn't realize what he was doing with that lil sunrise beyond the Wall then too bad.

[Self-indulgent, but there's a section of Proust's novel In Search of Lost Time where he sees a sunrise through a train window and then is approached by a milkmaid who, in his trance at the beauty of the world in an unfamiliar moment, he compares to a dazzling sun. When he fails to speak to her, the moment is lost. In ACOK Jon III, Jon is amazed when he sees the "magic beyond the Wall," but after meeting Gilly and being unable to help her, he retreats into Craster's hall where it's so dark you couldn't tell the sun had ever risen. Hello??? A beautiful world is a livable one, and ADWD when Lord Snow is forced to be rigid, to perform masculinity, is one where "Ghost is more alive than I am." (ADWD, Jon II) Friends, this is not a straight man!]

#asoiaf #asks #jon snow #tyrion lannister #samwell tarly #theon greyjoy #satin flowers #text

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supermanshield · 4 years

Text

Finding this is hard

~~~

Yet despite his best efforts tonight, Clark smiles at him, and even through the screen and slightly distorted feed he feels the warmth. Tingling suppressed because it’s nothing like the real deal. The one he’s seen directed at Lois, or when Clark talks about Lana.

Bruce has accepted that Clark will never be interested in him. Until finally, Clark takes a chance.

~~~

Words: 5,242

A/N: This only started because I was thinking about the layout of Wayne Manor, and for some reason considered Tim’s room next to Bruce’s. It grew into something much bigger from there, became much too serious and I completely lost track of the humorous angle I wanted to go for at first. Yay angst.

Also, another one in Bruce’s POV, which I always considered harder than Clark’s POV, but I am also working on two+ things with POV Clark.

Read on AO3

______________________________________________

“Quiet night?” Soft thud of Clark’s boots on the rooftop behind him and footsteps walking over to where Bruce sits crouched at the edge. An affirmative grunt is all he gives Clark in return, eyes trained on the building across the street and listening to shards of conversation being fed to him by the cowl from the bugs he has planted earlier.

“Stakeout.”

Minute flicker, Clark shifting in and out of focus, and he sits down next to Batman. “Turned the security camera on the corner over to the building with your guys in it.”

“Hnn. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t use your superspeed though. Don’t need suspects scrambling because they see red and blue.”

He chances a look over at Clark. Squatting down on a grimy rooftop in Gotham, back against the half wall running around the perimeter – good, anyone on the street can only maybe see his black hair and Batman’s cowl blends into the dark of the night anyway –, and hair and cape wet from the rain is not a good look on Superman. He stands out like a sore thumb next to Batman, doesn’t belong here. Yet, it has been a long time since Bruce has sent him out of his city because of all that, his presence now a comfort that has crept up on Bruce. And Clark has learnt, too. Hiding in the shadows just like him and helpful to a level that used to be annoying. It��s not that Bruce is dependent on him for this kind of stuff, he really isn’t. He can just… welcome the company sometime. That’s okay.

“Did you have something to discuss?”

Clark shrugs, one corner of his mouth goes up. “Just thought I’d check up on you.”

“You can use the communicator for that.”

“Right.”

After a while of sitting like this, Clark’s hearing clearly focused on the same conversation as Bruce, they both perk up at the same time. Silently following the suspects is a job for Batman. He sends Superman away, tells him through his comm to go back to Metropolis and silently thanks him for the company.

Much later, after a meet-up with Robin at the docks and on their drive to the Cave, Red Robin behind them on his bike, Bruce considers his relationship with Clark. Damian stays silent in the seat beside him – lets him brood - , and when they get back to the cave, he and Tim (even Tim), both tired, disappear up to the house for a snack and sleep.

Maybe he has let Clark get too close. Got too comfortable around him and let down those meticulously crafted walls. Yet being around Clark isn’t painful anymore, feelings born out of curiosity evaporated a long time ago. A mere physical attraction shoved into the depths of his being when reciprocation turned out impossible. He’s accepted that, Clark is a friend, and Bruce is content with his family, as far as that is possible with two teenagers and an aggressive prepubescent son in the house, and more scattered across the city and the east-coast (he is). It was a necessity to keep Clark at arm’s length, before. Protect them, put yourself last, don’t be selfish, don’t let yourself fall (don’t pull Clark down).

He has even chased Selina for a bit in an attempt to settle down as expected of a man his age and his status, his name, but it ultimately wasn’t worth it. Selina obviously not the right person for settling down and his interest faked, a game of cat and mouse (bat).

So yes, he can be close to Clark. They are friends, after all.

----------

Clark’s brain is a super-computer and more human than Bruce’s at that. It comes in handy when filtering through recordings or data and Bruce can’t think of a better reason to invite him over for dinner and a joint case-study in the cave.

He doesn’t remember the last time Clark has been up in the house and not just in the cave. It’s ridiculous really, they’ve been friends for years, only Bruce hasn’t been acting like one while Clark has put in 100% effort (and only sporadically to the point of annoyance).

Friendship leads to bad things and more, like with Harvey. But Clark is not Harvey.

“Thanks for inviting me for dinner,” Clark says when they walk back down into the cave. “You didn’t have to, I mean. But it’s nice to talk about non-cape stuff for once and see you interact with your kids.”

“I didn’t invite you because I had to, Clark. We’re friends.” Fact, not question and (obviously) obvious to Clark.

“Of course.” But a dazzling smile in his direction (he finds he wants that, more, and that’s exactly why he can’t) and Bruce decides that now is as good a time as any to go on patrol and leave Clark with the brunt of the work that they started on earlier. A few quick commands and suits up, utility-belts packed, and Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl, and Batman speed out of the cave to go on patrol.

----------

A steaming cup of coffee appears on the desk in front of him and Clark sits down in the other chair and swivels towards him. It always goes like this; Bruce will come up early, ready for monitor duty whatever time of the day it is. Clark walks in almost a clockwork five minutes later, coffee or tea in both hands, a quick silent rush of his cape and he reappears with snacks, sometimes dinner (leftovers from Martha’s cooking, and Bruce hears his stomach growl in betrayal at the first waft of chicken, cooked vegetables, goulash). They often get paired up, being in the same time-zone and no one else wants to spend time with Batman much. Except maybe Diana, or J’onn. (But Diana pries too much, seeking out the truth. J’onn doesn’t pry at all, even though he could. With him it is hyper-focus and silence for most of 6 hours.)

So, it’s fine with Clark, nothing’s expected and there is familiarity in their conversation. The time passes faster and he gladly chooses this over any board meeting where nothing ever gets done anyway. But today monitor duty is during his patrol, and Tim and Damian are out on their own. Together. Dick in Blüdhaven and Cassandra out of commission in bed. One of Bruce’s screens is continuously focused on Gotham, two small figures in capes and chasing bad guys and each other. They do their job and Bruce watches his other screens, listens to Clark and nods appropriately, goes over some new schematics for a suit improvement.

Corner of his eye, peripheral vision is dedicated to the two small figures in Gotham. The screen shows the top of Wayne Tower and Red Robin pacing up and down, clearly talking, unhappy, Robin has crossed his arms. Bruce can interrupt them over the comms, give them a good scare, but they’d never learn. The need for them to work together more poignant as Bruce becomes older and Damian almost ready to join the Teen Titans if it wasn’t for Tim. His heart skips a beat when Damian’s hand goes for his katana, but Tim holds up his in surrender, holding him off and it is fine, they’re okay.

Bruce turns back to his other screens only to find Clark looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Clark takes another bite of his Mars bar, feigning oblivion.

“Listen.”

“It’s my hearing, B. I can’t just turn it off.”

“Then focus on something else.” Clark turns back to his side of the monitor bank and Bruce goes back to his work, but he’s lost his focus. Gotham not just in his peripheral vision anymore and of course, Clark notices.

“Want me to go down there? I’ll keep an eye on them. Or you go and I’ll stay here.”

“No, we have a job to do. So do they.”

Clark doesn’t look convinced and something in the back of Bruce’s mind screams of Superman’s disapproving scowl at a brightly coloured child next to Batman’s black cape. But that is a long time ago and Clark looks at him now with a crease between his raised eyebrows and a hand on his shoulder. Worry, a question.

“No,” he says again. “They need to do this together. I trained them. I trust them.”

That hand lingers on his shoulder a moment longer, and Bruce doesn’t shake it off, doesn’t want to. The weight behind Clark’s touch and his gaze ground him, get him out of his thoughts and back to focus on work.

----------

It’s a couple weeks later and they’re all in the cave, Tim and Cass on the matts, sparring, Damian off by the workbench quietly cleaning his gear. Bruce has a video feed open to the Fortress of Solitude, where Superman and Supergirl are looking into the Kryptonian database for the origins of an abandoned alien ship found on Mars. Or at least, Superman is. Kara is playing with newly acquired Krypto, two streaks of red and a blur in the background from time to time. Clark’s family is expanding, too.

Their conversation is all business, small talk quickly waved off by Bruce and he keeps them on track. He has other stuff to do and if Clark can’t find anything about the ship in the Kryptonian data, he’ll contact Oa and let the Lanterns handle it. Yet despite his best efforts tonight, Clark smiles at him, and even through the screen and slightly distorted feed he feels the warmth. Tingling suppressed because it’s nothing like the real deal. The one he’s seen directed at Lois, or when Clark talks about Lana.

“I could uhh… come over?” The uncertainty in Clark’s voice surprises Bruce, but Clark quickly picks up again. “Got everything we need here. I’ll send it to you and we can come up with a plan.”

“The Lanterns can handle it from here,” Bruce says resolutely, pauses. “OK, come over. Bring Kara. I want to have Tim teach her some things about tracking and deduction.” At the mention of her name, Kara appears, now fully visible and Krypto at her side, looking up expectantly at the ball in her hand.

“Hi, guys,” she waves, and Bruce finds Tim and Cass behind him, and even Damian has come much closer. She pretends to hold a magnifier in front of her face. “Detective Kara on the case.” Cass smiles and waves. Tim greets back and says something about listening to detective Tim, smug voice and all smiles. Bruce looks back at Clark to find him still staring at him, holds onto that and Clark’s blue eyes, until Kara speaks again. “Sooo, sleepover at the manor tonight? It’s getting a little boring up here. No offence, Kal.”

Clark holds up his hands. “None taken.”

Bruce cuts in quickly. “No. Tonight’s training and then back home. Damian and I will go on patrol. Clark can stay here with you guys.”

Clark chuckles. “Bruce, it’s fine. You’ve got room enough and I’ll just go back to Metropolis tonight.”

Bruce’s stare turns into a scowl, and Clark folds his arms. Tim lets out an uncharacteristic groan, Cass rolls her eyes. Clark breaks first, unfolds his arms but it’s not without a smug smile when he says, “We’ll be right there.”

They all have supper together, it’s an odd sight at the table with Clark and Kara in their super suits, capes left folded on one of the benches in the cave. Damian is already in the under-suit of his Robin costume, the rest of them still in training sweats, but Alfred only scoffs mildly as he joins them at the table, impeccable as ever. Bruce gets lost in conversation with Clark while the children have their own thing going on. So lost, in fact, that he forgets about patrol time until Damian gives an incessant tug on his sleeve and tells him to ‘get ready, father. I cannot believe you let the alien distract you like that.’

On top of that, in the cave Clark somehow convinces him to let Cass, Tim, and Kara have their sleepover. It’s good for Kara, he says, she needs to spend more time with people her age. Of course Tim then asks if Kon can come too, and Clark happily says yes, at which point Bruce has to remind him that it’s his home, his room is right next to Tim’s and everyone needs their sleep, and thinks it’s a good thing they’re not raising these kids together. They’re opposites, he would be the strict parent, and everyone would go to Clark to ask things (evidently, they already do, or at least Tim does, and Bruce wonders again if he’s let Clark let too close).

That night on patrol though, he can’t shake the feeling that something about tonight felt absolutely right. He chalks it up to the manor, it’s large, it’s supposed to be that full, and his age. He’s not weak, he’s just becoming a sentimental old sap.

----------

On Tuesday afternoon he runs into Tim in the hallway adjoining both their bedrooms where Tim tells him about a recent board meeting at WE, some adjustments he wants to make to their financing plans, coffee cup in hand and stack of papers in the other. Mature, he looks mature.

“How old are you again?” He asks after Tim finishes talking.

Exasperated sigh and waving the stack of papers. “Did you even hear anything I said?”

Bruce just glares at him in answer, raises an eyebrow.

“Right,” Tim says. He hums. Tim is going to fly out soon and Bruce is not quite ready to acknowledge how that makes him feel, but he’ll do his damn best to make sure it’s a good experience for him. To not push him away. To not lose him. “You know I’ll be out of here as soon as soon as I’m eighteen.”

“And finish school.”

“Fine, and finish school. Then I’ll get my own apartment. Might get quiet here.”

Bruce shrugs. “It won’t be quiet with Damian around. I could always call Clark to come over if it gets boring.”

“Clark?”

“Or-”

“No, no, invite Clark. Good for you.” He elbows Bruce and steps into his room. Tim’s grin is just a little unsettling, worth a second thought, but the only possible answer is simple enough. Clark slips into his conversations and his thoughts like he’s supposed to be there (he is). Being around him is more than comfortable, it’s normal. Much better than back in the day when he was always with Lois and Bruce is completely over his feelings.

---------

A mild injury (twisted ankle, he landed wrong and feels it up in his knee), and Clark insists on going back to the cave with Bruce after patrol. He sends Damian to the showers and to bed, slides into the chair in front of the computer and takes off his cowl. Clark hovers around, it’s annoying, he offers to get an ice pack, but that’s Alfred’s job and he’s there as soon as Bruce sinks down. Tim’s at the other end of the large bank of monitors, tracking shipments of something. Bruce should really be more interested and know what Tim is up to, but he’s tired, sore all over, just wants a nice warm shower and sleep. Work first.

Maybe it’ll go faster with Clark around. At least, if he would just stop worrying about Bruce and actually help him. They’re looking into some recovered DNA when Bruce reaches up, rubs at his neck subconsciously.

“You okay?” Clark’s question startles him, both their eyes still trained on the screen. Listening again.

“I’m fine, just sore.”

“Go to bed. I’ll do this.”

“No, I still need to write tonight’s report.” Rubs at his shoulder and rolls.

“Ok. Then here, let me.” Clark walks closer to him, behind the chair, makes a motion with his hands. It takes just a bit too long for Bruce to catch on, but he leans forward slightly. Clark deftly removes the cape and cowl - and it should really worry Bruce that he knows how to, but he forgoes an angry comment as soon as Clark’s hands touch his shoulder. They’re warm along his shoulders and neck, large, gentle despite their incredible strength. Of course, Clark easily finds all the knots and twists and kneads in just the right places. Bruce tries to refocus on his work, tries to be annoyed with Clark for knowing exactly what to do, but the smooth slide of Clark’s thumbs on his trapezius muscles makes it hard. Friends can do this.

It’s somehow much too soon when all the tension is gone and Clark pulls back his hands, but he pushes the thought away. Clears his throat. “Hnn. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He hasn’t noticed Tim leave, but his spot is empty now, hears him rumbling around in a different part of the cave and the rest of their work gets done quickly in silence.

“I think we should wrap things up here,” Bruce says after finishing his report. He pushes himself up out of the chair, has to hold onto the backrest for support. Clark, automatically, reaches out to him to help.

“Report all done?”

Bruce nods.

“Ok, then. Need any help getting upstairs?”

“No.”

Clark hasn’t let go. In fact, he’s come closer, every colour blue visible in his eyes and his breath ghosting over Bruce’s face.

“Bruce, I-“

“Yes.” The grip on his arm becomes tighter, slow tug. Lips on his, impossibly soft and a hand gently supporting his back. But his own hand stings and the next second Clark stands in front of him, shocked and appropriate distance between them again. Bruce swears in pain. His hand throbs.

“What the fuck, Clark.”

“Crap! Sorry, Bruce, I…” Bruce clenches his jaw, there’s a sigh, then only a gust of wind, Clark’s speed too high for Bruce to even see the streak of red flying out of the cave.

“Bruce.” He whirls around at the sound of his name, heart racing. Tim’s stopped on his way to the stairs, towel around his neck and Bruce ignores the pain in his ankle as he makes his way over. “Fuck, why did you try to hit him?”

“Bed, now.”

Tim groans overdramatically and walks past him into the house. Slowly, Bruce makes it up the stairs and to his bedroom, where he collapses into bed and a restless sleep.

---------

The next day it’s glowers from Tim, no hugs or any words from Cass, and Damian isn’t much better off. Alfred gives him more than a few pointed looks, no sassy raised eyebrow and all scowls. Bruce ignores them as much as they ignore him and the house is quieter than it’s been in a long time. He needs to deal with this himself, he just doesn’t know how to yet. It all lasts until evening, when everyone is in the cave quietly getting ready, where Tim finally speaks to him.

“You lead him on.”

“What?”

“Clark. You lead him on.”

“I heard you, Tim. I did not.”

“You get too close to the alien, father.”

“Clark is a friend. I am close to him.”

“No, you let him get close. You lower your defences, and your body language is all… open.” The last word sounds like a reach within Damian’s vocabulary, chosen carefully.

“Exactly,” Tim joins in. “You lean into him; he moves towards you. You make googly eyes at him; he makes googly eyes at you. When you’re not looking of course.”

“I don’t make googly eyes.”

Tim sighs. “You get the point. Hell, I’ve seen you having coffee with him in the kitchen after patrol more than a few times. I thought that-”

“Tim.”

One of his trademark teenage sighs again, all frustration and no patience. “For a so-called billionaire playboy, you’re really bad at telling when someone is actually interested in you.”

“I’m done talking about this. Suit up. All of you.”

“Had me believe you were in love with him…” A mumble and it dies down as Tim puts on his helmet. The roar of his bike engine drowns out Bruce’s words. “Clark isn’t… that’s just me.”

By the time the cave is quiet again, Damian is waiting for him in the batmobile, arms crossed over his fastened seatbelt. Bruce pulls the cowl over his head and doesn’t notice Cass behind him until she tugs on his cape, puts a hand on his shoulder. “You… love.” She touches his chest. “Clark. Loves you… too.”

On patrol that night, Bruce’s mind wanders. If Damian notices he doesn’t comment on it. They intercept a weapons shipment by the docks, take down the thugs. Standard night in Gotham.

Clark isn’t gay. Straight? Bruce has never outright asked him, always assumed. Lana and Lois all he has to go on and he simply came to a logical conclusion. Though it’s a flawed one, and contradicted by himself on top of that. CEO of a billion-dollar company and he has women hanging of his arms at every society event he goes to because it’s expected. To be straight. He can’t imagine Clark having to do that – maybe it was his rural upbringing, though the Kents are not like that.

And of course, Clark brings Bruce’s whole world, the lies he tells himself, down with one simple kiss. After eleven goddamn years, and all he can feel is loss, lost time, frustration and anger as his fists connect with ribs, jaws, elbows on the street. He needs Clark to explain. He needs himself to understand.

---------

“Bruce.” Clark opens the door, still dressed in a blue button-up and off-the-rack slacks. It’s clear he hasn’t been expecting him; a single plate with a half-finished dinner sits on the table, next to a laptop.

“Why now.”

“What?” Clark clears his throat, swallows a remnant of his dinner. “I’m sorry for what happened.” He steps aside to let Bruce into the apartment, follows him towards the small living room. “I didn’t mean to… I just thought- “

“That’s just it. You didn’t think, you just-” Bruce stops himself, groans. He isn’t here to fight with Clark, but it is just so goddamn easy. Toe to toe and head to head despite half the room separating them. Clark’s jaw sets in that all too familiar way and his expression drops from astonishment and curiosity to calm and collected.

“Are you just here to yell at me? Because I’m really not in the mood. I’m sorry. I thought you were interested in… that. Clearly, I misread the signs, so it won’t happen again. Can we just forget about this whole thing… and move on or something?”

“No.” To Bruce, moving on is impossible.

“Right. Why are you even mad at me? If anything, I should be the one being angry with you. And it doesn’t sound like you came here to apologize for hitting me.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m here so you can explain one thing to me, Clark. Why did you kiss me?”

An eternity packed into the second it took Clark to find his reply, and his answer anything but satisfying. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ve just been spending too much time together.”

“We’re friends. Friends spend time together.”

“Yes. Ok,” Clark sighs, averts his eyes. “I’m attracted to you… and I thought it was mutual. I mean, you let me give you a massage. You’ve never let me done that! So really, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.” Clark holds up his hands, palms up in explanation, excuse. All of it seems much too easy for him, something to brush off.

“I didn’t think my behaviour would cause such a complication.”

“A complication.”

“I didn’t know, or I would have done things differently. Ergo, a complication.”

Clark breaths in and out, pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Ok, do you have a problem with me being the way I am? Because that’s what it sounds like. It was just a kiss. Get over it.”

“You jump to conclusions, Clark. As always.”

“Cryptic and you leave me two steps behind, Bruce. As always.”

He looks around Clark’s apartment. The couch is small, but he sits down anyway, motions for Clark to sit on the armchair. Ikea. It puts him across from Bruce and level. “I didn’t know you were…” he has to strain for the right word. “Not straight. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Clark runs a hand through his hair, closes his eyes and takes of his glasses. “I thought you were supposed to be good at reading people. I thought you knew.”

“All evidence pointed to the contrary.”

“Bisexuality is a thing you know. And I don’t have to tell you everything about my love interests.”

“Right. Feels like you do, though.”

“So then,” Clark tries. “You’re just here to confirm my sexuality.”

“Not just that.”

“Oh. So, you are… You’re not out, are you?”

“Neither are you, apparently.”

“It’s complicated. And it’s not like I actively hide it,” he says accusingly. Evidently, conditioned bias can really be a bitch sometimes. There’s a whole other conversation to be uncovered behind Clark’s complicated. One they should have. Maybe later. Bruce swallows.

“Why I hit you. I overreacted. I taught myself to… not want that, and-”

“Rao, Bruce, stop. You don’t have to deny who you are. Not around me.” There’s that comforting hand on his again. So much of Clark's communication is rooted in touch. He's held back, Bruce realises now, and finds he desperately wants a lot more of it. Hand on the armrest of the couch, he doesn’t pull away.

“Will you let me apologise. I didn’t mean to hit you and I’m sorry. You know I would never, and it’s stupid.” He looks at where Clark’s thumb touches his bruised knuckles. “Clearly,” Clark agrees.

“The thing is. I was finally content. Happy with what I could have. My family. You as a friend. And then you go and ruin it all with a stupid little kiss.” He has to avert his eyes, look up at the ceiling to consider the absurdity of it all. Biggest miscalculation of his life. The feeling of loss washes over him again like a tidal wave of his own making, and he can’t help but wonder if it feels the same for Clark. “Eleven goddamn years, Clark. Took you long enough.”

Clark’s chuckle does things to his stomach that he hasn’t allowed himself to experience in a long time. He joins Bruce on the couch. “Hey. At least I had the courage to do something.”

“Okay. So you suck a little bit less at this than me.” Some of the tension finally leaves his body, and Clark visibly relaxes next to him. He turns towards Bruce, like on the watchtower, like at dinner. Bruce thinks of what Tim had said, how they lean towards each other, always, and it feels right, fits. Opposites attract, or something.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes. Didn’t really get the full experience last time.”

“Wonder whose fault that was.” Clark’s face has come much too close for Bruce to see his smile, but he can hear it, feel it in the way there is just a little bit of teeth when their lips meet. This time, the kiss is much better. The feel of Clark’s lips under his own, his hands on Bruce’s thigh, his chest, so warm. Clark’s curls and incredibly strong pulse. He commits it all to memory. Just in case.

“And he says I jump to conclusions,” Clark states to the room, and Bruce has to close his eyes to keep from laughing.

------------

Epilogue

------------

It’s been over a month since the incident with Bruce and Clark in the cave, and honestly, Tim thinks he would be seeing more of Clark. He felt a little disappointed at first, didn’t talk much to Bruce. Because of course, leave it to him to just shut everyone out again and pretend nothing had happened. Damian – annoyingly so – takes after his dad, works hard and just a tad too victorious.

Tim considers himself a pretty good detective.

However. It takes him a couple days to notice, too long, Bruce would say, that Bruce is calm. More relaxed. If that’s even possible for Batman. Well, not out on patrol of course, but at home. Tim’s doing homework in the ground floor study one day when Bruce walks in, looking at his phone. Smiling. Distracted and he hasn’t noticed Tim on time, clearly, when he quickly pockets his phone and asks Tim what he’s working on. The smile lingers.

There’s a league meeting but when batman returns to the zeta platform in the cave, the usually present proverbial protruding vein is not there, and Bruce doesn’t stomp to his computer right away. Instead, he takes a whole five minutes to remove the constricting parts of his uniform, eat one of Alfred’s sandwiches, and comfortably installs himself in front of the large monitor. It’s as un-Bruce and healthy as Batman can get and it doesn’t go unnoticed. No one comments.

And then. Bruce comes home late one night – on time for patrol – from the office. Or so he claims. But his tie is loosened, shirt not perfectly pressed anymore, and he smells like Pakistani curry. He could have got the food delivered of course, but it’s the windswept hair that betrays exactly who brought him back to Gotham after a dinner in Metropolis.

All of it culminates, there’s more little things and it’s the kind of behaviour that stands out when you spend a lifetime practicing every possible degree of a scowl and a faked interest in small-time fun.

Tim’s suspicions are finally confirmed in a much too unsubtle way when he’s in his room late one night – or maybe early morning –, under the covers and ready to go to sleep. There’s stumbling, bumping into the wall outside his room. His first thought is a threat, but then he hears Bruce’s voice. And another. Creak of the master bedroom door and footsteps shuffling on carpet.

“Take that off.” Straightforward as ever, Bruce.

“This too?” And yep, that’s Clark. Where are his noise cancelling headphones?

Constrained. “Yes.”

Tim clicks on his bedside light, stumbles around his room extra loud, hoping Clark will hear him. Notice he’s awake. At the very least, Superman should be considerate.

“I thought you had superspeed.”

“Patience, B.”

“Waited for you all week.” The rest was muffled, a creaking sound.

Under the safety of his covers and the protection of his headphones, Tim thinks about texting Stephanie. Or Kon. Or Dick. He groans and decides to put on some music instead. Why couldn’t Bruce just come out to them like a normal person? Why didn’t he spend an all-nighter in the cave tonight? Why did he ever choose the bedroom next to Bruce? At least Damian won’t be able to hear them. Right? He makes the mistake of lifting up one side of his headphones to check, only to hear a rhythmic thump, thump, thump, and drops it right back down. Okay. He can probably do some more work on the Two-face case down in the cave. It’s not like he needs sleep, anyway.

He just needs to have a very stern talk with Batman and Superman come morning. And move to a different bedroom.

#superbat #write write #omg i just saw this is also my 6000th post #idk if that's good or just sad #lmao

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molluskwritesfic · 4 years

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Between Rivers: Chapter Seven

A Mandalorian can't show their face to anyone - with the exception of immediate family. Although they haven't known each other long, there's definitely something growing between them. But is it enough? When an ex-spy must look beneath the helmet to save Din Djarin's life, there's only one option that allows him to continue following his Creed. Marriage.

This story is also on Fanfiction.net and Ao3.

Masterlist

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - This Chapter

Chapter Seven

Noa Enti was dead.

Finally.

Redin Deedi might be dead. Might not. To tell the truth, she didn’t care much either way, so long as her bridge to him was as charred as the corpse she’d left in place of her own.

She didn’t like killing off her characters; she’d lost five of them in the past six months. Her pool of identity options was dwindling, and she hated being without a cover.

Soon, she would have to come up with some new ones.

It wouldn’t be as easy as it once had been.

For the moment, though, she was fine with being no one. Noa Enti was dead. Nenana Orze had never set foot on Dafin III.

No One stalked through the darkened hall, guided by the blinking security lights. Her clever planning and well placed credits had seen the power cut, and the explosives she’d smuggled in under the guise of an engineer had done their job perfectly. The extra security uniform and helmet had been easy to steal, and the others were far too busy doing damage control to notice that their ranks had grown by one. Everything had gone exactly to plan.

There was one problem, though.

She was hurt.

Human variables - something that couldn’t always be planned against. There had been precious few seconds between Deedi learning about the fake explosives strapped to her chest and the detonation of the real ones embedded in the drink trolley. In the chaos of those few seconds - where everyone was scrambling to get out of the room - one of the guards had panicked.

The blaster bolt had clipped her side - just below the ribs. Mercifully, it hadn’t hit anything important, but it still hurt like hell and would pose a real issue if she didn’t get the bleeding stopped soon.

Also, it was slowing her way down.

But other than that, everything was fine. She was struggling to keep moving, but good at faking it. The cover wasn’t elaborate enough for her liking, but the black tinted visor covering the upper half of her face and requisition blaster she carried were working well enough.

Well… almost well enough.

She’d actually made it out of the building and was moving through the alleyways created by the auxiliary buildings surrounding the main tower - Deedi’s own little self-sufficient town within the city; the wealthy businesses and housing that the rest of the planet couldn’t afford.

Smoke choked the air, reducing the usually well-lit streets into a greasy haze. The place was abandoned, the people all having fled the shadow of the burning building or hiding away in safe rooms built into the basements for situations like this. A droid or two bumbled by, locking up the businesses and generally doing the things their owners weren’t willing to stay out to do, but they didn’t pay her any mind.

Slowed by her injury, she was about a minute and a half behind schedule; Deedi’s men would be reorganizing by now. Her window for a clean exit was closing fast.

Sure enough, Nenana cursed herself when three guards - real guards - came jogging around the corner of a soot-caked Colo Claw Fish dinery and a jeweler’s.

It was too late to hide. Even in the subpar conditions, they’d already seen her.

“Hey, you! Stop right there!”

And they knew that there was something off about her. Great.

In her condition, she needed to avoid a shoot out if she could.

Only one thing for it.

She lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and marched straight up to them.

“Report!” She barked impatiently in her best Huttese accent, knowing that it was the first language of many of the soldiers hired from Dafin III. She turned her helmeted face from one to another, fixing them each with an imposing glare.

The trio wavered. She jumped on their confusion.

“What’s the status of Sector Three? Has that section been secured yet?”

The one in the middle - the highest ranking, according to the button on his lapel - squared his shoulders. “No, ma’am. Squadrons Two and Four are converging on Sector Seven. Looters have broken through the outer barriers.”

Ah, excellent. She’d hoped something like that would happen. Although Deedi controlled the major crime gangs, his shift to higher caliber goods had left the lower niches up for grabs. The smaller underground gangs would be moving in to see what they could get.

A great cover for her, should the resolution to her current problem require the corpses of the three guards.

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Get on the comm and divert Squad Four to Sector Three. Those cargo entrances are wide open.”

He immediately moved to do as she said, but hesitated when one of his companions, a green twi’lek man, spoke up. “With all due respect, ma’am, why not call in the order yourself?”

Shit.

“You don’t get to fucking talk to me that way!” She snarled, hoping a threat from a supposed-superior would blot out any doubts he had running through his head. “Do as you’re told, or I’ll have you strung up and shot.”

“Ma’am, you’re bleeding,” the third guard, a human female, pointed out. “There hasn’t been any shooting in this Sector yet.”

Fuck.

“That’s right,” the first man who she’d almost fooled finally caught on. He stepped forward menacingly, his hand going to the blaster at his hip. She held her ground. “Unless you’ve been through Sector Seven already, eh?”

This was exactly why she hated not having an elaborate cover. She would have created one in advance, but she’d already made one for when she’d had to pose as an engineer, and she hated creating more than one new person per mission. A single anomaly in a database would be overlooked, but two?

“I was patrolling Sector Seven when the first looters pushed through,” she growled. “I was hit and fell back. I was on my way to the medical wing, but got fucking distracted when I saw that those exits are wide open. The main building should be on lockdown! Do you know how much the droids in the cargo bay are worth? A lot more than you’ll ever see, you can believe that. When the Commander finds out that…”

A flash of silver flickered around the corner of the jeweler’s, dim in the smoky light. Nenana was cut off by the flash and whine of three blaster bolts.

The guards slumped to the ground. Dead. The Mandalorian loomed behind them, silent as a ghost with a rucksack bag slung over his shoulder, blaster still half-raised.

Unexpected, sure, but she couldn’t say she was disappointed to see him.

Nenana let her posture slump, tearing off her black helmet and clamping her hand to the wound on her side. Blood oozed between her fingers from where they pressed into the soaked fabric.

“Just can't get enough of me, eh?”

The Mandalorian lifted one of his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I thought you might need help.”

“I had it under control,” she defended lightly, sliding back into her native accent now that she had no reason to do otherwise. And anyway, it felt like the right one to use with him.

His head tipped forward slightly. “Looked like it.”

A smile twitched on her lips at his dry humor. “It would’ve all been fine, but this…” She lifted her hand to show him her bloody palm. “...was slowing me down.”

“That looks bad.” He holstered his blaster and moved to her side, indicating her injury with his head. “You okay?”

Nenana shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Here.” Mando dug into the bag he carried, coming away with a thick gauze patch and peeling off the plastic covering the adhesive side. “This is bacta-infused, but it’ll still need to be cleaned and bandaged properly.”

“Oh, bacta-infused,” she quipped goodnaturedly as she picked the sopping fabric away from the wound. “What did I do to earn such quality care?”

He shrugged. “You overpaid.”

Nenana huffed a laugh and pulled up the hem of her uniform, exposing just enough of her blood-slicked hip for the Mandalorian to press the bandage firmly in place over the weeping gash.

She gritted through the pain. “Thanks, Mando.”

Mando dipped his head in acknowledgement, smoothing down the edges of the bandage before tugging her shirt back down to cover it.

Nenana sighed and straightened up. “We need to move. They’ll be focused on Sector Seven, but they won’t leave this section undefended for long.”

“Agreed.” Mando adjusted the bag on his shoulder, visor glinting in the half-light as he cast a quick glance about the empty street before fixing back on her. “My ship, or somewhere else?”

Nenana chuckled breathlessly, leading the way around the corner while Mando followed, blaster drawn and on guard. “I know I promised you a date, Mando, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He stiffened, having caught the suggestive undertone behind her words.

“That... that’s not what I...” he stuttered, making her grin. His helmet jerked to her, but when he saw her smirk he looked away sheepishly, shoulders rolling loose with acceptance. “Yeah, okay.”

She barked out a soft laugh. “Yours.”

Nenana wasn’t sure what to make of the Mandalorian. When he’d first appeared on her homestead, she’d been impressed with his steadfast composure in the face of the olfdo, and then again with his quiet good manners and helpfulness as he worked in her kitchen.

She hadn’t been lying before when she said that she liked him; it was something that she’d readily admit. But now that he’d made it clear that he was interested in something more than a business arrangement and thoroughly charmed her with his gruff awkwardness… she wasn’t sure what to think.

And that uncertainty had nothing to do with him. It had been a long time since Nenana had even considered what he had insinuated… something more. For her entire adult life, she’d thought of relationships as an end to a means; getting close enough to the right person to overhear the right sentence or to plant the right suggestion in the right ear.

That, she knew how to do. But doing it for real - because she meant it; because she wanted to…

Nenana wasn’t sure she could leave her old mentality behind enough to manage it.

But that was why she’d been doing all this, right? Putting her life on the line again even after she’d gotten out of the service. Tying up all her loose ends so she could leave her past behind; so that she could have an After.

In the hull of the Mandalorian’s ship, deep in hyperspace, she watched as the warrior, clad in dirty, battered armor cleaned and dressed her wound. His hands were large and strong, worn by blasters and combat, and yet his touch was careful and feather-light.

Yes, she liked him.

She knew he liked her.

But what came next? She couldn’t even imagine what the next step could possibly be. Sure, she’d gone through the motions before, but was struggling to work out how to apply them to the man before her.

They couldn’t exactly go out to dinner.

How did you go on a date with a Mandalorian? Hell, how did someone go on a date with her?

She was at a complete loss.

He probably didn’t have a clue, either.

Maybe it didn’t matter that they didn’t know.

As Nenana watched him work, his helmet bowed close to her shoulder as he focused on getting the bandage just right, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this is what the start of the After she’d been wanting looked like.

Whether it was or wasn’t, it was worth the effort of finding out.

~0~0~0~ .

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian #din djarin #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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a-duck-with-a-book · 3 years

Text

REVIEW // Seven Blades in Black (The Grave of Empires #1) by Sam Sykes

★☆☆☆☆

Disclaimer: while I was reading this book, I found out that Sam Sykes has been accused by numerous women of sexual harassment. You can find more information about it below: - a post listing several accusations of misconduct - twitter post responding to the situation - one of the accusations against Sam Sykes - his quickly-deleted apology Suffice to say, I have no intention of continuing this series or reading any more of his books.

I have a lot to say about this novel, so I’ll begin by making a quick bullet point list outlining what I liked and disliked:

Liked:

Cavric <3

Lisette deserved better

Some interesting concepts in the world building

Disliked:

Sal as a narrator

Sal as an antihero

Sal as a person in general

Writing style

Constant interruptions

Meandering narrative

The “narrator knows something but the writer avoids revealing it until the end for the drama” trope

This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy

Lesbians written by a man who harasses women

Unnecessarily long

// image: official cover art Jeremy Wilson //

Let’s begin with the full review by starting with the (few) positives, shall we?

First and foremost, I genuinely enjoyed Cavric and Lisette. It is unfortunate that they had to deal with Sal for the entirety of the novel, but we’ll get to her later. If this book had been a buddy adventure with these two, in which Cavric slowly shows Lisette that she is in a toxic relationships and deserves to move on and find someone better for herself, I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more. Secondly (and finally), Sykes introduced some genuinely interesting world building. The background of the Empire and the Scar was fascinating to read, but unfortunately did not save the rest of this mess.

Alright now let’s rant.

I have 35 notes and 52 highlights from this book, so this might get block quote heavy. (Go check out my notes if you want to see me slowly lose my sanity)

Sal is awful. I know she’s meant to be awful, but she’s not flawed in the way that I think Sykes was trying to write her. I believe she was intended to be a scruffy, lovable antihero who fought her way through a dangerous landscape with her sharp blade and even sharper tongue. A girl who had wrongs committed against her in the past, who did terrible things but is now on the road to an epic redemption arc. She shoots bad guys, she says f*ck and a*s a lot, and she is morally complex. That’s the character that Sykes was trying to make. The one he created, however, is a genuinely terrible person who I had no desire to see come out on top. I have a myriad of issues with her, but let’s outline a couple below: (1) She is incredibly toxic for Lisette. Am I getting a bit too heated about a fictional relationship? Sure. Was I happy to read a toxic lesbian romance written by a man who sexually harasses women? Nope. It kind of grossed me out, actually. Anyway, let me give you a run down of their relationship. Sal arrives. Sal and Lisette sleep together. Sal asks Lisette to give her weapons and or fix things for her. Sal sneaks away, telling herself no good will come of this relationship and they will only cause each other pain. Sal needs something. Sal comes back. Repeat over and over. She constantly says, throughout the book, that it would be better if they just left each other, but then again Sal is the one who goes back to Lisette over and over, causing her renewed heartbreak. I don’t know if Sykes thought that simply making Sal aware of how terrible this behavior was was enough, but it just made me incredibly frustrated. At one point Sal says:

”Intellect like hers is a curse. The more you understand of the world, the less of it you trust.”

Yes, Sal, that’s what’s giving her trust issues. Her intelligence. Nice. By the end of the book, it seems that they are on the mend-I’m getting end-game vibes from these two. But honestly, I spent the entire time thinking that Lisette deserved so much better than Sal. Like literally a chicken would have provided healthier companionship. I’ll end with this quote, in which Lisette outlines perfectly why Sal does not deserve her:

“What am I doing wrong that you’d choose this over me?”

(2) Sal is annoying. Really, really annoying. I kid you not, half of this book is made up of Sal’s snarky comments. She is badass. She has a gun. She is an outlaw. And she will never, EVER shut up about it. Imagine a quirky line after an otherwise dark or action-packed sequence. Funny, right? Might break the tension, make the narrator more endearing, etc. Now imagine one such line after every. Single. Paragraph. Picture a violent battle scene where the protagonist is fighting for their lives against a ruthless opponent. Now insert a snarky comment after every other paragraph and watch the entire flow of the scene fall apart with constant interruptions. That’s what this book is-which brings me to my next point.

The writing isn’t great. There are constant interruptions, meandering narratives, and the trope that haunts me in nearly every dark fantasy novel I read-This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy-is shoved repeatedly in your face. Let’s start with the interruptions, returning to my previous point (ie. Sal never shuts up), by looking at this sequence:

I followed the shrieking wind. I had come here prepared for something bad. But I wasn’t prepared for just how bad it was. I rounded the corner of the hall, came out atop a battlement. The wind struck me with a screaming gale, forcing me to shield my face and cling to the stone for purchase. My eyes squinted against the harshness of the light, the kind of offensive pale you only see in your nightmares. And through them, I could see the bowed shapes of towers sagging, the flayed flesh of banners whipping in a wind that wouldn’t cease, the shadows of figures frozen in a death that had brought no peace. And I knew where I was. There was nothing that had ever made Fort Dogsjaw special. It had never been crucial for defense, never a hub for trade, it hadn’t even been named for anything special—the commander just liked the sound of it. It lived its whole life a regular, boring Imperial fort on the edge of the Husks. It only got important at the time of its death. Over three hundred mages and a few thousand regulars had assembled here in one day—some to receive assignments, some to man the garrison, some to head back to Cathama on leave. They had been laughing, cursing, drinking when the news came that the new Emperor of Cathama was a nul, born with no magic. And then there had been a moment of silence.

I’ve bolded for emphasis, but do you see what I’m talking about? The paragraph-line-paragraph-line format is so annoying to read, I had to put the book down at certain points because of how frustrated I got. It interrupted the forward movement of the story, making the novel drag on and on.

You know what else makes this feel like the nightmare version of the Never-ending Story? The page count. I don’t mind long books-The Priory of the Orange Tree is one of my favorite reads so far this year, and it’s longer than this one-but they have to have a reason for being so hefty. As I mentioned earlier, a considerable chunk of Seven Blades of Black is Sal making her awful, awful, AWFUL asides. I literally cannot express how much I despise those comments. Okay, let’s move on before I get hung up on THOSE STUPID COM-*cough*

This novel is marred by unnecessary lines and a meandering plot that drag out the story. One instance is the amount of times that Sal is a second away from killing someone and, for some reason (usually not a good one), fails in her goal. She places a gun at someone’s head and goes through a whole monologue in her head until the person miraculously escapes. This type of subversion of expectations is fine every once in a while, but if you are going to build up to a crucial moment and then take away the satisfaction of the defeat of some villain (or mini-boss, as many of the antagonists in this book feel like), then you need to have a good reason for doing it upwards of twenty times in ONE BOOK. Secondly, if you spend almost the entire novel setting up more and more villains and stressing how hard they are to kill and how dangerous their powers are (and presenting them separately and isolated), then when you have them all in one place at the end, at which point the protagonists starts going through them like a plate of french fries at a seagull convention, then you’re kind of taking away the satisfaction of the death. Somehow, this book manages to do both. We are constantly teased with almost-kills, then at the end Sal just blows through everyone in five seconds, easy-peasy.

I’m almost done, I swear-just two more gripes.

So much of the tension of this book rests on the fact that Sal, our narrator and our main viewpoint into the story, knows something that we don’t. I’ll be upfront with you-I hate this trope. If our POV character, the one whose mind we are in constantly, is entirely aware of something that happened before the beginning of the novel, and the author keeps from revealing that something for the entirety of the story solely to add drama, then I will not be a happy reader. Where is the logic. We are in this person’s mind. Just show us already and add tension ELSEWHERE.

And FINALLY (as painful as it was for you to read this, it was worse for me to write it), another issue I have with a lot of dark fantasy (see my review of Nevernight) is that the author really, really wants us to know that this is an incredibly dangerous and dark world by filling it to the brim with edge lord narrators, Big Guns, and, usually, women being harrased-because why not force all your female readers to constantly have to read about women getting assaulted? Apart from Sal’s 300,000 comments explaining to us that she is an asshole, that the Scar is Dangerous, and that she has Killed A Lot of People, we as readers must sit through hundreds of lines of dialogue and exposition that beat us over the head with the fact that this is DARK fantasy. This isn’t your nice little fairy adventure-no sir. Here we have Swear Words and Violence and Men writing Queer Women. To emphasize just how blatant Sykes is with the dark part of dark fantasy, let me tell you about an exchange Sal has with three old ladies who run a criminal empire. In the 2-3 pages that these women appear in, we are told, in some form or other, that they are grandmas who kill people, a grand total of, I kid you not, ELEVEN TIMES. Here are some excerpts from that whole situation:

”“Now, now.” Yoc, old and white haired and sweet as a grandmother—if that grandmother also had people killed on the regular—smiled at me. “I’m sure she has a good reason for being here.” She raised the hand that had signed the contracts that had killed a thousand men and women and took up her whiskey glass. “After all, I’m sure she knows how much we don’t like having our game interrupted.”” *I counted this as one since it’s in the same exchange but technically he mentions it TWICE

”…one didn’t waste the Three’s time if one didn’t want to end up with their teeth pried out.”

”How often do you meet the three old ladies who have people killed for money?”

”I said we should kill her on principle.”

”“But you know how many orphans I’ve made, don’t you, dear?””

”“He’s not so unlike us, is he? A murderer, yes. A monster to some. But, at his heart, a businessman.”

”Theirs were the hands that signed a thousand death contracts a year.”

”When they could be bothered to look up from their game, they decided who lived and died with a stroke of their pen.”

”At a word, they could have me stripped, tied, tortured, and cut up…”

”the Three don’t lie. Their assassins do. Their thieves do. But they don’t.”

”I had already wasted their time and I knew the Three were being generous just letting me fuck off instead of having me killed for the effort.”

TL;DR - Sal is annoying, Sykes is a bad writer, and Someone should have stopped me from reading this book

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cannoli-reader · 4 years

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Disability and rehabilitation pt. 2

So my last post about Jaime Lannister on this issue got a bit long, so I split them up. This is going to be the Wheel of Time one. And should not be long, because the Wheel of Time character I was thinking of is not nearly as significant to the series as Jaime is to his.

It’s Siuan. I know lots of people don’t see a redemption arc there, because a lot of them don’t think she needs one. All over the fandom, I see people raving about Siuan and how she’s so strong and lost so much and she keeps going. Okay. That’s true. But not all virtues are exclusive to good people. Courage does not make you a good person, for instance. Arguably, Sammael is pretty courageous. And neither does perseverance or tenacity. You have to apply those traits to something more than self-preservation or personal gain.

What I think happens with Siuan is that we get too small a sample of her actions in the beginning of the series, and find out more about her later, except the imposition of her disability rehabilitates her in the readers’ eyes, which in turn affects the hindsight view of the early books.

At the outset of the story, Siuan has been Amyrlin for about a decade, and despite the hagiography from her friends, she was not a very good one. Siuan is not a good leader, though she can be a very good advisor and would probably make a pretty competent bureaucrat. She is unquestionably intelligent with a good analytical mind, but that does not make her a leader. Off-setting these strengths is that she lacks vision. She works much better under a leader who has ideas she can work to bring to fruition. Unfortunately, she has an inordinate amount of pride as well. And when she rises far and fast, she ends up lacking any counter-balancing wisdom. She gets named Amyrlin at a very young age as a compromise candidate, but rather than walk softly, she takes it and runs, by all accounts being forceful in her manner, and controlling as well. In reaction to the discover of the Horn of Valere, she goes to Fal Dara herself, wreaking havoc on the surrounding environment to expedite her journey, only to bring the Black Ajah, including Liandrin and Alviarin, into the fortress which expedites the theft of the Horn.

The odd thing about Siuan’s carelessness in this regard is that she has known since shortly after getting the shawl about the Black Ajah, and worse, she herself surmised that they are aware of the Dragon’s rebirth and are actively taking measures to get rid of him. In spite of this, she is unable to give up her need to be in control, even when her position and her alienation of the Ajahs means she can’t control her personnel. Once the Black Ajah comes relatively into the open and she has to deal with it, she lets her paranoia take the wheel and, not being able to trust any Aes Sedai, nor to accept that there is nothing she can do, she hands over the investigation to three of the newest initiates of the Tower. She remains obsessed with the Black Ajah and ends up with a tunnel vision focus, to the exclusion of properly managing Tower politics.

Her absurd solution to the Black Ajah problem, of sending Accepted after them, helps bring her down. While in the case of sending Elayne into danger, she has provided herself with plausible deniability, at least her own satisfaction, she cannot control everyone’s interest in the Daughter-heir, including her brothers and Elaida. Siuan herself articulated the prestige Elaida has gained from bringing Elayne to the Tower, and the Red sister’s interest in Andor has cost her the Amyrlin Seat Siuan is certain Elaida wanted desperately. The flimsy excuses Siuan finds sufficient to foist off a mere queen who has historically been devoted to the Tower don’t hold up for her sons who are present all the time and are more loyal to their sister than the Aes Sedai, much less her own rival who is far more knowledgeable about Aes Sedai affairs.

It is her discontent with the situation that inspires Elaida to begin the legwork to depose Siuan. It is his hostility to Siuan for being kept at arm’s length that motivates Gawyn to help foil her allies’ counter-coup.

And this is also characteristic of Siuan, that she focuses on the top-down approach to problems. When she has a plan to unify Murandy under a strong king, and she anticipates her candidate’s habit of raiding into Andor could endanger the plan, she decides to keep Andor from fighting him. Her approach is to go to Morgase and force her to keep her troops away from the area of his depredations, to minimize the risk to him. Siuan grew up in a tyrannical nation that oppresses its people and then she moved to the hierarchy-obsessed White Tower, so to her way of thinking, all you have to do is give orders to your lessers, and that’s the end of it. She makes absolutely no accommodation to Morgase, does nothing to get her to buy in to Siuan’s program, offers her nothing that we know of in exchange for compelling her to commit an egregious dereliction of her duty to her subjects.

For all that she lays the blame for Morgase’s anger toward the Tower on Elayne leaving unexpectedly, maybe she would have accepted Elayne’s absence from Tar Valon, if she was not also dealing with the biggest headache of her reign, brought on by Siuan’s high-handed interference in her rule. The riots and demonstrations against Morgase and her relationship to Elaida and Tar Valon are blamed on the Whitecloaks stirring them up, but since when are they that competent? Eamon Valda was the one left in command in Caemlyn after Geofram Bornhald was recalled to Amador. Straight-arrow Galad runs rings around Valda in the PR game and we’re really supposed to believe he’s responsible for swaying public opinion in the capital against a beloved and long-reigning queen? But even if Bornhald got the ball rolling in the brief time he could have been in Caemlyn, there had to be some discontent for the Children to work off of, and Morgase abandoning her borders after a meeting with the Amyrlin Seat is the best reason we have to go off of. And of course, the Tower’s standard MO means she would not have bothered to walk back her command and let Morgase resume defending her borders after Siuan’s candidate is killed by an ordinary farmer who objected to being robbed, no matter how central the thief was to Aes Sedai plans.

It’s a major weakness of Siuan, that she thinks all she has to do is give orders. She really makes no allowance for differences of opinion, expecting those on her side to stay on her side and to accept her commands. She does not expect compelling Morgase to have domestic blowback. She does not expect her handling of Elayne to anger her family or to turn Elaida, who has a clearly demonstrated long-term interest in Elayne and Andor, against her. She does not expect her high-handed manner to incite sisters against her, or her secretive behavior to give credence to the arguments for deposing her, even though she knew being deposed was a possibility.

And part of that secrecy was kind of unnecessary. Siuan was the one who determined that the Black Ajah knew the Dragon was Reborn. Once she was Amyrlin, there was no further reason for secrecy, since the only people who didn’t know about it were the good guys. What’s more, it was, like the Murandy operation, not just wrong, but futile. The secrecy depended on no one being able to trace her to Rand, which in turn counted on people not remembering how close she had once been to the one sister who’d been with Rand at every turn. Even after Verin pointed out how obvious the whole setup was to anyone who had been paying attention, she still tried to maintain secrecy. And you can’t fault the Hall’s annoyance at being kept in the dark about the imminent apocalypse or the hubris of an Amyrlin a fifth the age of many of them presuming to manage Tarmon Gaidon and the Dragon Reborn all by herself.

And the problem here is that all this stuff is backstory. Some of it we don’t learn until after she is deposed, and some of it we only learn the full ramifications of once we have a better grounding in the political realities of the setting. When Siuan is brought down in The Shadow Rising, our perspective is from her and Min. In Siuan’s mind, of course, she’s the put-upon hero, and her frustrations are reasonable feelings, certainly not an exhibition of entitled expectation that things will go her way. When Elaida reveals that the Hall has voted her out of office, Siuan’s retort is basically “How dare you use politics against me!” Her indignation that Elaida chose a favorable ground for fighting, that she chose to acquire allies rather than taking on Siuan alone in a personal confrontation where Siuan has all the advantage is either so astoundingly naïve as to disqualify her from ever holding office or a breathtaking piece of hypocrisy given the extent to which Siuan stretches her authority and the rules which put her above other sisters. Not to mention the tactics she will later coach Egwene to employ against people who are her ideological allies. But without the hindsight we get from seeing a greater pattern of Siuan’s behavior as well as a deeper look at the politics of the series, she seems like a frank and well-intentioned leader who has been brought down by treachery. In Min’s chapters, we only have Siuan’s presentation of herself and her position, as Min, like the reader, lacks much personal experience of the Amyrlin to see beyond it. And Siuan frames her actions as helping Rand. Which, yeah, she thinks she is doing, but just because she thinks it does not make it true. I’m pretty sure Min’s actions in Tar Valon would have been radically different if she could have been a fly on the wall in Fal Dara when Siuan told Rand that his purpose for existing is to be her tool.

And then Siuan gets stilled, hence the disability, and redemption in the eyes of those readers who were rubbed the wrong way by her attitude. The journey to Salidar has her one of three women traveling alone and vulnerable to violence and danger, not to mention ending up facing a trial for stuff for which she and her friends were not responsible, and then she gets to Salidar and runs smack into the prejudice of Aes Sedai against those who are not. Her old friends treat her as a lesser being, her qualities that have nothing to do with her channeling, and which are thus unaffected by her disability, are suddenly dismissed and she is treated like some ignorant hick. All of this makes her the sympathetic underdog, and from the reader’s simplistic binary view of “Elaida, bad: anti-Elaida, good,” Siuan looks good and the reluctance of the Aes Sedai to go to war against the Tower is inexcusable, so her deceptions and manipulations are seen to be for a good cause.

But what casual readers miss is that Siuan is still making the same mistakes. She still thinks, despite her awful track record to date that it’s right and good that she control the Tower’s agenda, as she plans to put a puppet on the Amyrlin Seat to be controlled by a council she herself can manipulate. What I have never seen anyone question is, if she thought Egwene was ignorant enough to be manipulated and controlled by the council and second-hand by her, why on earth did Siuan give her a blanket writ of authority and send her off to hunt Black sisters with only a blocked wilder to manage her? Also, Egwene’s state of mind, courtesy of her Seanchan captivity, evident in her actions outside of Tar Valon and her intractability in the short time she was in the Tower, made that a particularly bad choice.

Furthermore, the meta argument in favor of Salidar over Elaida is that Elaida will try to control Rand, and while the sisters in Salidar have a similar mindset, the protagonists of that arc (Nynaeve, Elayne, Egwene, and incredibly, Siuan) believe otherwise and will prevent it. And yet, to get her foot in the door, and access to power in Salidar, Siuan trades knowledge Rand’s whereabouts to the ruling council. Their response was to send the incredibly arrogant Kiruna and Bera to find Rand, with their only apparent selection criterion being the number of warders the pair could bring on a trip to the Aiel Waste. Later on, she manipulates the choice of which of Rand’s friends to send with the embassy, sending Min whom she believes to be more under her thumb and willing to spy on Rand for her, instead of Elayne, which compounds Elayne’s political problems when she goes to take the throne.

Again, Siuan’s intentions get buried by the fact that she throws in with Egwene and honestly does her best to help, but it was not really her choice, or only her choice insofar as she decided to accept it as her own idea instead of fighting a futile battle. What actually happened was that she let a wilder with little regard for the Tower or Siuan personally see through her decoy tactic, because she still has not learned that when she pretends to not be collaborating with a long-time BFF, someone is going to realize the truth. As a result, Nynaeve has both insight into Siuan’s activities in Salidar, and the willingness to use that knowledge against her, as well as having incurred a debt beyond repayment by restoring her channeling ability. Siuan cannot say ‘no’ to Nynaeve, and Elayne is politically shrewd enough that she’ll spot attempts to wiggle around her which Nynaeve won’t. So Siuan’s chances of manipulating or controlling Egwene are pretty much nil with Nynaeve and Elayne at her back. Her only hope for influence is to throw herself entirely into Egwene’s cause and reap the rewards. Not unlike Asmodean with Rand or the Forsaken in general with the Dark One.

And what about her work with Egwene? While it’s true she provided indispensable political tutelage and strategy, it’s basically the inverse of her own tenure as Amyrlin, where her supposedly good agenda was derailed by her political failure. In this case, the excellent performance she coaches Egwene to in the political sphere belies the fact that they have no good agenda. For one thing, they completely ignore the outside world that both of them presume the Tower has the right to order and control. When a course of action is proposed in the Hall regarding the Black Tower, a topic of not insignificant interest to Aes Sedai (especially Aes Sedai following a woman who publicly told a group of people concerned about the presence of male channelers in their lands “We got this, mind your own business”), Egwene sits mute through the session of the Hall, because neither her own views nor Siuan’s teaching account for a policy for the Black Tower.

The sole agenda for which Siuan and Egwene are engaging in all these political machinations among the rebels is a military campaign against the White Tower, which is utterly wrong, and probably an unjust war on its own. Egwene will even later repudiate the whole campaign and denounce the very act of marching against the White Tower and besieging Tar Valon…after she has had some time away from Siuan, and Siuan’s own actions have soured Egwene on her counsel. So either Siuan primed and aimed Egwene to plan and execute a military rebellion against the Amyrlin Seat, or else Egwene had the idea on her own and Siuan blithely went along with it and actively abetted the plan instead of counseling against it or trying to moderate it.

What it very much looks like is that Siuan leaned into revenge more than fixing a problem. Starting a war within the White Tower cannot be a good way to reuniting it, as people note several times over the course of the conflict when the issue of pushing the fight to an extreme comes up, but it is a better way to make sure that Elaida goes down. After all, if they are making war on Elaida personally, the end result of the war has to be Elaida’s downfall, and a declared war against her makes it much less likely Elaida will retain power under a negotiated settlement. And that, more than anything is Siuan’s agenda. Just as Elaida is really out for her own glorification when she thinks about saving the Tower, Siuan’s first priority is taking out Elaida.

If saving the Tower was the priority that could still be done within the system. At the point when Siuan arrives in Salidar and a negotiated settlement is still on the table for the dissenters gathered there, Elaida has not been in a position to do much damage. What she has begun doing is driving apart the coalition that brought her to the Amyrlin Seat. If the rebels got some concessions in return for their coming back, there would be no external threat to the Tower to rally support to Elaida when her actions become more extreme under Alviarin’s direction. There would be an opposition party in the Hall to vote against her more outrageous actions. Once out of the Hall, Elaida can’t keep holding sittings with only her own faction present, and she has been wearing away that faction with her own Siuan-like behavior.

As it is, in the same book where Siuan reaches Salidar, Elaida has promulgated a blanket amnesty to any sisters who return, so the future issue of the punishments she decrees, such as abolishing the Blue Ajah, is not a factor. Those only become so when Siuan lies about Elaida and the Red Ajah, and begins spreading the story that they created false dragons. And knowing it’s a lie, knowing the Tower’s tradition of covering for fellow sisters and presenting a united front to the world, of not airing their dirty laundry to outsiders, can you blame Elaida? The funny thing is, Siuan herself was outraged when Rand repeated the same story to her. How did she expect Elaida to react? Just as she did. Siuan provoked Elaida into the same indignant reaction she herself felt, for exactly the aim of getting her to lash out, and force the rebels to stay the course out of fear. And as with much of Siuan’s actions in Salidar, you have to say “Smart move. But how does it help?” Is provoking the Amyrlin Seat to acts of tyranny conducive to unifying humanity on the verge of Tarmon Gaidon? Is maintaining the division between sisters to the benefit of the Tower? Clearly not. The only one to benefit is someone who cares much less about those issues than she does about toppling from power the woman who bested her at Tower politics and whose teaching style she resents from when she was a novice and Accepted.

Other lovely advice Siuan gives Egwene is to murder Nicola and Areina for not being protagonists. Because pretty much everything Nicola pulls to try to get ahead is very similar to Egwene. And you can’t even say she’s wrong. She’s almost 25 years old. She had a job and a fiancé. This is a grown woman by any standard you care to name, and if she is willing to take the risks of being forced, she has the right to make that call for herself. Especially with Tarmon Gaidon just around the corner. A considerably better option than sending away girls with enough strength to reach the shawl, just because they are too boy-crazy to make good Aes Sedai, as Siuan did with Else Grinwell. I’m pretty sure Vandene’s assessment the book before she did so was that the Tower would need every novice capable of lighting a candle, as long as they weren’t too interested in good-looking men, right?

But because of mere political inconvenience, Siuan wants to murder Nicola, removing one of the strongest living initiates in the Tower, not to mention one who’s pretty clever, and capable of outmaneuvering sisters, on top of the sheer evil of the notion. And ethically, by assuming all authority over a novice’s actions and choices, by infantilizing her as the Tower does, treating them as literal children, the Tower has a responsibility to protect them as if they were children in truth. Murdering Nicola is as profound a betrayal of the White Tower’s duties as the crime she slanders Elaida for committing.

And speaking of slander, in a world where oaths are taken seriously, where they are sufficient grounds to alter the sentence of a convicted criminal, Siuan swore an oath never to tell a lie. And promptly broke it the moment she was physically capable of doing so. She did not put conditions on the Oaths when she swore them, there was no expiration date, no proviso that she would only live up to them so long as she held a certain status. She not only broke her oath; she did so to abuse others’ trust because they thought that it still held.

As an example of her teaching Egwene how to be Amyrlin, not just what to do, there is the discussion after Moghedian escapes. Egwene, in a moment of panic, commits an egregious violation of tradecraft to meet Siuan and Leane for no real practical gain, and demands they conduct an investigation that will further endanger their covers. Ostensibly, the subject of the investigation is Egwene’s runaway servant, which just might cause people to start wondering at the attention the issue is getting. And there is nothing to be gained by it either. As Siuan points out, none of them know what the Forsaken look like and there is nothing that could be done with anything they do learn about whoever released Moghedian. Egwene slaps down Siuan, demanding to know if the mere reassurance she would get from having slightly more knowledge than she currently does is too much to ask. But it kind of is, considering how many stand to suffer if Egwene goes down. If Egwene can reprimand Nynaeve & Elayne for endangering her (and by extension, her whole faction’s) political position by a bargain with the Sea Folk that is nonetheless a positive good for the world, how much more does she deserve a reprimand for something equally dangerous to that position with nothing to be gained by the risk? Okay, but she’s still learning. Whose job is it to set her straight on that? Siuan’s. And what does Siuan tell her? That she was right to flip out on Siuan, that no one may be impertinent to the Amyrlin Seat!

Before Siuan started filling Egwene’s head with nonsense like that, Egwene understood the need for people to treat rulers and leaders like normal human beings. That is was important for her friends to treat her like their friend, instead of their office. That rulers needed to be told the truth, even if they did not like it. We see in the same book where Siuan tells Egwene not to let anyone be rude to her, Cadsuane being deliberately rude to tell Rand things he needs to hear, because he’s not going to listen to people being deferential and obsequious. Leane tried respect on coming into the tent with “Mother, this is unwise,“ and Egwne’s response is IDGaF. She needs to hear when she’s doing something stupid, but Siuan doubles down on the Amyrlin being above normal human interaction, not least because she’s defending her own track record of arrogance and entitlement.

Recall that when Anaiya brought up her behavior as Amyrlin when she first arrived in Salidar, stating that she abused her authority and forced people to do what she wanted, Siuan’s reaction is to scoff that the Amyrlin can’t treat every sister like a buddy. Except that’s not what Anaiya was saying at all. Siuan was acting like respect and basic courtesy are special favors to close friends. Her reaction is more like a child using a semantic digression rather than reflect on what they did wrong. Why does she think people listened to Elaida as they did not to all the other opponents of Amyrlins who wanted to depose one? Either all but two other Amyrlins who managed to not get deposed DID treat people like girlhood pals, or else Siuan’s behavior was considerably worse than merely failing to be besties.

Just about the only positive thing we know Siuan did as Amyrlin was create the title ‘Mistress of the Kitchens’. I suppose you could count raising the Wondergirls to Accepted, but that’s more of a Doylist good idea. From the point of view of the White Tower and forming girls into proper Aes Sedai it was a tragic blunder, and Siuan had no intention of undermining the process or protecting the girls from being conditioned into obedient sisters. She just thought that her commands took precedence over 3,000 years’ institutional experience in indoctrination.

Siuan Sanche is a rude, petulant bully, who would destroy the White Tower or the authority of the Amyrlin Seat if she cannot hold them herself. She does a poor job teaching Egwene, who reaches her greatest heights after getting away from her teaching, and blames the Siuan-led rescue in defiance of her standing orders for her inability to reunite the Tower without a fight. Upon her triumph, Egwene publicly denounces and repudiates the course of action to which Siuan counseled her. When she held power herself, Siuan presided over a world going to the dogs, and engendered resentment against the Tower and its interference in others’ affairs. Her control-freak mentality and utter lack of subtlety or diplomacy gave the Shadow opportunities to steal the Horn of Valere and break the White Tower, and they were far and away the biggest fans of her efforts to exacerbate and prolong the division.

But to all-too-many WoT fans, Siuan is an amazing person for going on and keeping up the fight in spite of all she lost. Yes. Those are great qualities. And Eamon Valda is a blademaster, with all the discipline, dedication and perseverance that achievement entails. What matters most about skills and personal qualities is the use to which you put them. You don’t get a pass for putting skills to bad use, for striving for unworthy goals, just because you’ve suddenly lost an ability you once took for granted. Siuan learns nothing from her loss, other than perhaps some lessons about practical politics that might have helped her avoid the loss in the first place. She continues barreling down her path in the assumption that she knows best and she has the right to do whatever she can get away with because she knows best. All her disability really does is rehabilitate her in the eyes of the fandom, and cover over her many, many mistakes and the reasons why the Pattern removed her from power as its own champion was rising to fix the mess that was in part her doing.

#wheel of time #siuan sanche #aes sedai

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years

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Chapter Rating: General Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Revelations come in the aftermath of the attack on the Circle.

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Fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

Tendrils of golden mist wove through the courtyard that enclosed the templar barracks of Kinloch Hold. Frost whorled away across the flagstones, thick as a coating of snow, silvering the summer’s cobwebs and the dainty, bone-thin ends of the birch that had been planted in the centre. As Rosslyn trudged across from the room she had been shown to the night before, a blackbird warbled in its upper branches, as if boasting of its triumph over the winter night, as if there had not been a slither of demons pressing like a boil against the skin of the world only the day before. She paused to watch it scrape its beak on the branch, her breath a thick white puff that vanished into the fog, and stuffed her hands into her armpits to keep her fingertips from being bitten. It was always so after a battle. The small things in the world returned to their normality, unconcerned for the scars left by human action, for the hollow remains of victory’s thrill through the blood.

Shaking herself, she walked on, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The spare clothes the lay sister had left her were too thin for the weather, but she was grateful for them nonetheless. Her only other option would have been the shirt and gambeson she had worn to storm the tower, still stained with sweat and blood and ichor, and all the memories of what she had faced with it. She tried to turn her mind from it. The demon’s fantasy had been nothing more than smoke, and yet it had let her see her parents again. She had spoken to them, heard they were proud of her, seen them approve of the man she loved, and she ached so much for their arms around her again she hardly cared that it wasn’t real. And yet, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see their faces, only heard the slick rasp of steel through flesh, a gasp, the heavy sag of a body as it crumpled to the floor.

Voices raised around the corner. She wiped her eyes, straightening into her general’s façade as footsteps approached and halted, the tail of the argument lashing with voices she recognised.

“Karyna, please –” Cullen begged.

“You said mages aren’t people,” Amell snapped. “How can you expect me to be reasonable after that – what does ‘reasonable’ even mean?”

“You saw the damage in there as well as I did, so many dead –”

“And most of them mages. My friends. They died because they chose that over becoming abominations.”

“You said yourself they would have attacked anyone who came into the tower!”

The enchanter snarled a curse. “What would you have done in their place? Greagoir was planning to slaughter them! We obey, we keep our heads down, we keep our magic locked away, and yet none of that loyalty is worth anything. We really aren’t people to you, are we?”

“It isn’t the same,” the templar stammered. “You –”

“The Right would have had us all murdered, with no reprisals. If I’d been in there, and the oh-so-valiant knight-commander had told you to strike me down, would you have done it?”

“I – that’s not fair.”

“See? You can’t even answer the question. I don’t think I want an answer.”

“Karyna!”

The mage’s footsteps didn’t slow as she hurried around the corner, blind to everything beyond her unshed tears. Rosslyn let her go. Sympathy tugged at her, remembering the drift of ash above Highever, but whatever her own misgivings about the Chantry and what she had seen of the Circle, the grief was still too present, and it was not her place to offer shelter from it. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stepped out from the shadows, ignoring the instant of panic that lit Cullen’s features crimson.

“My presence was requested in the knight-commander’s office,” she said. “Which way do I go?”

“Oh… it’s the second on the right down that corridor, Your Ladyship.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you…?”

“As you were, Lieutenant,” she huffed, already marching past him.

She arrived at the door to Greagoir’s office to find Alistair already inside, backlit by a spitting fire, leaning over a map with his weight pressing through his knuckles into the desk. The deep crease of his brows made her hesitate in the doorway. The Fade vision had seemed so real, and afterwards she had been too lost in her own thoughts to even consider the effect it might have had on him, to hear platitudes from the false stranger who had called himself his father. His skin was paler than it should be; dark circles bruised glazed, bloodshot eyes, and the gaunt twist of his mouth hollowed out his cheeks like paper.

A floorboard creaked beneath her heel. The sound startled him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, the fatigue that made her heart ache brightened into welcome, a smile all soft corners that lifted as he breathed her name.

“Good morning,” he murmured, reaching for her.

She smiled her reply as she took his hand. “It is now. How are you?”

“Tired,” he replied, shrugging. “But considering the alternatives, I’ll take it. how did you sleep?”

“Not well, if I’m honest.” She dropped her gaze, well aware of the blush stretching across her cheeks.

“That’s not surprising.”

A gentle hand rose to cup her face, and for a moment she let herself sink into the comfort, eyes closed and breath a soft huff mingling with his.

“It wasn’t just the dreams,” she said. “I missed you.” She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I kept waking up and you weren’t there.”

Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight as she buried her head against his shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry about Maric.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted his approval. All those years I thought I put it behind me, but now I just keep wondering…” he sighed. “But it was all the demon. He was never interested, not even when I left Redcliffe.”

Rosslyn’s hand curled against the back of his neck. “We can’t know why he did what he did,” she soothed. “But really, does it matter? What you made of yourself is entirely down to your merit, and nothing can change that. I’m proud of you, if that counts, and you should be proud of yourself. I couldn’t have made it out of there without you.”

“It does count,” he told her, breaking the embrace so he could look at her. “There’s nobody whose judgement I trust more.”

She leaned in, drawn by the intensity of his gaze, but remembered at the last where they were and turned to glance at the doorway. The empty corridor stared back, draughty and silent. And Alistair was there with his fingers brushed against her jaw, ducking the last few inches to distract her with a kiss.

The instant his lips touched hers, a jolt of foreign heat sank low in her belly. Her hand rose of its own volition to bring him closer, the desperation thrilling through her echoed in the flutter of the pulse beneath her fingertips. They had almost died; they had encountered horrors and monsters and walked the veil-thin line of tension to the top of that cursed tower with no room for any thought but survival – and now that tension snapped. Alistair groaned as he pushed into her mouth, as she rose on tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to banish every bit of space that separated them. The movement overbalanced him. He had to throw out a hand to save them from the edge of the desk, but he never faltered. Eventually they parted, breath sharp, giggling for air, just far enough to dart back in for soft presses against every part they could reach. She never wanted to stop.

“What is it?” he murmured, ghosting another kiss across her lips.

Her hands cradled his face. “The worst thing…” She swallowed and tried again. “I keep thinking – I know it wasn’t real, but it might have been, and… I wish they could have met you.”

“Oh, love…” He pulled her in again with a swift brushed kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this.”

“If it ever ends.”

“Hey now,” he chided. “Where’s my indomitable warrior goddess? Everything will be –”

The echo of footsteps in the corridor interrupted him. Clearing his throat, he withdrew to a respectable distance, though his touch lingered at her hand.

“Everything will be alright,” he repeated, and dropped her hand as the door banged back against the wall.

Cailan entered, with Irminric on his heels. The king shone his usual puppyish smile as he greeted them, but Rosslyn had spent long months in his company, and knew him well enough to see the brittle nature of his resolve; his cheeks bloomed with their usual rosy colour, but his eyes were bloodshot. How long had he tossed and turned thinking about Loghain’s reach, that it extended even as far as a tower in the middle of a lake cut off from the rest of Thedas?

She knew better than to bring it up. Instead, she crossed to Irminric and wrapped him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you alive and whole, couz,” he told her. “For a moment there, I thought I’d sent you to an untimely end – Alfstanna would’ve been furious with me.”

At the sound of her old playmate’s name, Rosslyn brightened. “How is she? I heard there were twins.”

Irminric nodded. “They gave her a lot of trouble before the end. The bairns are sickly, but the healer says they’ll all make it through.”

“When this is all over, you’ll have to go back to Waking Sea and play Uncle properly,” she replied, and realised the others were waiting politely for the pleasantries to be out of the way. “But until then, what are you doing here in a war council?” She had expected Greagoir himself after the revelation that Uldred’s rebellion was triggered by outside events.

“I’ve been given a new assignment,” he told her with a shrug. “It seems the knight-commander wants someone to oversee the distribution of the supplies he’s donating to the cause, in exchange for saving everyone in the Circle.”

“You mean he’s sending you away in almost-disgrace for going against orders,” Alistair supplied with a wry tilt of an eyebrow.

“A small price for what you managed to do.”

“Just about,” Rosslyn groused.

“What’s the plan now, then?”

With the call to business, Cailan grinned and stepped up to their borrowed desk, shuffling papers away to expose the northern stretches of Ferelden on the map. Counters purloined from the knight-commander’s chess set had been laid out to represent the location of their forces, though some slipped their place in the tidying. As the king righted them, he talked. The Highever Guard with Eamon in tow was still somewhere around Lakehead, a strong enough force for a skirmish, but not for a pitched battle.

“We’ll cross to the eastern shore today and catch up with the bulk of the army,” he explained, still moving counters. “After, we should all arrive in Aeylesbide around the same time – Bann Ferrenly is expecting us. From what his scouts report, activity in the north has slowed as the cold weather has set in, and aside from a few outposts, our enemy has retreated to the strongholds already in their possession.”

Rosslyn’s heart quickened in her chest. “If we’re gathering our entire force at Aeylesbide…”

Cailan nodded to her. “We’re going to take back Highever, yes, and not a moment too soon.”

He paused to let her absorb the swell of emotion, the anticipation leaping like a deer through her veins at even the distant prospect of seeing home again. She had missed the rugged coastland, the cliffs and the sea breeze and the pastures of long grass rippling like silk in the wind. The fields would be barren now, laid bare for the first snow, and no doubt Howe had taken the dragon’s share of the harvest to bolster his own forces through the winter, leaving her people with scraps for food and nothing but rotting twigs to feed their fires. In the dream, she had returned a hero, with the sun shining, her parents proud on the steps of the keep to welcome her, the people happy and healthy and cheering her name. And that was the knife that truly made the demon’s tricks twist in her gut – even if she succeeded in taking back the city and the castle, even if she caught Howe and got her revenge, it wouldn’t bring them back; it wouldn’t make the fantasy real. A small part of her mind enjoyed the irony of the situation, that the goal for which she had yearned for almost a year was now within reach, just as she lost the stomach to face it.

I’m counting on you to see them safe, her father had told her as the dust settled over Glenlough. No matter what.

She felt the shift of weight beside her, Alistair lending her strength even though their company meant he couldn’t touch her. She exhaled a shaky breath, grateful, and turned her attention to Cailan once more. He had been waiting for her to continue.

“Your victory at South Reach has taken the last foothold away from Loghain,” he said. “And now we must cut off his retreat. The Bannorn is ours, and once the North follows suit we’ll be able to march on the capital without fear of being caught in a pincer movement. Once we’re mustered at Aeylesbide, we can finalise the details.”

“You’ll have a contingent of mages as well,” Irminric added, with a grim twist of his mouth. “We’ve nowhere to put them now until the tower is fully cleared, and with the number of templars killed we don’t have the resources to send them all to other Circles, either.”

Alistair scowled, but held his tongue. Meddling in Chantry politics was not a battle they could afford in the moment. “We may be able to finish this before the spring, if we don’t end up with a siege at Denerim,” he said instead.

Cailan frowned. “If Loghain is still a man of the people, he wouldn’t put them through that.”

“I’m afraid we cannot take that for granted,” Irminric replied. “Not if he’s become an abomination.”

“I thought only mages could become abominations?”

The knight-captain folded his arms, stroking the trimmed edge of his beard. “Only mages can summon demons from the Fade, it’s true, but once in our world the creatures may work on the minds of anyone they choose, usually someone with whom they find an affinity – an emotional connection. It’s possible Loghain’s allied magisters were the ones to perform the summoning, though whether it came before or after the Landsmeet, I cannot say.”

“It doesn’t matter for the moment,” Cailan decided. “I have faith in your abilities, Knight-Captain, but we have yet to reach Loghain before we can free him of the demon’s influence. No, first we must take Highever, and quickly.” At the questioning glances sent his way, he let the last of his cheerful façade drop into worry. “The queen has been sent there from Denerim, and we haven’t heard from her since. It’s possible he suspects she’s been aiding us.”

The implications settled over them like the fog outside, wrapping them in silence. Of them all, Rosslyn was most familiar with the aid rendered by Anora’s intelligence, regardless of her motives for betraying her father, but so far, her position had allowed her to avoid being used as a pawn. If her safety were threatened, however, Cailan would have to capitulate or risk losing the goodwill he had built up in his months in the field, and Ferelden’s entire future along with it.

Alistair was the one who broke the silence. “Why wouldn’t Loghain send her to Vigil’s Keep? That’s far less exposed if he wanted her out of his way.”

“He wouldn’t want to give Howe that much power,” Rosslyn answered in a low voice. “He’s already shown himself capable of betrayal.”

His hand fell to her arm. “Still, it’s rather convenient, don’t you think?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she answered bluntly, without looking at him. “And my people have suffered enough.” And I’ve spent too long wanting Howe’s head on a spike to back down now. “You know, Your Majesty, if you had told me this sooner, I might have outlined a strategy for you already.”

Cailan fiddled with one of the counters, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, my dear…” He pressed his tongue between his teeth, looking for the right words for whatever he wanted to say. “I would have, but I had hoped you would be persuaded to take a step back from this one.”

“Why?”

The frostiness in her tone blanketed the whole room, so even the fire seemed to dim. Cailan shrank away from it with a sigh, trying to deny the flush in his pale cheeks, and nodded to the rest of their company. Irminric obeyed the silent order and bowed out of the room with a mumbled excuse, but Alistair, sensing what was coming, stubbornly refused to take the hint.

“Brother, if you might…?”

“Your Majesty, what is this about?”

Defeated, Cailan sighed. “Some might deem it inappropriate for you to have a part in Anora’s rescue, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she asked, though her eyes had narrowed. “Anora’s presence in Highever changes nothing but our approach, and it’s my home. Would you sit in the supply lines while we took back Denerim?”

“I… no. I would not.”

“Then please don’t tell me this is some misguided act of chivalry to try and protect me from the worst of the fighting.”

“Maker, of course not!” the king cried. “My lady, you have proven yourself time and again, on the field and off. The matter is… more delicate than that.” Sighing again, he turned to pace across the confined length of the room, either gathering his thoughts or trying to work out the frustration evident in his voice. “It has become clear to me that, for the good of Ferelden, whatever existed between Anora and myself may no longer be… supportable. And so I find myself facing the possibility of a future where I am a king alone – in need of a queen.” He paused, took in her posture, cleared his throat, and dropped his gaze to the desk. “I… was hoping that, in time, you might consider being that queen.”

Her stomach turned. Despite what Alistair had said to her the other day in the meadow, and the sense it made once she knew everything Eamon had done, part of her had not believed Cailan really had plans for her. He turned that hopeful, guileless smile on her now, uneasy but not discouraged by her blank, silent shock, and stepped around the desk to take her hand in both of his. She felt the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms, and it was surreal.

“I had also hoped that, uh, circumstances would have allowed a more romantic proposal,” he allowed, with a self-conscious glance at Alistair.

“Your Majesty –”

“Cailan.”

She shook her head and extracted her fingers. “Your Majesty. I have no desire to be queen – I’m sorry.” Her heartbeat felt thready. “I would have always refused you… even if my heart didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Cailan blinked. “Someone else? Who?”

For a long moment, embarrassment stopped her tongue. Heat crawled across the back of her neck and pulsed behind her eyes, until she finally gathered the courage to lift her eyes to Alistair’s. He was smiling. She couldn’t help but return the expression as relief washed over her, too aware that even though they agreed they would bring their relationship into the light, the expectation had been something more controlled, planned, and definitely not straight off the back of another man’s proposal. When his fingers brushed against hers, however, she laced them together instinctually, finally remembering to breathe as his fingers squeezed their reassurance.

Cailan glanced between them, bewildered.

“If it makes you feel better we were planning to tell you,” Alistair said.

“This… well.” The king shook himself. “How long?”

They paused, unsure of the answer. For Rosslyn, at least, the love had grown so slowly, through distractions and misunderstandings and distance, and yet as she searched through her memories even that first morning, when he had stood enshrined by the dawn light and offered her his blanket and shared her breakfast, was touched with a sense of belonging too big for her to describe.

“From the beginning,” he offered, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“And you’re happy?” Cailan asked.

She blinked, drawn back to the present, and smiled at him even as the revelation overwhelmed her. “Very.”

“Huh… You really are in love, aren’t you?” A puff of air blew through his cheeks, giving way to a wry chuckle at his own mortification. “Well then. In that case, little brother, you should be congratulated on winning the esteem of such a fine lady! You’ll have to tell me how you did it, eh? And you, my dear,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “be sure he treats you as you deserve, or I may have to start another war to defend your honour.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.”

“The two of you… honestly.” He laughed again. “Who else knows of this?”

The warmth in Rosslyn’s chest cooled, feeling Alistair tense at her side. She cleared her throat. “About that – there’s… an allegation we have to make.”

“Allegation?”

“Against Arl Eamon,” Alistair supplied. “He intercepted letters between Rosslyn and me, to try and separate us.”

“Surely not…”

But Cailan listened all the same as they told the story, both what Eamon had done, and the ways he had tried to cover for himself once he was caught. It was unclear whether the initial idea was his, since King Bhelen was obviously so keen to be rid of his sister, but it was clear enough that the old arl had not acted under duress. When they finished, still leaning into each other for support, they watched as Cailan reeled back to lean his weight on the desk as if winded, his mouth pulled down at the corners and his brows knitted in a frown that added years to his face.

“Thank the Maker Teagan is with us already,” he murmured. “I will have to look into this. In the meantime…” He sighed, and fixed a smile in place. “We must continue as we are. We still have a campaign to plan, don’t we? It would be very poor sport if this one setback inconvenienced everything.” He glanced down at their joined hands and looked away, clearing his throat as he returned his attention to the map.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #king cailan #ferelden

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mysterioushedgehog · 5 years

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Awesome close read of bookJaime/bookBrienne relationship.

https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/1dl37d/spoilers_all_brienne_and_jaime_an_indepth/

V. Knights in Shining Armor

The previous post in this series demonstrated how Brienne's relationship to Jaime subverts the typical male/female relationship in Westeros. Jaime gave Brienne a sword and a fight instead of roses and kisses. For Brienne, there's much symbolic importance in Jaime's gift of Oathkeeper. It represents a chance for her to redeem herself and Jaime's honor. More importantly, the sword grants her the ability be self-sufficient instead of relying on male gallantry to accomplish her goals (as most women are forced to do).

Another way their relationship subverts gender roles is that Brienne and Jaime have taken turns playing the rescuing knight and maiden to be rescued. At first, the references to traditional gender roles are mostly ironic:

Armed men lined both sides of the brook... “Well met, friends,” [Jaime] called to them amiably. “My pardons if I disturbed you. You caught me chastising my wife.”

“Seemed to me she was doing the chastising.” (ASOS 21/Jaime III)

Later:

After the second time he fell from the saddle, they bound him tight to Brienne of Tarth and made them share a horse again. One day...they bound them face-to-face. “The lovers,” Shagwell sighed loudly, “and what a lovely sight they are. ‘Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady....Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?” (ASOS 31/Jaime IV)

And:

The eyelid was swollen, but Jaime found he could force it open halfway. Qyburn’s face loomed above. “How did you come by this one?” the maester asked.

“A wench’s gift.”

“Rough wooing, my lord?”

“This wench is bigger than me and uglier than you. You’d best see to her as well. She’s still limping on the leg I pricked when we fought.”

“I will ask after her. What is this woman to you?”

“My protector.” Jaime had to laugh, no matter how it hurt. (ASOS 31/Jaime IV)

Then Jaime does take on the chivalric role of male protector by preventing Brienne from being raped by the Bloody Mummers (ASOS 31/Jaime IV) and rescuing her from the bear in the pit (ASOS 44/Jaime VI). But what distinguishes Brienne and Jaime's relationship from the knight/maiden trope is that they are essentially equal. They've each in turn assumed the role of rescuer and rescued: Brienne saved Jaime from being recaptured by the Starks. Jaime prevented Brienne from being raped. Brienne kept Jaime's spirits up after he lost his hand. Jaime rescued Brienne from the bear pit. Brienne goes off to redeem Jaime's honor. This basic equality was evident when each (amuthingly) kept trying to protect the other in the bear pit:

“What are you doing here?”

“Something stupid. Get behind me.” He circled toward her, putting himself between Brienne and the bear.

“You get behind. I have the sword.”

“A sword with no point and no edge. Get behind me!” (ASOS 44/Jaime VI)

Afterwards, Jaime again ironically casts himself as Brienne's hero, but without the nasty edge:

“Her name is Brienne,” Jaime said. “Brienne, the maid of Tarth. You are still maiden, I hope?”

Her broad homely face turned red. “Yes.”

“Oh, good,” Jaime said. “I only rescue maidens.” (ASOS 44/Jaime VI)

There's always been some mockery mixed in with Jaime's 'flirting'. He behaved similarly to Catelyn Stark while he was a prisoner of war. But at a certain point, he starts to actually care about what Brienne thinks of him. Jaime became aroused in the Harrenhal baths when he saw Brienne naked, though he dismisses it as evidence that he's been celibate too long (ASOS 37/Jaime V). He then tells her his greatest secret though he's not sure why ("Why am I telling this absurd ugly child?" ASOS 37/Jaime V). After he tells Brienne about Aerys's plans to burn down King's Landing with wildfire:

The wench looked ridiculous, clutching her towel to her meager teats with her thick white legs sticking out beneath. “Has my tale turned you speechless? Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar. Something.” (ASOS 37/Jaime V)

After that moment of honesty and intimacy (Jaime bares pretty much everything to Brienne) in the bathhouse, he starts to suppress his urge to be mean to her (ASOS 44/Jaime VI). When Brienne learns about the Red Wedding, "She looked so miserable that Jaime almost found himself wanting to comfort her." (ASOS 62/Jaime VII). He even compliments her appearance at one point:

“Blue is a good color on you, my lady,” Jaime observed. “It goes well with your eyes.” She does have astonishing eyes. (ASOS 72/Jaime IX)

To be clear: this isn't simply a case of 'shipping Brienne and Jaime. I think their changing relationship is significant for their character development. Brienne's growing regard for Jaime, a disgraced knight, echoes her disillusionment with knighthood. Jaime's growing regard for Brienne, a naive idealist, has changed his attitude towards knighthood in a positive direction.

Just as he used to defend Cersei from rude remarks, he chivalrously defended Brienne from Ser Ronnet:

Jaime’s golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning. “You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.” (AFFC 27/Jaime III)

Jaime is so disgusted by Ser Ronnet that he "charged Red Ronnet with the task of delivering Wylis Manderly to Maidenpool, so he would not need to look on him henceforth" (AFFC 30/Jaime IV).

Contrast the above to the deterioration of Jaime's feelings toward Cersei. Back at the beginning of their journey, Jaime defended Cersei against Brienne ("'You will be courteous as concerns Cersei, wench,' he warned her" ASOS 1/Jaime I). But in the Harrenhal baths, Jaime compares her favorably to Cersei "Brienne caught him before he could fall. Her arm was all gooseflesh...but she was strong, and gentler than he would have thought. Gentler than Cersei," (ASOS 37/Jaime V). Unlike Cersei, Jaime can rely on Brienne, who is kinder and more selfless. Their relationship is far less one-sided.

VI. Warrior, Maid, Strangers

In AFFC, Jaime becomes increasingly disenchanted with his beautiful twin. He's still physically attracted to her, but realizes what a terrible person she is:

Of late, Cersei always seemed to have a flagon of wine to hand, she who had once scorned Robert Baratheon for his drinking. He misliked that, but these days he seemed to mislike everything his sister did (AFFC 16/Jaime II)

Besides comparing her unflatteringly to King Robert, he also compares her to King Aery when she watches the Tower of the Hand burn:

The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon (AFFC 16/Jaime II)

And:

Cersei had never taken kindly to being balked, he knew that. Softer words might have swayed her, yet of late the very sight of her made him angry. (AFFC 27/Jaime III)

Maybe falling out of love with Cersei was inevitable. Jaime's journey with Brienne has changed him so much that even self-absorbed Cersei has noticed:

"...What did they do to you?”

“They cut off my hand.”

“No, it’s more, you’re changed.” (ASOS 62/Jaime VII)

Jaime himself feels like a different man. He's lost everything that made him who he is:

...Half the court no longer seemed to know him. I am a stranger in my own House. His son was dead, his father had disowned him, and his sister... she had not allowed him to be alone with her once, after that first day in the royal sept where Joffrey lay amongst the candles. (ASOS 67/Jaime)

The cooling of Jaime's relationship with Cersei is connected to the evolution of his relationship to Brienne. Her idealism about knighthood has actually rubbed off on the cynical Jaime--a change that irritates the hell out of Cersei, who is more interested in having a co-conspirator than a hero by her side:

[Jaime] Once a man puts on that cloak, it changes him.”

[Cersei] “It certainly changed you, and not for the better.” (AFFC 12/Cersei III)

The twins have become estranged from each other. Remember that Jaime joined the Kingsguard for Cersei, that he tried to kill an innocent child for Cersei. Now he is a stranger to her:

He was your twin, your shadow, your other half, ...Once, perhap...No longer. He has become a stranger to me. (AFFC 12/Cersei III)

And she has become a stranger to him:

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. (AFFC 30/Jaime IV)

Embracing knighthood has distanced Jaime not only from Cersei, but from his father as well. Jaime rejected Tywin's offer of Casterly Rock and Lady Margarey's hand in marriage. Astonishingly, the notorious oathbreaker and kingslayer asserted the priority of his vows as a knight and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard even over loyalty to his House:

“I am a knight of the Kingsguard. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard! And that’s all I mean to be!” (ASOS 62/Jaime VII)

This is a significant change. When Roland Crakehall found Jaime standing over Aerys's body, "[h]e had not seemed surprised to find Aerys slain; Jaime had been Lord Tywin’s son long before he had been named to the Kingsguard" (ASOS 11/Jaime II). In AGOT, Jaime thought it was more important to avenge Tyrion than it was to remain at his post as kingsguard. Now Jaime prioritizes his duties as Kingsguard over his family duties.

Later, Cersei attempts to seduce him in the White Tower and he rebuffs her advances, telling her he won't have sex with her in that particular place (ASOS 72/Jaime IX). This is interesting since he had no problem violating the sanctity of a sept and his own son's wake in order to fuck his sister. Yet he refuses to do the same in the Lord Commander's apartment. Jaime is taking his position as Kingsguard very seriously.

(Continued in the comments)

#braime

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sapphires-and-gold-fics · 5 years

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Fictober Day 4: “I know you didn’t ask for this”

Fandom:

Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Characters: Brienne of Tarth/Jaime Lannister

Read on AO3

It had been 11 days since Jaime had last been to see her in her tower cell. He’d promised to find a way to get her out of King’s Landing. He’d hoped to find a way to save his brother as well. The full moon had come and gone.

It had been 9 days since Lord Tywin had come to her cell and informed her that she and Jaime would wed. She had said little in response, and less still when he informed her that she would be moved from the cell.

It had been 8 days since Septa Donyse had come to fit her for a gown, and 2 days since the blue silk gown had been delivered to her new chamber.

It had been 3 hours since Cersei’s shadow had appeared in her doorway without warning, a smirk marring her beautiful face.

I understand that my son the king, at the behest of my father, has decreed that we shall be goodsisters soon. It doesn’t look like you’re terribly happy at the prospect.

My father believed that I could have some say in my future, she’d said, but your father doesn’t see things that way.

Cersei had almost chuckled. No, he doesn’t. He never did. I confess if Qyburn hadn’t confirmed your maidenhead already, I would have few reasons to believe you were a woman, but my father’s insistence on controlling you seems to make the case quite evident. He does like to play with people’s lives.

Marriages are arranged all the time, your grace.

The queen’s smirk deepened. Except in your case, one would hardly call it a marriage. A wedding, yes, but a marriage...that requires a willingness to be bound to one another. A desire to do so. By the look on your face, you are no more desirous of that than my brother is. Or perhaps your face simply falls like that. But it matters not. Jaime has no interest in a marriage with one such as you.

I have not spoken with him, your grace. But I don’t believe he or I have a choice in the matter.

Cersei’s glance turned almost warm. You know, I could leave the door open when I leave. You could run now and avoid the entire thing. My father will be upset, so the crown won’t be pleased. But you’ve flitted between loyalties before, Lady Brienne. I’m sure you’ll find another berth soon enough.

Your grace is kind to think of my comfort, but I would not go against the king’s wishes in this.

The warmth was gone. Very well. I don’t expect your… relationship will last long in any case. You’ll leave for Casterly Rock but I wonder at your ever seeing it. Take care, Lady Brienne. I would not wish my goodsister to fall ill on the road. And one never knows what might be preying on travelers.

It had been 155 minutes since the queen had left the chamber, air pouring back into the room in her wake. Brienne had sat gasping on her bed. If only she could speak to him before the ceremony and find out what had happened.

It had been 119 minutes since the septa had returned to help her into her dress. Brienne had almost not recognized her own body in the looking glass. Nothing could hide her height, but she seemed to have more of a woman’s shape now.

It had been 88 minutes since Brienne had entered the Sept of Baelor and met Jaime at the top of the steps, afraid to look at him and see his disappointment.

It had been 78 minutes since he had cloaked her with the Lannister colors. He’d struggled with his gold hand and when he’d secured the left side, the right had begun to slip from her shoulder. It would have fallen except that Brienne had reached across her chest and grasped it just as Jaime had reached and caught it as well. She thought he had whispered his thanks to her back, but it was covered by the susurrus of the shifting fabric and Cersei’s snickers from the gallery.

It had been 73 minutes since the septon had bound their arms with ribbon and Jaime had gently squeezed her hand. She’d looked over to find his face solemn.

It had been 72 minutes since they said the words, and she could barely look at him.

It had been 70 minutes since he had leaned forward and pressed his lips dryly to the corner of her mouth, an action so reluctant and impersonal that Brienne felt assured of Cersei’s assessment of her brother.

It had been 55 minutes since they had arrived at the feast - a small affair even by Tarth standards, miniscule by royal and Lannister standards.

It had been 35 minutes since King Tommen had made the only toast, wishing his uncle and the new Lady Lannister prosperity before taking himself to bed; 35 minutes since Jaime had leaned over and taken her hand, raising it in salute to the boy as the small crowd cheered; 34 and a half minutes since he had pulled her toward him gently so that he could whisper in her ear, his face as grim as ever.

My father will not suffer a bedding ceremony. With Tommen leaving, we may taken our leave whenever you wish.

Brienne had ducked her head, feeling Cersei’s eyes boring into her across the room. If we are not needed here, then I am eager to depart, my lord.

He’d given her a curious look, then glanced at his father who raised an e yebrow and nodded just once. Jaime had jerked his face to look back at Brienne, her hand still in his. Come, my lady, he’d said at volume. Then f or her ears only, Let us rid ourselves of these grotesques.

It had been 32 minutes since he had led her away from the hall. They’d walked quickly, anxious to be away from the melee, and both having avoided the lure of the wine. Their quarters had been readied near the Tower of the Hand - a way, perhaps, for Tywin to keep them within his grasp until they departed for the west.

It had been 27 minutes since Jaime had opened the door and motioned for Brienne to enter. A low fire was burning and the sky was purple, the sun’s rays fading quickly. Jaime had bolted the door behind them and then sagged against it with a heavy sigh.

Wench.

She’d hesitated.

Brienne. He’d reached for her arm and turned her to face him. The dour expression he’d worn all afternoon while not quite looking at her had vanished. In its place, one of exhaustion and relief. Blue is a good color on you, my lady. It goes well with your eyes. Are you alright? I’m s orry I couldn’t come to see you these last few days. I’m even sorrier that you had to get the news of your future from my father. Tell me that you’re well, wench.

She’d stared at him, transfixed by his altered expression. No my lord, I--

--Jaime. These last few days cannot have changed us so much that you’ve forgotten.

She’d licked her lips before responding, and he’d watched the motion before flicking his glance back up to her eyes, steady. Where have you been? The words had come out quieter and with more desperation than s he’d intended and she could see the effect on him, the worry building, a face that he’d shown her and no one else.

My father. Once the terms were set he said I wasn’t to have contact with you until the ceremony. I thought of defying him. I thought of coming to you every day and telling you everything. But I was afraid that he would hurt you or Tyrion. He pushed off the door and stepped toward her. As long as I obeyed, you and my brother were protected. Without that protection, there was no telling what Cersei might do.

Brienne had nodded. She came to see me this morning.

To welcome you to the family?

To warn me, I think. She offered me an escape, actually. But I doubt she had my interests in mind.

No doubt. He’d sighed and taken another step. I’m sorry that happened. I swear it shan’t happen again. We’ll be leaving King’s Landing soon, and then she won’t be able to touch us.

Jaime, she suggested that I watch my back on the road, too.

His face had gone stormy. I swear to watch it for you, wench. She has no power where we’re going.

Brienne had nodded and then looked at him resolutely, summoning all her courage, speaking quickly. Jaime, I know you didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did. And I know that I’m not… not her. But I hope that there is some comfort, that is, I am comforted and hope you are as well, that if this is our fate, that at least we are friends. At least we may lean on one another--

—What makes you think I didn’t ask for this? He’d taken a final step toward her and clasped her arm.

Jaime, you were Lord Commander--

--Aye and what a Commander I was. Jaime had crowded her and forced her to step back as he went on. I soiled that white cloak every chance I got. Brienne, they were going to kill my brother, and as Lord Commander I was expected to stand idly by and let that happen. I couldn’t do it. But there was a problem.

Brienne had felt the backs of her thighs hit the bed just as Jaime stopped moving.

You.

Me?

I couldn’t leave you here. I couldn’t leave you behind. I could have told my father that I wanted you for a guard at Casterly and keep you a maiden, but I knew better. He’d been waiting, you see, for me to change my mind about being his heir. But he couldn’t keep other houses waiting for me, so there were no other highborn ladies waiting in the wings; but you were here. If I’d asked to bring you with me in any capacity other than my lady wife, he would have inevitably turned it into a wedding anyway.

She’d shuddered as he ran his hand up and down her arm, her nerves firing as she tried to keep her breath under control.

So I beat him to it. I told him that I was in love with you, and that I wished to marry, but that i would only do it if he gave me Tyrion.

She’d almost whimpered when he reached up and cupped her face.

So yes, I did in fact ask for this. And I have no regrets about doing so. And I would have told you as much before we said the words if I’d been able to see you. I would have told you everything… I would have given you the option at least - I’m sorry that it couldn’t be that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had no say in being married to a cripple, formerly of the Kingsguard. But I’m not sorry for getting you away from here. It felt selfish but I need you to know that I was thinking of your safety. As it is, I still need to make Cersei believe that this was my father’s doing, otherwise the rest of the plan won’t work.

What plan?

Jaime had actually smiled and leaned closer to her. Wench you didn’t think I would just drag you to the rock and put a babe in your belly and forget all about our oathes like my father would want, did you?

Stunned, she had said nothing.

We’re going to find Sansa and bring her north. We’ll try to find Arya too. He’d been so close that his breath had begun stirring her hair. And when we’re done you’ll decide your future, marriage vows or no.

It had been 51 seconds since their lips had crashed together, his hand gripping the nape of her neck, her hands gripping his tunic; 34 seconds since his tongue had slipped into her mouth; 32 seconds since she had moaned into his.

It had been 3 seconds since she had pulled him down onto the bed with her and he had mentally sworn to keep every vow to her.

In 248 seconds, she’ll remove his gold hand and press his stump to her heart.

In 14 minutes, the blue silk will be balled up on the floor.

In 23 minutes, she’ll come apart with his name on her lips, and her honey on his.

In 29 minutes, she’ll come apart again when he spills inside her, crying her name.

In 17 hours, they’ll sit for their final meal in the Keep. Cersei will demand Jaime’s attention. Jaime will give it.

In 19 and a half hours, he’ll have Brienne pressed against the inside of their chamber door.

In 32 hours, Tyrion will join them as they ride west from the capital.

In 32 and a half hours, Tyrion and Brienne will be fast friends and take to teasing Jaime together.

In 6 days, Tyrion will continue west while Brienne and Jaime turn north.

In 19 days, they’ll be pressed together sheltering from the rain, his mouth on her scars when they finally whisper their love for one another.

In 95 days, they’ll rescue Sansa from Baelish.

In 8 months, Sansa will be safely ensconced with the Night’s Watch.

In 12 months and 1 day, Arya will join her.

In 13 months and 28 days, Jaime will knight Brienne at Winterfell.

In 13 months and 29 days, Jaime and Brienne will fight at Winterfell in the Long Night, and survive. Brienne has decided her future.

In 16 months and 12 days, they will rejoin Tyrion at Casterly Rock.

In 18 months and 3 days, Jaime will tear up a letter from his sister begging for help in the capital.

And in 22 months and 15 days, Jaime will curl up on the bed next to a propped up Brienne and hold his wife and newborn daughter to him while Tyrion watches them fondly from a chair by the hearth.

#apparently i can't write drabbles #fictober #fictober 2019 #jaime x brienne #brienne x jaime #braime #got au #braime au #asoiaf au #not really asoiaf and not really got

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 96: Unnecessary Dramatics

In his head, he carried with him a list of the happiest, most breathtaking moments of his life. The day Baelfire was born topped them, the night that he'd held his son in his arms after Milah's departure and accepted he could be a single parent was another. He cherished the first time that Baelfire had told him he might want to be a spinner like he was, the first time his son had called him "Papa", the day he'd sent him to school, and the first time he'd learned to walk and came right to him.

Those moments, those happy fleeting moments, were few and far between since Baelfire had left, but this moment, this moment was one of them.

He arrived back in his foyer now, completely unaware of what was going on back in the cave with the Chernabog and unable to care because in his hand was a glass bauble with a scroll inside. And now that he had it out of that cavern, the full brunt of its magic was hitting him. Oh, he'd never felt so much power from a spell or potion or curse or…anything! Not since he'd become the Dark One, not in all his life. Inside of him, there was a shudder from every Dark One that had ever walked the face of the earth. Even Nimue was speechless. They'd never felt anything like this either. Ever. And the fact that it was made with Fairy Magic…

He closed his eyes as he breathed it in. It tingled. He felt the sensation from his arm to his shoulders and down to the soles of his feet. It was beautiful, truly beautiful! And it was easily one of the happiest moments in his long life. For in his hand, he held the key, the answer to all his problems. In his hand was finally the way back to Baelfire. He'd done it. He could have cried with joy.

"I'm coming, Bae," he whispered. "Just a bit longer. Just a bit-"

A noise, a small rustling, stopped him mid-sentence. It was coming from the Great Room. It was the sound of fabric rustling. Someone was in his home, moving around.

The Apprentice? Had he entered his home, gotten past his protective spells while he'd been away, and he just hadn't noticed because of the Natural Magic?

No. That wasn't it. He was here now, no Natural Magic in the way and he didn't feel an intruder was in his home. But if not the Apprentice…then who…

He glanced down at the glass ball in his hand. His first instinct was the send it to his Tower for safekeeping, but he didn't like the idea of leaving it anywhere he wasn't until it was properly warded and guarded. It would take only a second for it to be stolen, and he'd been too careful to let one careless decision change that. He could put it in his doorless vault but…

No. In one swift motion, he applied pressure to the glass. First, it cracked, then splintered, then shattered so that what he was left with was just the scroll in his hand. Now he knew why it had been in a bauble. It felt like the power doubled when it touched his bare skin. This Curse, Fairy magic or not, it was as though it called to him, as though it was his other half, like it had been made just for him and was rejoicing they were together. When he'd been with Cora and Margery and even Milah he'd had small brief moments where he'd felt powerful, when he'd moved inside of them and experienced a few moments of uninhibited bliss and ecstasy. If he continued to hold to his skin like this, it might just lead to that.

So he slipped it carefully into the pocket of his cloak. Until he could protect it and set things right, it wasn't going to leave his side.

He waved his hand at the door and hit it with a blast of magic so powerful they slammed open and hit the walls with a loud crack that told him he'd have to do some repairs after all this was done. He strode into his Great Room with confidence, prepared to face whatever foe had come after him…and found Regina.

She was sitting with her back to him in a chair by the fire, a long black gown falling over the legs that he knew had to be crossed one on top of the other. When he circled around the chair to meet her gaze, the firelight flickered over half her face so that in the shadow, she looked just like her mother. Her expression was cool. Her demeanor was calm as she sipped at a cup of tea and stared into the fireplace. But when she spoke, her voice…her voice would never be Cora's.

"Where have you been?!" she demanded in a low voice, as if she was a lover he returned to every night instead of a woman he'd only seen through glimpses in a mirror over the last few years. "I've been waiting for hours!"

"I'm sorry, did we have an appointment?" he snipped back with a smile. "It's hard to remember since when we last saw one another you decided you didn't need me to study magic." He was on the clock, he had things to do, and while he always had time for the Regina who would one day cast the curse in his pocket what he didn't have time for at the moment was her bullshit. Years of studying on her own, dedicating herself to hunting down her step-daughter, sleeping with a man who's heart she held captive…what did she need him for? And vise versa. When the time came, he'd be ready to engage in some kind of relationship with her again, but not at this very moment. At this moment, he had to hide his curse!

"You said I was welcome to drop by whenever I had questions."

"I said you could drop by; I never said I'd be here."

"I've been summoning you. You didn't come," she explained gracefully setting the teacup aside and lifting herself out of the chair. She made her way across the room to the mirror he had in the corner, the mirror that used to be his link to her. "And this used to be where I could contact you when I needed you."

He resisted the compulsion to nod at her words. The Natural Magic, it must have kept him from being summoned or even taking note of it. Interesting.

"There are some places not even I can be reached, dearie," he answered, following her steps and sneaking up behind her. "And this may come as quite a shock to you, but I'm a busy man! I don't exist to be at your beck and call. I've deals to make, things to steal…"

"Others to teach?" she questioned with a hint of something in her voice that made him shudder for a moment. It wasn't jealousy like her sister, thank goodness! He didn't think that he was prepared to go through that again. But what he actually heard might be just as bad. Suspicion. She was suspicious that he was teaching someone else? Or just suspicious that he was helping someone else? Or was it that she suspected he was involved with someone and wanted him for herself as her mother had led him to believe and her sister had. So many, many options. And so little, little interest in it as the curse burned a hole in his pocket.

"Now, I assume that what's brought you to my humble abode for the first time in so many years isn't tea and crumpets. What is it you need, Regina?"

Regina gazed into the mirror that connected him to her palace for a few seconds longer before finally sighing and turning away. He made a mental note to drape a blanket over the thing.

"I have a problem," she declared as she moved closer to the table.

He let out a high-pitched squeal of amusement. "Well, that's always been clear. The question is which problem would you like to discuss."

"My step-daughter."

"Ah! You mean the frilly little princess you let slip through your fingers and is slowly becoming one of the most notorious bandits your Kingdom has ever seen."

Regina stretched her fingers out on his table and hunched her shoulders as if his words had hit her with a whip. He pulled the chair at the end out and sat down just so that he could watch her nose wrinkle as if she'd smelled the foulest of trash.

"I don't know how she's still eluding capture."

"Oh, she's not eluding capture, dearie, she's just eluding you," he pointed out quickly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"We both know what it means." It was just as he'd suspected. Bullshit. Dramatic bullshit. He didn't have time for it. He didn't have time to coddle her and rub her back and make her feel better about herself! And even if he did, he didn't want to do it. She was beginning to meet her end, his dear Regina. She was beginning to enter into the state of crazed single-mindedness that he needed for what he had in his pocket. But he wanted-no! He needed her to be worse than this! She was here because her hunter couldn't satisfy, because being queen couldn't satisfy, because being her father's daughter, his student, half a dozen other things that she was didn't satisfy! She just hadn't figured that out yet herself. It was good bullshit. But something he needed her to experience.

"Your guards have had her in their grip half a dozen times since she snuck away into the forest and your…plaything let her go."

She winced. Then turned her gaze back on him with wide fiery eyes. "Have you been spying on me?"

He let out another chuckle. How foolish of her to forget exactly who she was dealing with! "Only every year since you were born, dearie! And the way I see things you should have everything you've ever wanted! Snow White is a wanted criminal thanks to you. You've ordered her execution, yet she continues to elude you. Why?"

"Because she's clever."

"Because you're thinking like an ignorant girl!" he declared boldly. The look on her face told him she wasn't pleased with his choice of words, but he didn't particularly care. Let her be angry. It could only help him. "You let her escape by giving her time."

"I do no such thing!"

"Quiet!" he ordered, holding a hand up to silence her. It worked. The time for the casting of his curse wasn't now, he knew that already, but the way she closed her mouth and recoiled at his command confirmed it. The woman he needed wouldn't do such a thing. "Your guards capture her, they attempt to bring her to you, and she escapes, when there is no reason for any of that. There is no need for her to be brought back to you, just have her killed on the spot."

Regina's response was only to drop her gaze back down to the wood of the table in a huff.

"Oh…" he teased, finally ready to get to the issue at hand. "Unless that takes away all the fun for you."

"Fun?" Regina chuckled. "You think I'm having fun bringing that criminal to justice."

"But of course!" he declared rising from his seat and striding over to where she stood. "Because this isn't really about justice. Not anymore. This is about revenge and how good it would feel for you to take the heart of the woman who killed the love of your life and crush it in your own bare hands just as she crushed yours so long ago!" he spat through gritted teeth. "Now wouldn't that be so much more satisfying than hearing of her execution from your guards."

She didn't answer, not verbally, at least. But he watched as the breaths she took began to come deeper and quicker. Sometimes silence could be damning all on its own. And her silence…it spoke in volumes to what she wasn't ready to say out loud.

"How easily you forget, dearie…I see everything. Over these last few years, your sorcery skills have grown, they are second only to your ruthlessness."

"And that's a bad thing?!" she demanded.

"Oh! No, no, no! Quite the opposite! You've made me proud as a Papa!" he smiled at her. Here now, dressed in black with charcoal around her eyes and her hair all done up in a fancy bun atop her head…she was a far cry from the scared little girl he'd once encountered in a dark room before her wedding. He'd always known she would be. And now the rest of the realm was coming to discover it too.

"Kings and Queens from near and far all recognize the power you have, and I couldn't be more impressed with how far you've come."

"No!" she resisted suddenly, slapping her hand against the table before standing up tall and looking down on him. It was the look of a queen. "Power has nothing to do with this…I'm not trying to be ruthless I'm trying to be a Queen! To stop a murderer and thief that is terrorizing my Kingdom!"

"Only by proxy. Eh…you do realize she didn't kill her father, don't you? That was on you."

"She killed Danial."

"I repeat…only by proxy. And she's only thief because you've made her one. And as for terrorizing your Kingdom…I think if you looked harder at those you think you are protecting, you'll find quite a different story."

He felt victory swirl through him as her hard gaze challenged his own in a duel there was no sense in having. He'd won. She knew it. Her posturing for effect was pointless because whether she wanted to say it or not, she knew in her heart what she'd become and that everything he'd said had been the absolute truth. One day she would admit it. One day he'd get to see how the Seer's prediction of Regina and Robin of Locksley played out before him. One day she might be something very different than she was now. But for now, she was who she was. And who she was, was a Queen who wanted her step-daughter dead and nothing else.

"I need a spell," she stated emotionlessly, quickly changing the subject back to their original topic. "I need something to stop her from evading capture so I can get her back and make them see what I see. Make them see me as their Queen, just as they should."

He smiled, his mind thinking automatically of half a dozen different spells and at least two dozen potions that could do what she wanted. But that wouldn't get him what he wanted.

"Sorry, can't help you," he dismissed before turning his back on her and moving away. Behind him, he heard her dress ruffle and her heals clack and thud against carpet and stone in order to move around him and face him once more.

"What do you mean you can't help me?!" she asked, pushing a hand against his chest so he'd stop walking.

"I mean that while there are several different spells and potions that could be cast, it's not worth my time or effort to make them. They often require blood of the victim; you don't have that because you don't have her. Others require the victim to drink it themselves, and I don't see her submitting to that, nor do I see your thugs in black being able to trick her into it. Still, others require the cursing of locked doors, and there are simply too many for that. My time is more valuable than joining you on your wild goose chase."

Her chest heaved for a moment, and the sounds from the fire in the grate seemed far louder than they should have been as he saw angry tears gather in his student's eyes. "I don't believe you," she breathed. "All those times you promised to be by my side, to help me-"

"To help you learn magic, dearie!" he corrected. She shook her head and looked away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "If memory serves correctly, you've learned it! If you want to spend the rest of your life cursing locks or making enough potion to give to all the guards hunting her in all the lands, then be my guest. In the meantime, I'm going to focus on something that might actually help us one day."

Regina swallowed and looked back at him with a spark of hope reigniting. He had her interest once more. "Us…"

"You," he clarified with a nod. It was the only part of the "us" that she'd actually cared about.

"What are you working on?" she inquired, her voice lightening to that of a child all over again.

"Ah-h-h, dearie!" he exclaimed, wagging a finger in front of her. "That is for me to know and you to find out when the time is right."

Regina rolled her eyes dramatically and turned away from him, angry once more. "Fine. If you won't help me, I'll join the search for Snow White myself!"

If she only knew…

"Rest assured!" he called after her. "If what I am working on is as powerful as I think it is, then it has the power to make sure all your hopes and dreams come true. It will be a masterpiece!" His throat caught as he breathed out, a wave of emotion coming on unexpectedly as he suddenly felt the power of the scroll stir in his pocket.

Regina, however, rested her hand on the back of his chair and tapped her nails along the wood in obvious irritation at his lack of answers. More bullshit he wasn't going to deal with. He'd already dealt with more than he'd wanted to from her on this most special of nights.

"Now leave me," he insisted. "Come back when you actually have an idea instead of grasping at the air, hoping to get lucky and find a rope to cling to."

"You are…impossible. You know that?" she snapped before he felt her magic stir and carrying her away from him in a cloud of black.

Alone at last, he sighed and reached into his pocket. He pulled the scroll free and held it up to the firelight to admire it for just a few seconds before he had to get to work.

"Yes…yes, I do…"

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Regina #Evil Queen #The Dark Curse #ouat fanfiction #ouat #fanfic

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vivypotter · 6 years

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Vivy’s Harry Potter Fic Recs

I’ve had a load of people ask me for my favourite tomarry fics, so I thought I’d compile a fic rec! This will probably be updated as I think of things. However, I have a lot of favourite fics which aren’t Tomarry, so I thought I’d add a few other pairings as well. I think I’ll put up a few recs of other fandoms as well when I get ‘round to it, like Hannibal or the Hobbit (I have weird reading habits okay?) It’ll help me find them too xD.

Tom Riddle or Voldemort/Harry Potter

Consuming Shadows by Child_OTKW (WIP)

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.

I feel this is genuinely one of the best Tomarry fanfics maybe ever written, and I’m sure you’ve probably read it since it’s so popular - but I thought I’d recommend it anyway! It’s not finished, but there’s enough of it to really sink your teeth into and action is properly going down right now. Harry is such an interesting character and his cat and mouse dynamic with Voldemort is so entertaining. I anxiously wait for every update!

Set the Sails (and don’t look back) by Terrific Lunacy (Complete)

1724. All Harry wanted to do was to cross the Atlantic and start his apprenticeship under one of the most renowned physicians. Tom Riddle is convinced everything floating in the seven seas belongs to him. That includes ship-wrecked, green-eyed youths. Especially if they tell him to fuck off.

This is a fic that’s really stuck with me. It’s complete (a miracle in the tomarry fandom) and there’s a fun back-and-forth between Voldemort and Harry. Our goodhearted Harry is a doctor! And for some reason, I’ve been really into Pirate AUs recently.

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars by haplesshippo (Complete)

Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.

Another pirate AU, kind of! But this one is in space! And it’s actually more of a Star Trek AU. Okay, it’s not really a pirate AU but I wanted to keep the theme going. This is such a freaking good fic- the relationship between Tom and Harry is very unusual (not as combative as the last two fics) and there are some nice twists, as well as combination of HP lore and what I assume is Star Trek (I’ve never seen it okay). And the extended cast is excellent. I fully recommend!

The Dragon's Mate by Strange_Soulmates (Complete fics but WIP series)

Harry Potter has recently escaped from his dragon-guarded tower. So has his fellow prisoner - the dragon who was enchanted to guard him. Harry's friend is missing, however, and so he sets off to assure himself of his well-being before he finds the person responsible for imprisoning them both. Accompanied by a stranger with a familiar name, Harry finds himself with more questions than answers as he slowly learns about the customs of dragons and the history of the dragon he befriended, the fearsome Voldemort.

I really love pretty much all of Strange_Soulmates’ fics, but this is definitely my favourite (and maybe the only complete one? Don’t quote me on that.) The characters are so well done, and although I love the first fic a little more than the second, they are both excellent reads! Dragons and wizards? Yes, please!

Everything's Fine in the Beast Division by Merrinpippy (Complete)

Harry's lifelong ambition is to become an auror, but as his knowledge of Dangerous Beasts is somewhat lacking, Newt Scamander agrees to take him on as an apprentice. Contrary to the Weasley twins' predictions that Harry would die of boredom, Harry finds his time at the Ministry very interesting, and befriending the very attractive Tom Riddle doesn't hurt at all- in fact, quite the opposite.

This is such a fantastic fanfiction, and a crossover with Fantastic Beasts (a franchise I can’t stand but that’s a conversation for another time). It manages to be fluffy without going OOC which is difficult for tomarry fics, and the supporting cast are adorable!

To Be Set Free by Merrinpippy

Harry Potter, raised and abused by the Dursleys ever since his parents died, lives in the cupboard under the stairs. He has no friends or family who love him and his life is dull until one day a letter arrives arrives for him, written in green ink, that promises freedom. Sounds familiar, right?

King Thomas Riddle's illness combined with his political paranoia pushes him to arrange three royal balls, after which his son, Prince Tom Riddle, must choose a guest to marry, thereby securing the kingdom's future and solidifying their strength in the eyes of their allies/enemies. Tom is convinced that he will be able to defy his father and choose no-one, or at least he is until at the first ball he meets an attractive stranger with dark hair and glasses who won't tell anyone his name...

This is also excellent, and I love a good Fairytale AU. Merrinpippy has some really good stuff. I love all of it!

As Clichéd as Clichés Go by thecrimsonmonarch (One-shot)

Harry Potter wasn't known for his social skills, mainly because they were practically non-existent.

This is a bit random but very fun. Harry is a fucking dork. That’s all there is to say. A thoroughly amusing Lawyer AU.

Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus by The Carnivorous Muffin (WIP)

As the unwitting personification of Death, reality exists to Lily through the veil of a backstage curtain, a transient stage show performed by actors who take their roles only too seriously. But as the Girl-Who-Lived, Lily's role to play is the most important of all, and come hell or high water play it she will, regardless of how awful Wizard Lenin seems to think she is at her job.

This is a still-uploading fanfic and one of my faves. It’s not for everyone- it’s a fem!Harry and she’s so different that she’s really an OC to be honest, and the story is slightly complicated. This is certainly not a fic to go for if you want IC characters. But I really love the writing and the ideas and it’s basically a new, fascinating universe. And even if they’re not IC, I love the characters all dearly. The Carnivorous Muffin is certainly an extremely talented writer- all of her stuff is excellent.

Little Bits by lordmarvoloriddle

Inspired by Cinderella. Only there's no prince and surely no one is singing about their feelings and Harry's life could be a lot worse than having three step-brothers and a father who didn't liked him. He's going to be proven right.

This is such a bloody creepy fic and so so good. The ending is a complete twist and you should definitely read it!

Drarry

Draw a Line from Your Heart to Mine by CreateImagineWrite (Complete)

Being Harry Potter's best friend isn't always fame and beating off raving fans. It's also the anxiety of hearing your best mate's been cursed by another Dark Lord, or love potioned by some crazy woman. Or having his boyfriend you knew nothing about turn up on the Burrow's doorstep.

This is a bit of a random inclusion, but I was just reading this and it is SO GOOD. Perhaps a bit cliched in places, but Ron Weasley’s inner monologue makes up for it.

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

This is an also an excellent fic that I read bloody ages ago and has apparently stuck with me. There’s this whole Harry going into an alternate dimension where he’s married to Draco Malfoy plot, but the really beautiful thing is Harry exploring his dissatisfaction with his life- through carpentry! I know it sounds like a crack fic, but it’s not- it’s a gorgeously written fic.

Away Childish Things by lettered

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

This does the ‘Harry was abused’ revelation so well and really interestingly explores both Harry and Draco’s childhood. The overarching plot is also excellently done, which can’t always be said for character-focused fics!

Jily

#Jily by Chie (Chierafied) (One-shot)

Twitter seemed awash with the hashtag Jily. Lily blinked at in confusion, until she realised it was one of those silly couple monikers people had bestowed on her and Potter. …Though there was a small dissenting crowd following a tweet from Potter’s bandmate Sirius Black: Jily? Hah! More like LAMES.

This is such a fucking cute one-shot. I love social media AUs (if you find any, send them my way), so I loved this!

The Rise and Fall of the Extraordinary Jilysanschilly: Including Excerpts of their Best Collected Works by elanev91 (One-shot)

James Potter and Lily Evans are both wildly successful YouTubers and Sirius cannot believe that people ship them enough to write erotic fanfiction about them.

You might be picking up on my love of modern Jily AUs. This is so cute, Sirius is weirdly IC as he gets caught up in a smut addiction and James and Lily don’t hate each other from the beginning so that’s fun. A very sweet YouTuber AU.

Hit the Like Button by elixirsoflife (One-shot)

YouTube star James Potter is living it up at uni: filming videos, getting drunk and professing his love for aspiring singer Lily Evans to anyone who'll listen.

It’s another modern AU, but this time, Lily is a famous singer! This was fucking adorable, enough said.

The White Album by cgner (Complete)

James poses as an advice charm in Lily's diary. He's really got to start thinking through his shenanigans.

This is the strangest mix of angst and fluff that I’ve ever read, but it really, really works. It’s also kind of a crossover, as it’s written by the co-author of:

Haggis from Algernon by Rude Gus (Complete)

The fic about nothing.

Everything written by both Rude Gus and cgner is brilliant (not a surprise as they’re almost the same person), but Haggis really is a classic. And check out their Bachelor AU fic! It’s surprisingly brilliant.

Gen and Misc

Kid by Anonymous (Completed)

A Potion's "accident" turns Harry into an eight year old. Draco Malfoy begins planning his kidnapping/conversion to the Dark Side. But Harry's a passive-aggressive, revenge-obsessed little bastard. Maybe Draco will wait on that whole Dark Lord thing…

Such a cute fic! A really nice character study of Draco and cute kid Harry is always a bonus. I’m not usually a Draco Malfoy fan, but this is a great fic.

Harveste by kyaru-chan (Complete fics but WIP series - probs abandoned)

He's done it. He's just five years old, but he's finally done it. The Dursleys are gone. And now he's with a new family who seems just as twisted as he is. How strange.

This is a really weird fic series. It’s actually an Addams family AU? Harry kills the Dursleys and gets adopted by the Addams family, and then there’s a separate fic for each HP book up to Half-Blood Prince, where I think they stopped. It definitely still worth a read though. Harry is certainly not IC but it’s a fascinating combination of the two universes with all the quirky Addams family humour. It’s certainly a bit of a crack fic to read when you’re down.

Sarcasm and Slytherin by sunmoonandstars (Complete stories but WIP series)

After ten years of misery with the Dursleys, Harry Potter learns that he has magic. Except, in this story, it's not a surprise-the only surprise is that there are others like him. Including his twin brother, Julian Potter, the savior of the Wizarding world.

This isn't the Harry you think you know.

This is WBWL kind of story (although we don’t know if Harry actually is the BWL yet. Harry is a really interesting character and his relationship with his family- especially Jules - is very well developed and nuanced. Harry’s friendships and the authors interpretation of Slytherin house is also a new twist on old tropes- it feels very fresh! I’m eagerly waiting for updates!

So there it is. Just some of my HP faves. I’m considering doing one for Hannibal, Yuri on Ice, The Hobbit, Labyrinth (my tastes are so weird) etc, so let me know if you’re interested!

#fanfic #fic rec #harry potter fic rec #tomarry fic rec #jily fic rec #tomarry

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deviationdivine · 6 years

Text

Caustic Salvation (RK900!Prompt Request! w/Connor)

TLDR: Never made to love, he simply destroys to accomplish his mission...

Word Count: 3,381

TW: Heavy Angst, Pining, Character Death, Allusions to Smut

A/N: Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Did you really think I loved you?” - @your-taxidermy request! This turned into some fierce angst I couldn’t let go and a bit of a triangle. Thanks for participating sweetie! Hope you like! If there’s errors I’ll fix them but I need to post this. I’m actually proud of this one.

“I want to take you somewhere. Private and reserved for no one but us.”

Affection.

How you long to hear it pass his cold lips. Molding as a notch in a slot connecting to seal what once burns aflame. Even chilly his kiss retains warmth spreading a righteous inferno.

If ice can conduct heat then his eyes are a source of comfort. Impenetrable to everyone else around him but hauntingly open to you there is shock in his amiable introduction. It is there.

Underneath all his stoicism, serious facade beats a heart of a man. To you he has a heart, a tin man who captures yours from the beginning. A man not an android because he is much more.

You tell him this. He politely if curtly declines small talk. That is how it starts.

It builds until there is nothing left to hold back. As much as you were close to Connor friendship became the pinnacle between. Nines, however, he opens floodgates and swamps the tender emotion hiding inside.

Why does a light gather towards darkness? How can something soft coexist with an indurate stone?

The anchor steadies you. There is serenity in stability. Somehow, you did not think to find such and most of all not with him. However, it happens. Whether it is realized or not, slowly but surely Nines creeps into your lonely life.

“Are you a quiet storm brewing in the substructure of circuits and wires or a gentle breeze fluttering around a crescendo of my heart?”

“I will be whatever you want me to be.”

Promises sweet they are a line of life. How delicate in need this fairy tale blooms but all at once it becomes so clear. As a sunny morn bathing the world in light and vanquishing the dark. Yet, still an edge tingles upon mechanical digits twisting your dainty strings.

Are you merely brittle, shaving off piece by piece carved by your lover’s command? Or simply lost amid constant craving by heart’s demand?

Your heart sings for those nights stowed away from rest of the world. They are silent. Only sound between two pairs of ears, one far more advanced than the other but equally perked together.

His kiss is molten. Shivering tempestuous, cradling you for the first time. It is your first moment of intimacy.

Quietly fuming down in the evidence room, attempting to get some extra files looked at and isolation stabbed at you. It was colder in a way. Without anyone to offer company, no husky voice of Connor and crooked goofy smiles to placate this overlong work week.

You assumed you were alone. Then…then you were not.

Nines scared you to death. Quickly recovering it was then the building attraction reacted. Pulled together you were two magnets in the night, metallic energy, sweeping you into strong arms but never crushing.

Instead this kiss crushed you in many ways. It crushed your dream of Connor that will never be. It was never his fault. If you had to be his friend the rest of your life that was enough for you.

RK900 blazed in to sweep you off your feet. Seemingly he had done that, unknowingly you had succumbed to the most terrible plot of all.

“He is not what he appears, Y/N. Believe me.”

“No. Connor, please! Just stop. Stop…”

What is wrong with Connor? Why is he acting like this? Now of all the times he could’ve showed some type of interest, he does it after finding out you and Nines are dating.

It hurts. To believe the one boy who never in a million years would do anything to make you unhappy and this happens. Jealousy is not real. He’s only doing this because he’s not the only android detective now.

That is what you believe. Nines makes sure you do.

“Do not allow the opinions of others to taint what we have, Y/N.” The RK900 spins words of comfort. Craving such affection, he readily offers because it is the greatest benefit for his objective.

“But Nines he doesn’t mean anything.”

Standing up for Connor causes a curious reaction in the superior android. A first blinding sign of software instability…

“Nines?” Quietly gaining his attention, brushing fingers down his chest, the soft sweater rests firmly beneath your touch. He stills with a stroke of palm and tugs you close.

Devouring your mouth, slipping smooth tongue through the warm cavern between parted lips claims you out of spite. As a machine pretending he does not require validity.

However, there is an urge to lift your body away and ravish every inch. Witnessing Connor’s reaction would please him to no end.

Machines do not feel pleasure. It does not stop his need to taunt the RK800. The idea will bring him great satisfaction. Little does this impeccably advanced model realize in this moment you already begin the spread into his system.

“What are you doing?”

“Ending this charade.”

Sweetness turns bitter, poisoning both mind and body. This is where your heart dies. Withered away a tainted apple eaten down to its core and burrowing out the other side by a ferocious worm.

Everything is blood, tears and anguish. Bleakest night in a thousand nights as darkness casts over Detroit. Nines is no longer stark white and majestic. He is pitch black and the soul reaver.

“Connor was right,” you whisper regretful. Pain consumes more than is bearable because what once gave so much takes everything away in a snap.

RK900 does not flinch. Ultimately he discovers no amount of remorse in these actions. This was his plan all along. There is no turning back.

Strewn upon empty warehouse floor, tears cascade in a glistening symphony of despair. Shed for your precious Connor. Shed for the RK800 whose seeming uninterest pushed you into the arms of a white demon, thirium staining jacket, the essence of his target. Murdered in the most horrible place he could have been.

Defunct Cyberlife Tower makes for an ironic location. He led Connor here. The deviant took the bait.

Nothing may be here any longer but that does not mean Cyberlife is gone. They are still operating undercover. He is their agent of stealth moving through shadow, blending with humans as a deviant android. Nothing at all is deviant in him. Even if you tried to cause glitches in his software he is too strong to be fooled.

“Nines! I know you wouldn’t do this!”

Begging is a pitiful display he ignores. Saccharine protests echo in a hollow tin. No longer full of thousands, androids awaiting release of merchandise, released instead by RK800-51.

Designated Connor model #313-248-317 came under swift destruction when RK900-87 struck out in his completion. Mission successful flickered in his syntax until a glaring shift took over. Another influx of software instability shudders but not in guilt over accomplishing assassination of Cyberlife’s original prototype.

Your face blinds following the splatter of thirium. Lodging a bullet in the brain of android you truly love. He knows this. He understands deciphering interactions at the DPD, watching careful for a slip to slither in and compromise.

It is easy. While naivety shrouds the clarity of the RK800’s return in affection for you, RK900 coils into favor. Using the inane lack of confidence in yourself to benefit him, Nines begins a careful tug. Slipping in concern about state of being following late nights at work; Connor would do this. The newer model would watch a private talk between you two, smiles and laughs.

An opening came when Connor is stuck out late with Hank Anderson. Specifically assigned cases to the department’s best in android crime affairs they are out more often. Nines slithers into your orbit, piece by piece planting doubts to the closeness you share with the other android.

After all, Connor does not love you that way. The RK900 hints as much. He purposely inflates your misleading thoughts on the matter. That is how he snares. It is how he begins to get close to that one thing that will give him a clear victory.

Here in the now the handgun aims directly at your head. Ice narrows straight down the barrel as you continue to grovel for him.

“Th-there’s something wrong.” Suggesting quickly it’s the only explanation to this. Maybe there is a virus in his system. It might have altered his perception and changed him in some horrible way.

Is that what Connor meant? No. No, he-he meant something else didn’t he?

Please. Please, don’t destroy this. This is everything. It was everything. You gave all knowing each outcome may be riddled in hardships. A human-android relationship is difficult in hindsight even whence this all blew over. You thought this before him with Connor. That was only a pipe dream. A beautiful boy like him would never love you but tonight –

It would have worked; no longer running in fear but Nines was not there during.

The RK900 came after. He is still shunned by those who accepted Connor. Is this why? How can it be an answer when he threatens you? When he-he did this to Connor!

Nines loves you. This is what he spoke softly in nights of passion.

“Can you love, Nines?”

“I can love you.”

“Nines, please,” a gasp shatters composure as everything snaps.

A bundle of energy expels between two bodies. You scratch nails into his shoulder blades marking synthetic skin for only a short time. The trophies of love will fade but they will never fade from you.

The android groans barely audible below your ear. Hips lie snugly between your thighs pushed to the hilt amid your warmth.

Stirring a deep response out of his metal frame, Nines traces fingers along the length of your body. Sweaty beneath him as a pause in the strenuous evening satiates even a race of hearts.

He feels more against his chest pressing atop yours. A human thrum flutters not quite in sync with his regulator but touching in harmony. Only a sheet of metal covered in liquid, pale skin separates the most machine parts of him from your delicate humanity. Many things are feeble in his eyes. That is how they are made but this-this surges within at an alarming rate.

As much he will like to stop it is too far along. He is too far into this ruse. The more it sticks to synthetic skin, RK900 loses another edge. Dulling blades and softening him is not part of the plan.

Only the mission matters. He takes you to infiltrate personal space. Staying with you even though he is not required to fall into comfort; pillow talk, as it is called, loosens those lips in detail.

Kissing them now seals another step. Seduction enraptures intricately around your heart. Easily giving over to him because of the love you honestly crave, thought lost in the footsteps of Connor and Nines takes advantage. Nines embraces you sweetly to fill a falsity.

He is sweet only in protocol. Programming himself, pulling upgrades into the equation, drawing him ever closer into the fold of the DPD.

You grant him this proximity. You place the bull’s eye onto his target without knowing.

As you return to slumber this first eve of lovemaking, android lying beside, threading an arm to keep you close for an image desired, RK900 stares blankly into the void. The machinery in his head hypothesizes, constructs steps and analyzes every outcome to fulfilling the mission.

It is then he closes eyes. LED blinks amber before steadying but it is not stasis he falls back to.

“RK900. Tell me of your status.”

“Things are going remarkably well, Amanda. It is only a matter of time.”

Time does not exist in the zen garden. Unchanged since Connor’s disconnect, blooming anew with a more powerful source. Connection to their highest of upgrades the RK900 breathes this fresh landscape grown over last tendrils of ice from whence RK800 escaped.

He offers shade to Amanda. Hoisting umbrella above to blot out speckles of rain, he moves steadfast beside the petite master program, listening intently as a machine who should obey.

“What about the human?” She asks, intent solely held with the dark opaque of her scrutinizing gaze. “This relationship. Do you feel it is a necessary step in order to complete your mission?”

The android shifts stopping upon the arch curve of bridge. Rain begins pouring heavier in time with his hesitation.

“It is necessary,” he decides. “I will use this to advance the current stage of my infiltration. The RK800 will be destroyed. As you order, Amanda.”

“Why did Cyberlife really send you? When the revolution is won?”

“Careful who you question, Connor.”

Careful eludes his inferior. Nines’ warning seems futile. In the fight it begins equal both RK800 and RK900 locked to the death. It becomes clear even for this android that fakes deviancy, pulls tender threads from your human vessel only to use to get closer. You and the RK800 are close but not in a lover capacity. That is why the newer model inches his way into your pathetic heart.

It is far too simple. You make his mission easier. After all it is you who ultimately offers inside information on Connor’s schedule. Living a fabricated life in viral disease; he takes every bit from you.

You are also the reason Lt. Anderson lies in a puddle of his own blood. Another human obstacle who saw fit to suspect RK900 of nefarious means early on his arrival. It did not take long for him to convince Connor. Then he attempted to warn you but of course denial is what you love. As he represents that and more but no machine can love.

No machine will truly feel. He fakes this but a small spark of pleasure seeps in. Physically from those times playing the perfect lover but also mentally.

Shoving it in the face of the RK800 placates him. It stirs dominance, smug self worth. He enjoys the obvious jealousy that rages behind the deviant android’s eyes.

Perhaps if your pitiful self esteem did not keep you from discovering the obvious love this defective android held for you. Then you may be spared. Only to accomplish to his mission strictly set by his creators. Masters of the artificial intelligence, branding him the most acclaimed and he will never fail.

He did not fail. A tough battle leads to one calculated aim.

Connor fights for you, to protect you from what he knows is to come but his emotion derails him. The original android sent by Cyberlife missteps because of his love, his fear for you.

That is what killed him.

“I’m so sorry, Connor! I-I love you. I loved you so much.”

“We both know what you really loved. You loved me. A ruthless machine.”

Everything burns in your vision. Breath stagnant, chest pounding and thirium staining fingers. Where you cradled Connor’s head once discovering his body sprawled upon floor. Shining, echoing in fast paced steps, dropping to knees frantic and searching for a sign.

Only glassy chocolate bore into the void. A gaping hole trickles eternal blue where his deviant life snuffed from one direct shot.

Even now fingers latch onto Connor’s jacket. Pulling at him in desperation knowing why he tried to warn you. He did love you. Why couldn’t you see? If you did – things would be so different. Turning back the shades of time is a fantasy because nothing will erase what has come to pass. Nothing will bring this sweet boy back. Connor died a true death. His deviant self is gone and frankly you find yourself gone with him.

Ra9 save his soul. Please, please, please don’t let him fade away. His soul was beautiful. Please!

“Time for tears are over, Y/N.” Nines interrupts your quiet mourning, devastation forcing a tremor in your frame. “Did you really think I loved you? It is time I finish. I am after all the RK900. Faster, stronger, more efficient. I am the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Cyberlife!

You spit on them. Monsters that hide somewhere unknown but this horrible place is a reminder. Connor was here once. He came to free his people. Now he lies dead! Dead in their domain where they bore him out some nightmare laboratory!

Yet, his face is still serene. He can no longer see or smile but nothing will change. Forever a kind, awkward boy who loves dogs; you lean forward to place lips against his cheek, kissing a freckle as the sobs pour over.

Let this be a mercy. As everything falls back to that time of terror before revolution’s end take this villainy away. Allow a bathe into light, the same kind that shone in soft brown eyes. Let it be good when you awake you again. Maybe this time it will be what is right in front. Maybe then Connor will be alive. Even so at what cost? Why?

“Cyberlife will never win.”

Strength exudes as you look into the face of the man, no the heartless machine that you stupidly gave your heart to. When all you had to do was look at Connor, his sweet smiles in deviancy, his warmth despite his design to do exactly what Nines is now; Connor became alive. He became sweet and a place to feel safe.

Friendship began this and there is where it ended. Foolish you never thinking, never dreaming or hoping Connor will see you more. Then it was too late. Far gone this thought and prayer…

All that remains is a hole in the heart and a desolate stare outwardly to your fate. Raising a chin now brings tear stained streaks, bloodshot eyes onto that face almost identical but harsher, wider and a seal of death.

“Just do it, Nines!” You scream, fury overtaking sadness, betrayal and heartache. Oh so much you ache. For this so-called love and-and for your sweet Connor.

“End me,” you plead. “I want to be with him! I just want to be with Connor now.”

Nines’ digits loosen the tiniest of margins on weapon. A sow of doubt in his programming? Fight to retain his machine persona over needles of deviancy, he cannot allow this disease. You are viral. Contagious!

You-you rather the corpse of a defective cretin over what he is! Filthy deviant! RK900 will not follow footsteps of the RK800. He will do what he failed to do. Amanda will not be disappointed in him!

“Then go,” the android sneers, LED ablaze in sickening scarlet. “Go and be with your RK800! There is no heaven for androids, Y/N.”

A smile draws the lips upon your face. Smiling in the face of everything torn apart but still you hold even then.

“Oh, yes there will be,” so sure the breath escapes that it fills you with a final instance of peace. “Because he was alive. He was an angel. And you won’t stop me finding him there.”

RK900′s facade cracks following the resounding bang of gunshot ending not only your life but contagion. As he lowers the caliber weapon he cannot tear eyes from the still form. Defiant even this truth your life ebbs away but you still find a place to fall, slumped atop Connor’s chest.

Human and android lying dead, blue and red mixing a palette of violet; the moment everything clears a faint smile remains upon your lips.

“I’ll be with him, Nines.”

A phantom echo dissolves his stiff posture. Your voice sticks. It is spreading throughout circuitry, buzzing in mockery. In the end there is incompletion to his mission.

The last laugh against what Nines did to you. Happy to die for a deviant!

He digs fingers into his coffee colored hair, attempting to dig, peel synthetic scalp apart and dismantle an urgent transmission of deviancy. Software warnings pop into vision blurring your peaceful position resting eternally upon his predecessor, inferior and obsolete. Yet, it is still enough for you to crave an end to torment to meet him again.

RK900 screams out in this torrent of infection lying dormant since the first time he became one with your human flesh. It rips him apart bringing him down to knees in a static bellow.

Slowly but surely this instability you leave harboring inside like a symbiotic pest will fry the circuits of brain and drive him viciously insane.

Tag List: @elydith @your-taxidermy

#dbh #rk900 x reader #dbh rk900 x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh nines x reader #nines x reader #follower/reader appreciation #dbh drabbles #detroit become human #dbh drabble choice #drabble prompt #personal prompts #actually proud of this

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commandercatra · 5 years

Text

Color Me Impressed (Catra x Reader)

Requested By: Me

Extra:

Horde Reader

Soulmate AU: The world is colorless until you see your soulmate’s eyes for the first time

How do you find your soulmate? Interesting question, really. Is it the fate that connects us, unseeable and unpredictable, that guides us in the right direction? Is it a pull so strong that it rivals relationships forged from love or fragile like the fights that strain them? Could it be something more obvious, something that was always there, or was it a question that was never meant to be answered?

Well, THAT was a stupid thought. Finding your soulmate was the last thing you should be doing in the midst of war. What would your former Force Captain have said? Slacking on the job again, (Y/N)? Twenty laps around the simulation room, GO! Man, you wouldn’t miss her one bit.

It wasn’t like it was entirely your fault though. Your former squad members had all discovered their soulmates at some point, leaving you in the dust. If your soulmate hadn’t been at your base to begin with, chances were that you’d never find them. No matter how many places you traveled, no one became your world. Everything was the same dreary blend of dark grays, whites, and blacks. Meeting your destined love was supposed to paint the world in ways that were unexplainable to those who hadn’t experienced it yet. The world was colorless and always would be.

You sighed, kicking your feet up on the Skip that was traveling ever closer to your new home, your new base. You were lucky you had been chosen to go, hearing this base also served as Hordak’s command center. Speaking of which, it was coming into view now. You saluted the soldier who had been tasked with your transportation, jumping off with the small bag of belongings you had and strolling up to the doors. They were strangely deserted, shouldn’t there have been a guard posted?

“You must be (Y/N).” The words startled you enough to whip around, getting into a position to defend yourself. Behind you was an almost wisp like entity. Regal robes spoke of their position of power, a mask covering their face with a single gem on it. Shadow Weaver, the commander of this base. You were about to apologize, but the mysterious woman cut you off, the black around her eyes narrowing. “You dare raise your hands against a superior? Consider yourself lucky this is only temporary. Once Adora is back I expect you to be out of here immediately.”

Okay then. You’re pretty sure the notice you received from Hordak was that this movement was permanent, but who were you to argue with your superior? She could find out on her own when this “Adora” person had no place on the squad. Nonetheless, you flashed her a respectful smile, dipping your head which allowed your eye roll to go unnoticed. “I apologize, Shadow Weaver.”

Or so you thought it went unnoticed. “I saw that.” Shadow Weaver sneered. Although you couldn’t see her eyes behind the mask, they were most likely blazing at your insolence. “I expect you ready and by the simulation room in ten minutes for training. Do not be late.” And with that she disappeared in a flurry of shadows.

...

Ten minutes had turned into at least twenty by the time you found the training room. She didn’t even give you directions to the base! You had to have ended up at the holding cells at least twice from all the new twists and turns. A spiky blue inspector looked up as you entered. His eyes lacked pupils, and he had two vests in his grasp. So, you weren’t the only one late to training, weird. “The others are already inside.” He said gruffly, shoving the vest into your hands and allowing you to suit up before racing into the room.

It was covered in trees, an uncomfortable silence stretching over you before the sound of a laser in the distance prompted you further. It didn’t take you long to stumble upon a large drone, flat and on spider like legs that towered at least ten feet in the air. It was struck by a reptilian looking creature, turning its laser onto him and firing wildly. You took those few precious seconds to snatch the staff beside a blonde casualty. His vest was marked with an X, a single eye open and observing you. “See something you like?” His freckled face grew red with embarrassment, eyes snapping shut as you laughed.

You took the next few moments to charge the drone, whacking one of its back legs with the spear crackling with electrical energy. On the leg parallel to yours was another person. Their dreadlocks swayed by how hard they swung into the drone, causing it to stumble. “You the new soldier?” She questioned, earning herself a confirming hum from you. “Cool, the name’s Lonnie. Kyle is dead and Rogelio is the lizard. Guess you’ll meet Catra later.” She spoke casually while practically dismantling the leg of the drone that was still being distracted by Rogelio, adding the last name mockingly.

“Sweet, I’m (Y/N).” You answered, making your way under the drone while it was off balance. You could feel eyes on you, probably that Kyle kid again. With a cry you drove the sparking staff into the drone’s underside, pressing harder and deeper as it began to short circuit. It only took a few moments for the crackling electricity of the staff and hole that had formed in the drone’s abdomen to cause a small scale explosion. Lonnie had blocked the leg that had flown her way while Rogelio scooped up Kyle and jumped backwards. And where did that leave you? Smack dab in the middle of the explosion. Good going, (Y/N).

The force of the explosion had luckily propelled you out from under the drone before it collapsed, but it didn’t leave you completely unscathed. You sat up with a wince, slight burn marks and forming bruises causing your body to ache. You would have to try a weapon that didn’t use electricity for moves like that in the future. You could hear Lonnie and Kyle congratulating you while you got your bearings together, only to see a pair of clawed feet come into your vision instead. You looked up at the newcomer and froze.

She was feline like, large cat-like ears sprouting from a wild mane of hair. Her arms were striped and clothes torn, as if the claws she sported on her hands and feet were anything but a fashion statement. A tail swayed lazily behind her while she held out a hand to help you up. It wasn’t all these attributes that shocked you though, it was her eyes. Two colors you had never seen before stared back as her fanged grin only widened. Blue. Your mind whispered the colors, the new information flowing into you on instinct. Yellow.

Two drastically different colors, and yet they were beautiful to you. People had said the first color you saw was the eyes, but who else was lucky enough to see two colors right off the bat? She took your breath away. You didn’t even realize the tender embrace your hand was now in, pulling you up from your seated position. “Color me impressed, soldier.” She purred, the choice of words only making sense to the two of you in that moment.

You could see colors beginning to fill your world, first spreading to Catra fully, revealing her red clothing theme and dark hair. Red. From there the color spread across the ground in a slow wave. Green. Orange. Purple. You faintly registered each color, but you weren’t focused on that. You were instead still looking to your soulmate, awestruck by her appearance. “What’s wrong, Kitten? Catra got your tongue?” She teased, lacing her fingers lightly with yours. Catra, that was the name Lonnie used. So that was your soulmate’s name.

“N-not yet, Catra.” You tried to snap back playfully, but the surprise of the situation had left you stumbling over your words. The feline girl cupped your cheeks, rubbing along them softly with her thumb. You leaned your hand into the touch immediately, earning a laugh from her. She pulled you closer to her side, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Her tail, on the other hand, had snuggly wrapped itself around your waist.

“Come on, (Y/N).” Catra whispered, beginning to walk you from the simulation room. The sound of your name despite never having told her alerted you that she was the one who was watching you during the battle. She had seen how quickly you defeated the drone, even though you ended up hurt in the end. She lead you towards an infirmary, but instead of sending you in the arm around you only hugged you closer. “I will be treating her myself, understand? Just give me what I need.”

The workers didn’t seem to have any issue with this. You weren’t hurt too badly so it wouldn’t affect your health. Besides, they seemed to have an almost knowing look. It was common for new soulmates to be possessive of each other. You had to admit, you didn’t want to see Catra touching anyone else for that matter. She took the supplies, leading you back to the barracks where your stuff laid. She sat you on the bed, taking the seat beside you and pulling some soft wipes to gently bring over your burns, soothing them.

You let yourself get comfortable in her arms, the feline girl able to work despite the odd positioning. “You know,” Catra began to speak as she started to finish up, satisfied by how the care had went. “I was beginning to think I didn’t have a soulmate.” The words mirrored your own fear perfectly. You looked up at her despite your head laying against her chest and frowned. Her ears had fallen backwards, those unique heterochromic eyes avoiding staring into your own (E/C) gaze.

You sat up slightly, turning in Catra’s arms to cup her cheeks the same way that she had done to you in the simulation room. You rubbed them softly, earning yourself a purr of approval. “I was scared of that too.” You admitted, figuring it was a touchy subject for her to speak so vulnerable. She was so confident and leader like otherwise. “But honestly? I believe you were worth the wait. Finally speaking to you, it’s everything I could have dreamt and more.”

The purrs rose in volume, so strong now that her chest seemed to shake under the force. She pulled you more securely into her arms, her tail stretching up to brush against you lovingly. She nestled her face into your hair, her claws lightly digging into your clothes as she curled around you. The two of you decided to skip out on the rest of training, opting instead to make up for time that you hadn’t known each other. A gentle kiss on your forehead was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep in the embrace of your soulmate, Catra.

So, how do you find your soulmate? That’s easy. You’ll feel it in your heart, even if they don’t notice at first. The colors of their eyes will open new worlds for you, and you will do the same for them. Their touch will feel like safety, their words glue that hold you together. But most of all, their presence will be the one thing you can turn to in these dark times of war. It’s love.

- Catra

#she ra #she ra netflix #she ra catra #catra #x reader #catra x reader #fanfic #writing #fluff #cute #au #alternate universe #soulmate #soulmate au #spop #catra spop

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pkmntrainergreyze · 6 years

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The Apocalypse Suite (Tyler Joseph x Reader)

a/n: My frens know I’m trash for The Umbrella Academy and I suggest you read it. Real amazing comic series and characters. I noticed not a lot of people write an imagine using TUA, so yeah, expect major similarities.

Although I tweaked the plot and characters a bit, there are still spoilers regarding the Apocalypse Suite (or the comics at least, maybe the netflix adaption is different) (best hope it won’t be death note v2).

So yeah, read The Umbrella Academy before it airs on Netflix.

(p.s: there are .cbr files you can download free on getcomics and you can open them with the comic reader app. you didn’t hear it from me)

Warning ⚠: The Umbrella Academy Spoilers (duh)

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Tyler sighed and leaned on the plane’s window. The greasy caramel haired boy gripped his small keyboard tight. The child’s goo eyes observed his adopted brothers and sisters fight against France’s morale skyscraper at 6:26 in the morning. He can’t deduce why they have missions everyday. His father— Monocle won’t tell.

The Eiffel Tower’s summit glowed green. Number 3 (Pete/Rumor) twisted reality with his lies so citizens will evacuate. Fortunately every lie he says come true.

Number 1 (Ryan/Moonboy) hollered in command and only Number 6 (Brendon/Panic!)’s stomach tentacles seem to follow his lead. Ryan has super strength and loves playing leader while Brendon had monsters frolicking under his skin that is sometimes under his control.

When the tower ascended, Number 2 ((Y/n)/Kraken) prepared the blades. She’s known to be a knife casting child that can hold her breath for a day— and a brat.

But she’s his first favorite “sibling”. She’s the only one that shared his interests and understood him, together with Number Five. They wrote songs together— hers mostly about cryotic messages on how to utterly destroy Hargreeves with humiliation and his about beliefs and religion. The three of them could make a great band.

Oh, and Tyler has a school boy crush on her.

And now Number 4 (Frank/Séance) floated, aiming to contact the dead engineer for assistance. He’s psychic for a reason.

All those abilities made them equal in strength, aside from Number 7. Unlike his siblings superpowers, he’s a talentless slob with mediocre piano skills babysitted on Hargreeves’s private plane.

Out of 43 children, he was the seventh chosen for the Umbrella Academy. Sir Hargreeves claimed his orphans are gifted with abilities the norm can only imagine, yet he doesn’t seem to exhibit the description.

“Dad— I mean, Sir Monocle, Sir? Why can’t I play with the others?”

“Well Number Seven… There’s just nothing SPECIAL about you”

Tyler bobbed his head.

“Oh”

Inside, Tyler rebuked. But if he dare defy his father, he’ll be a reject in the streets. So he bottled it in, and inquired another instead.

“Where’s J— Number Five, Sir? I don’t see him anywhere” He asked, praying the man won’t reply insultingly.

“The Future, I presume. Ran away from home, no doubt. I can’t be sure, nor be bothered”

Tyler gasped at this— but envied his foster brother. The Kraken and Number Five were his closest friends, and one of them banished without him? Other than that how could a man— a father say that so blandly?

Hargreeves looked down, his monocle glinted him blind.

“Why don’t you go and play your piano?”

TWENTY YEARs LATER

“Does anyone wish to say anything?”

(Y/n) sighed and leaned on the nearest tree. They lost Brendon a few years back— and now Monocle. She discovered it’s better crying over a dirty calamari than a tyrant’s death. She barely casted a gaze down her father’s corpse. She did not like dusting her superhero custome for any occasion.

It obviously took a lot of time and money polishing this funeral. Hell, it seemed like a wedding.

Everyone took giant leaps to be there. Her brother Ryan literally landed from space, Pete appeared after signing divorce papers from some guy named Patrick, Frank probably floated across the American borders and the most shocking news is their long time missing brother Number 5 came back from the future.

(It’s easy to spot who’s Number Five, considering he hadn’t aged a bit. He’s his seventy year old mind self trapped in his ten year old body)

Thank God the paparazzi met their dead end in front of the gates or else unanswerable questions will drill their heads to sleep.

But back to the present. Pogo, their talking caretaker chimpanzee’s question remained unanswered.

Ryan and Pete, the last of Hargreeves’s favorites inventions wore a grim expression. On the other hand Frank, Number Five, and (Y/n) displayed no sign of remorse. None of them dared to talk, not wanting to piss off one another.

Thankfully, Mrs Hargreeves took the spotlight. She wore a black trench coat to emphasize her husband’s death. She had puffy cheeks and looked like she cried before she arrived. The sight made Pete’s heart ache a bit. She was made to be the best mom. Equally a delicate and nice lady.

She began talking about how Gerard wasn’t the greatest father— and an even worse husband, in which everyone agreed fully. But when she spoke about him caring more about saving the world than personal relationship like a hero…

The Kraken called her words bullshit.

Pete and Ryan tried to warn Mrs Hargreeves, but it was too late.

If it’s barely a human being, how could it be a mother? It’s pathetic, a pathetic waste.

No one can make a mother out of parts and removable limbs. Why did everyone have to live their lives with everything plastered in man made inventions? No, they’re not superheros.

(Y/n) gripped her coat from behind and in one swift motion— she revealed her mother’s true nature.

They were all Sir Gerard-Fucking-Hargreeves’s lab rats.

Mrs Hargreeves’s body bared open organ systems and a stray heart. She cried, humiliated “I’m sorry…”

She sobbed “I shouldn’t have come”

Pete covered her with his jacket and cooed “It’s okay Mom”

Ryan grumbled in (Y/n)’s ear. This turmoil meant nothing in her head, and Mr Fly-Me-To-The-Moon can’t intimidate her.

“I’m warning you Kraken—”

“OR WHAT?!” She screamed and pushed his chest “YOU GONNA BEAT YOUR PROSTHETIC CHEST HARGREEVES CREATED?”

“EVERYTHING’S A LIE, COWBOY! HE LEFT US WITH NOTHING BUT A MAUSOLEUM FULL OF QUESTIONS AND A PIECE OF PLASTIC FOR A MOTHER”

She gazed at her mother’s synthetic black hair “Those tears aren’t even real”

Pete’s head snapped, bawling as he yelled “WELL THESE ARE”

(Y/n) flinched.

“Then too bad Tyler isn’t here” She mumbled. Pogo pressed a button and the casket lowered.

“He could play his piano…”

Not an hour had passed before Ryan and (Y/n) gripped each other’s throat in an almost ordinary fashion. This time, Moon had the upper hand. He pointed a ray gun against her temple, harnessing energy while his finger neared the trigger. And before (Y/n) could vision hanging out beside Bren’s pretty corpse, Number Five intervened.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear on what I saw back in the future!” He yelped.

“The world was destroyed just three days after Gerard’s death!”

Ryan froze.

Number Five looked down his watch “Time is running out”

Rumor scoffed at Moon “You haven’t changed a bit”

And when they thought everything is at peace, Pogo rode Séance’s shoulder as he flew, pointed at the carnival then screamed “Look!”

“The carnival! It’s on FIRE!”

It’s quite far from the mansion, but Ryan’s height and Frank’s psychic abilities let them saw the burning image. Moon’s face solidified. “The Niners” He muttered subconsciously

Séance groaned. Everyone except Number Five— who wasn’t there for the last two decades— hauled in a state of annoyance. Rumor shook his head, this again?

“The what?” Number Five asked.

“When we last fought Dr Nicholas Bourbaki he told us the next time we reform the Terminants will activate…”

Ryan looked down at the child.

“Which means Tyler is in the City”

Everyone headed back to the Mansion. One of the perks of being Sir Hargreeves’s children is the access to the televator— a teleporting elevator. They all thought of it the second they realized one of them is astray.

But Tyler isn’t the only prodigal sibling.

“Moon–” Pogo called out, noting (Y/n)’s lack of presence “The Kraken!”

“Let her get killed, cause according to the terminants…

We’re a team again”

Tyler sat in a taxi cab after rejecting an offer to hypothetically— destroy massive civilization by playing his piano, scavenging his keyboard bag for his pills. After all, how could his “adequate” piano skills help an apocalypse inducing orchestra?

He had enough. He thought being the lamest sibling in the Umbrella Academy will be the last line in his autobiography but it wasn’t. He also happened to cause another villain outbreak.

He can barely see the man in the driver seat, but if it weren’t hallucination then he paid a shadow.

He hoped the shadow, unicorn– whatever the hell is behind the wheel would drive faster so he could warn his family.

“Are you alright man? Y'know you look like—” The driver was cut off when a loud bang erupted.

“The carnival— It’s on fire!”

Tyler looked at the window. The carnival was indeed crackling in flames. He humphed. The rollercoaster looked way cooler morphing ashes.

“I bet it’s my family” He poured pills down his palm “change of plans”

“Drive me there” He glanced back at the amusement park. There are two groups of enemies on the loose.

But he prayed more that one of his siblings in particular will forgive him for what he had done in the past.

“And drive faster”

The Kraken flung another knife at the cloaked robot. The children on the ride’s boat ride hugged each other, chanting their quote on quote last words. Fuck them for thinking anyone else except Moon can’t save them.

God, (Y/n) hated these Niners. Next time Dr Nicholas design something it better look cooler and not look like wannabe cults. Oh wait— He’s dead! She forgot.

(Y/n) punched one down and roundhouse kicked the other. And as the others made their way another blade passed through their brains, splattering oil everywhere.

If only Number Five finished his check-up with Pogo earlier then he might’ve enjoyed fighting alongside her. They both missed each other’s company, most especially Five.

The woman was bleeding from her appendix down her right thigh— yet she determined the appropriate time vocalize they owe her a costume.

While she evacuated the three ungrateful souls, Tyler made his way south the carousel.

As he ran closer, the picture of Moon from afar about to punch a self-destructive robot went clearer.

“My God” He sprinted toward about to warn him “MOON!!”

Behind a trashcan ejected another enemy pointing a ray gun

“PATIENCE IS VIRTUE_! TARGET 00.07 ACQUIRED_!”

Tyler looked back, and saw approximately ten missiles ahead.

Ryan barely heard his scream however, someone else did.

“DAMNIT!”

(Y/n) pushed him down, with her on top. Her face contorted beyond pissed. They laid at the ground, both in pain. Tyler thanked God he stayed alive— but when he saw the look on the her face, he found out the half of the upcoming verbal abuse.

“What the hell are you doing here!” She screamed right at his face “You think you can show your face after all these years?!”

Tyler frowned.

“I… I wanted to help! There’s something I need to tell you, (Y/n)!”

Her chest tightened. It’s been a while since someone called her by her name.(Y/n) scoffed and laughed, repressing the warm feeling pooling inside her with the acidic truth.

“You left.”

He left when (Y/n) needed her the most. Being a teenager in Hargreeves’s manor was the saddest you could be. She shared chunks of her dreams with him— and he left to some pretentious academy because the person she hated the most told him so.

Another robot went boom after Ryan smashed it. Through the smoke he saw the illusion of The Pianist and Kraken together. (Y/n) covered him from Moon’s sight. She’d rather let him leave.

“The only thing you’re helping us is getting killed, and there’s nothing else I want to hear from you”

She towered above him.

“I… used to think I have a brother” At that time, Tyler felt tears roll against his warm cheeks. He avoided her gaze, but doing so does not make the situation easier, just made him seem more in denial.

“But I’ve got nobody”

That had to be the worst thing he heard all day. Much, much worse than hearing a proposal about universal destruction.

“Get lost” (Y/n) commanded.

He did, he scampered as fast as he could. She watch him crawl and trip out of her sight. She thought she might be masochistic for liking the sight of people leaving her… again… and again…

“Kraken” Ryan called out. And with that, (Y/n) Hargreeves transformed back to just Kraken.

“Thanks” She pertained to the broken robot that nearly killed her. Cause there’s no way she’s talking about it.

“Was that Tyler?” Pete asked. Frank wanted to ask the same question but he has to excuse his language to the children around him.

“Just a citizen” She gently grabbed one of the rescued injuired girls to the ambulance.

“No one SPECIAL”

———

a/n: I’ve been thinking about making this as a book, though I’m not sure everyone can understand my writing haha.

anyways, for the people who read the comics or at least saw the trailer: Who’s your favorite hero and enemy?

Cause mine is the 100% best assassin Five, Klaus and Vanya (can’t choose, I just don’t like Luther, but Diego and Allison is pretty decent). Tho when it comes to enemies the best imo is Hazel and Cha Cha.

(… cause who needs drugs when you have cookies and guns?)

#the umbrella academy #gerard way x reader #tyler joseph x reader #tyler joseph #gerard way #imagines #brendon urie #ryan ross #frank iero #pete wentz #fall out boy #fob #mcr #tøp #twenty one pilots #josh dun #my chemical romance

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nightqueendany · 6 years

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I thought I'd come to you with this. It's about the HOTU and the 'Dragon has three heads' prophecies Dany gets. "three fires must you light: one for life and one for death and one to love… three mounts must you ride: one to bed and one to dread and one to love… three treasons will you know: once for blood and once for gold and once for love… daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire…" I'd love to hear your opinion of it.

This one is so much fun to interpret because there are honestly so many different ways to look at it, but of course, I have some theories.

… mother of dragons … child of three … “Three?” She did not understand. … three heads has the dragon … the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. … mother of dragons … child of storm … The whispers became a swirling song. … three fires must you light … one for life and one for death and one to love … Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt … three mounts must you ride … one to bed and one to dread and one to love … The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. … three treasons will you know … once for blood and once for gold and once for love …

Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name… . mother of dragons, daughter of death … Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire… . mother of dragons, slayer of lies … Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness… . mother of dragons, bride of fire …

Let’s look at the second part first. This is the whole vision with the “threes” in it’s entirety and I think it can be broken into three parts:

Daughter of Death:

Slayer of Lies:

Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire… . mother of dragons, slayer of lies …

and Bride of Fire:

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness… . mother of dragons, bride of fire …

So Daenerys is given three titles by the warlocks: Daughter of Death, Slayer of Lies, and Bride of Fire. These are all things that Daenerys either already is or will become.

First let’s look at Daughter of Death. Like the vision as a whole, each section breaks into “threes” too:

Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth.

A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him.

Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name.

The first is Viserys being killed by Khal Drogo which is something Daenerys actually saw happen. The second is her son Rhaego as an adult had he lived as the Stallion Who Mounts the World. And the last is Rhaegar dying on the Trident whispering Lyanna’s name.

With each of these deaths, Daenerys gains yet another title: When Viserys dies she becomes the Heir to the Iron Throne. When Rhaego dies, she becomes the Stallion Who Mounts the World. And when Rhaegar dies, she becomes The Prince Who Was Promised. Three deaths for Daenerys to get closer to her destiny.

Slayer of Lies:

(A) Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow.

(B) A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd.

The first, the blue-eyed king, is Stannis. The lie that Daenerys will slay is that Melisandre believes Stannis is the Prince Who Was Promised. That title belongs to her. The second, cloth dragons swaying is likely a vision of fAegon during his war to take “back” the Iron Throne. The lie Daenerys will slay is that fAegon is actually Rhaegar’s son and the Heir to the Iron Throne. That title also belongs to her.

The third…I am honestly not sure about actually. This one has me and many other theorists stumped. BUT, because the other two lies have to do with her titles, this one may have to do with The Stallion Who Mounts the World. Some say it has to do with Jon Connington because he has greyscale turning to stone. It also, may have to do with Jon Snow somehow and the lie that Jon is Ned’s son. Jon was born in a tower, he is often described as a shadow. But…unlike the others, it’s not nearly as clear.

Bride of fire (my favorite):

(I) Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars.

(II) A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly.

(III) A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness

Her silver trotting through the grass…the silver was Drogo’s bride-gift to Dany when they wed so this is a reference to him. The corpse on the prow of a ship…one of the Greyjoys. Euron or Victarion as both want to marry her. Now in the show, Euron wanted to marry Dany but Yara and Theon made it to Meereen first. Yara has kind of taken Victarion’s storyline so there’s no marriage but there is that alliance between Dany and the Iron Born. In the books, she and Victarion may very well marry briefly. And lastly…a blue flower in a Wall of Ice. This is our boy, Jon Snow. Blue flower is the winter rose which has always been associated with Lyanna (the crown Rhaegar gave her when he made her Queen of Love and Beauty was made of Winter Roses) and she’s Jon’s mother. And Jon is at the Wall “growing”, gaining more responsibility and power and eventually becoming Lord Commander.

Before we get into the first part of the vision, let’s take a look at the organization of these.

1, I. - Viserys killed by Drogo (Daughter of Death), Her silver given to her by Drogo (Bride of Fire). Both of those have to do with Drogo somehow but the only one that doesn’t fit is (A) Stannis as PTWP (Slayer of Lies).

3, III. - Rhaegar dying whispering Lyanna’s name - Jon’s parents (Daughter of Death), and Blue rose in Wall of Ice - Jon Snow (Bride of Fire). Again, both have to do with Jon and we’re not sure about © - Sone beast breathing shadow fire (Slayer of Lies)

The middle parts of each 2. Rhaego, B fAegon, II. Greyjoy, seemingly have nothing to do with each other. Anyone have clever theories for this?

How does this relate to the first part of the vision?

(I honestly have no idea!)

three fires must you light … one for life and one for death and one to love

three mounts must you ride … one to bed and one to dread and one to love

three treasons will you know … once for blood and once for gold and once for love

We have Fires, Mounts, and Treasons.

But lets start with the Fires You Must Light:

One for life - hatching of the dragons. This event also slays the lie that Stannis is the Prince Who Was Promised because it is one of the requirements to be PTWP (waking dragons from stone, forging lightbringer) - which is also why I think the dragons ARE Lightbringer because Dany had to kill Drogo.

One for death - open for interpretation, no clue. Could be Dany burning the Khals in Vaes Dothrak. Could be Dany defeating the Night King or killing undead Viserion. Really no idea.

One TO Love (notice the difference in wording) - this is interesting because how do you love a fire? I think this may be her child with Jon. She is the Bride of Fire after all, she and Jon both being Targaryen, their child would be Targaryen.

Mounts You Must Ride:

One to bed - kind of up for interpretation because Dany has a few lovers - Drogo, Daario, Hizdar (in the books). But it’s likely Drogo because he takes her virginity.

One to dread - Most likely Drogon as he is compared to Balerion the Black Dread and he is Dany’s chosen Mount as the Stallion Who Mounts The World.

One to love - Most likely Jon as they’re together now and their relationship was not forced upon them (like her marriage to Drogo was) so it is pure love, not just them fucking.

And lastly Treasons You Will Know:

Now, many people think these are treasons that people will commit against Dany but I am of the belief that these may be treasons Dany will commit herself.

Once for blood - (again many say Miri Maz Durr but) I think this is Viserys. He was her blood and she didn’t stop Drogo from killing him. Plus it is the first scene of her next set of visions for Daughter of Death.

Once for gold - up for interpretation. Could be when she tricked the masters of the Unsullied in Astapor. She didn’t gain gold but it was a transaction that she didn’t hold up her end of the bargain for.

Once for love - up for interpretation also but I think this will be Jon dying a second time and Dany going against his wishes to have Melisandre or another red priest bring him back.

So so far as organization, it seems the first part of each vision has to do with Drogo and the last part of each has to do with Jon. Each middle part of each vision seems to be it’s own thing.

But what does everyone else think??

Thanks so much for the ask! This was so much fun!

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shinylitwick94 · 6 years

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Shinylitwick reads Wheel of Time - Book 14 -A Memory of Light

Warning:Contains spoilers for the whole series

So here we are - finally at the end!

Took me about 3 months to get through the whole series, although admittedly with a lot of skimming in some of the slower storylines.

All in all it’s been a great journey and I’ll do a whole series post too, but for now on to AMoL!

Hands down the best book in the series, although perhaps that is not so surprising - it’s what we want from a good finale, after all!

Compared to the rest of the series, even to the other Sanderson books, the pacing here was extremely fast.

It had to be, otherwise we’d probably have ended up with 15 books instead, but that means that unfortunately many of the smaller characters and storylines and even some of the bigger ones don’t really get closure at all.

The difference in style between Jordan and Sanderson is also pretty clear here -action is what Sanderson likes best and it’s what he does best and there’s plenty of it to go around. I suspect if Jordan had had the chance to write the last battle, there would have been more character interaction and less cool and inventive ways to kill Trollocs. And I don’t mean to criticise Sanderson here at all, I think he did splendidly, but they do have different strengths as writers.

I don’t always think epilogues are necessary, but I feel like this could have benefitted from one. I liked the ending scene itself pretty well, but I just wish we’d had a little more time for everyone else.

What takes up the bulk of this book isn’t Rand’s struggle against the dark one, but everyone else’s struggle against the armies of the shadow. Which, I think, makes perfect sense - deep down we all know how Rand’s clash with the Dark One will end. We know, because that’s the way stories work, that even if the hero somehow were to fail at the end, he’ll find a way to turn the tables. So Rand was actually not as interesting to me in this book as he has been up until now.

Still, I was surprised he made it out of there alive - I wholly expected him to die for real.

Rand’s whole peace treaty thing also felt a little out of place to me. I think it’s totally justified, given Rand’s character, that he would try. I also think it won’t last 10 years, let alone 100.

So that whole conflict was a bit meh, because it was just...Rand sweetie I know you’re trying to do the right thing here, but it’s really really not going to survive your corpse.

The whole meeting was worth it for Moiraine’s entrance though.

As for the other stories, I loved Pevara and Androl to pieces and I’m super happy they made it through. I was a little disappointed he never got to confront Taim more directly, I was looking forward to that.

Lan was one of the other stand out characters in this book. He’s pretty one-note as a character overall, but this book brings out all of the best in a character like Lan and doesn’t stop until the end. Loved every scene with him!

I was a little surprised that none of Rand’s 3 girls died. I thought for sure Aviendha was going to die in that fight with Graendal. I think I would have liked it if one of them had died, probably Min or Aviendha, killing pregnant Elayne sounds too dark for this series, but it’s fine this way too.

I was really sad that we lost Siuan and Gareth Bryne, I really liked their relationship, but I suppose Siuan’s character’s purpose was pretty much gone the moment Egwene became Amyrlin.

And speaking of Egwene, that’s the death that probably hit me the hardest. She’s had such a long journey as a character and it was an incredible finale for her, but I really wanted the Two Rivers kids to get back together at the end.

Perrin’s story was more engaging than usual, however I still feel that Slayer is too obviously made to be Perrin’s villain and feels a little too dettached from the main storyline for me to fully connect. At least here there was the Black Tower at first and later protecting Rand too.

I kind of wanted Faile to die, not because I dislike her character, but because I think it would have been tragically ironic for Perrin to spend half the series worrying about Faile, only to fail at the end. Again, probably too dark for this series.

Mat was pretty great in this, as I’m sure everyone expected him to be. I don’t think anyone had any doubt that Mat would lead the armies of the Light ever since he got his memories. And of course he did splendidly at that.

There were still some incredibly irritating Mat moments, mainly whenever he was around Tuon. Mat on his own was mostly ok. What stuck out to me was him threatening to spank Egwene and Tuon. What.The.Fuck is it with this series and spanking? It just pulled me completely out of that scene (and it was such a great scene too!). It was stupid, absurd, out of place, infantilizing and just plain gross. Who in their right mind would say that at that stage?!

The Seanchan problem was left completely unresolved in this book, unfortunately. I found the way Rand agreed to Tuon and the way Mat fawned over her to be a little disgusting, to be completely honest. I’ve never been sold on Mat/Tuon, but I’d sort of grudgingly accepted I’d have to deal with it. To see Rand accept those terms, when he has been so much harsher with everyone else and went around changing the laws of every country he ruled just pissed me off.

I get it - end of the world, deal with the devil, etc, but Rand didn’t even seem to be all that upset about it.

I think I might have accepted his decision better if we actually got to see Rand struggle with it, instead of getting the whole scene form the point of view of Mat, who doesn’t give a shit.

I liked Demandred and from what I hear there’s a whole short story about him and the Sharans. I kind of wish that had made its way into the main books. This way the Sharans felt like they were coming completely out of nowhere, just so that the Light’s forces would need to get help from the Seanchan.

Nyneave didn’t get much to do here, as a side effect of being with Rand for the duel with the Dark One, but I still enjoyed what little we got of her.

All in all, it was a spectacular final book for this series and I’m very happy I stuck around long enough to read it all the way through!

Favorite scene(s): Lan and Demandred, Egwene’s flame of Tar Valon, Moiraine’s entry into the command tent, Androl’s lava gates, Rand’s final scene, Brigitte’s return, Olver blowing the horn, that refugee woman with Logain, many many other scenes

Least favorite scene(s): The part of the Mat-Tuon-Egwene scene I already mentioned, Rand and Tuon, some of the smaller battle scenes felt a little repetitive sometimes,

Favorite character(s): Lan, Egwene, Androl, Pevara, Moiraine, Nyneave, Rand

Least favorite character(s): Tuon, Taim (just disappointing...)

Book rankings so far: 1.MOL 2.TOM 3. TGS 4.LOC 5.TSR 6.TGH 7.TFOH 8.ACS 9.TDR 10.WH 11.KOD 12. TEOTW 13.TPOD 14.CoT

#shinylitwick reads books #wheel of time #a memory of light #and there was so much more i wanted to say that i couldn't think of

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