#also when i sent the draft to my sister she said it needed more effects and transitions and i think i took that too far LOL

[honeyhobbs]

Ok tbh i didn't know tumblr was chill with videos I still think I might be exiled for posting tiktoky edits here it just doesn't feel right LOL

[mhdiaries]

Wave 3 Meowlody & Purrsephone Diary

*kindly sent in by @fedorasquidwithglasses*

7.26

Spending part of the summer at math camp was so boring I could almost…fall…asleep…writing…about…it. Of course my sister liked it. She was a total teacher’s pet.

You like to complain but math camp wasn’t that bad. There were lots of monsters to prank, I liked some of the classes, and I was not a teacher’s pet. We were simply stuck in the middle of no-where with nothing else to do so why not learn something?

I did learn something. I learned that there are worse things than being locked out of the house in the rain. Things like listening to never ending arguments about who was the greatest monster mathematician and having every geek in the camp tell me that the chance of twins being born is 1 in 31 or 3.125%. It’s an interesting fact the first time you hear it but the novelty wears off, at a factor of 10 to the power of infinity, after every monster in camp acts like they’re the first one to give you that information.

So it wasn’t a total waste of time for you after all?

Whatever.

 7.29

Every monster thinks that just because we are twins we must think and act alike every moment of the day. It’s like they think we share the same brain. I have my own personality, my own likes and dislikes, and even though we don’t have the same color of hair, monsters treat us like we’re interchangeable. I even thought about learning a dead language just so some monster could say, “Oh they’re not the same at all, the one with the dark hair speaks Manticore.”

I like the chaos that being a twin sometimes causes. I think it’s awfully awesome and who cares if other monsters get us mixed up? We know who we are and if they can’t tell the difference between us that’s their problem. Learning a dead language is fine but why choose Manticore? They’re the crankiest monsters ever.

You miss the whole point. It doesn’t matter what the language is, it’s about… nevermind.

We may not think alike but no monster knows how to push a twin sister’s buttons like her twin sister.

Push!

 8.10

We went to the maul today and some thing asked us if we were werewolves! I said, “Do you live under a rock or something?” Turns out this thing did live under a rock, but that’s no excuse for making such a mistake. It happens a lot though I’m not sure why.

Me either! We have different shaped ears, our claws are retractable, we have tails, we don’t feel the need to run in packs, we have far better table manners and we are much neater in appearance. Werecats have been around far longer than werewolves too like all the way back to Ancient Egypt and India! We’re also more curious about the world around us – I mean we practically invented the Law of Claws and Effect.

Werewolves are so…common…werecats are much more rare and mysterious. We are perfectly mysterious aren’t we?

Purrrfectly.

 8.14

Do you feel a draft? I sure do – oh wait it’s not a draft, it’s the wind blowing on a patch of skin that is normally covered with fur. Sister, you will say that you’re missing fur too but it’s really just a few hairs. I had to be shaved down to THE SKIN! I can’t believe you thought pranking Headless Headmistress Bloodgood by dying her nightmare white was a good idea.

It wasn’t a good idea it was a great idea – and it wasn’t the idea that was the problem it was the execution of the idea that was at issue. Sometimes a plan doesn’t always come together and how many times do I need to say, “I’m sorry?”

I’m counting the “I’m sorry’s” and I will let you know when you get to the magic number. I told you that beast was a fraidy cat and sneaking around her stall was bound to make the nightmare nervous. Oh and what did I also tell you nightmares do when they get nervous? THEY BREATHE FIRE! Fortunately for me, you were holding a bucket of permanent white dye when I got breathed on so you were able to… put everything right. Unfortunately, I ended up looking like a roasted marshmallow and a large patch of my fur had to be shaved off because that dye wouldn’t wash out. It’s a fabulous look for me…not.

Your fur will grow back in a few days and no monster will ever know unless they happen to show up to watch us clean HHB’s stables for the next week. At least she’s letting us work off the mess instead of telling mom and dad. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.

Not even close to the number.

 8.25 

We bought Toralei’s pet sabertooth tiger, Sweet Fangs, a little present and took it over to them. Being in the pet store made us miss our pet canary. He used to sing us awake every morning – but we had to give him away because someone… was allergic. I’m not blaming her but you have to admit it’s a little odd for a werecat to have a bird allergy.

I know you blame me for having to get rid of him. It was really hard cause I loved him to you know, but just try waking up every morning with an itchy tail, watery eyes, dry nose and a hacking cough. It was really miserable.

You always blame your hacking cough on the canary but the real reason for you cough was because you didn’t take your hairball medicine like mom told you to. She’s really sensitive about it though, so I try not to bring it up.

I am not so sensitive, but if you keep talking about it one day you’re going to slip and say something about it in public and then I will be embarrassed. Lots of werecats get hairballs you know. Just because you and Toralei have never had one you both look at me like I’ve grown a second tail. Besides, we were like kittens when that happened anyway. It probably wouldn’t bother me if there were not a picture of me in the “cone of shame” which my mom thinks is cute and won’t let me throw away. I just know this is going to haunt me forever.

 8.27

Totally pranked Ghoulia Yelps today… Okay maybe not totally but it would have been totally if that annoying gargoyle ghoul hadn’t interfered and completely spoiled the milk. It was purrfectly planned and so clever on our part.

We noticed – we notice everything – that little miss know-it-all has been riding her scooter down the same street at the same time every day. It’s the street that goes past library – she’s so predictable. All we did was slightly tweak a detour sign that would have pointed her down a street that was closed for repairs – it had lots of enormous pot holes filled with rain from last night’s storm.

We were watching from a rooftop with our camera and when she got to the detour sign she stopped and was completely confused; but she always follows the rules because she’s such a little do-gooder. So she was just about to turn down the street for a little “bump and wash” when this gargoyle and her pet gryphon glided down from the roof of another building – it was the library – and landing in front of Ghoulia.

We couldn’t hear what she was saying but she pointed to the sign and then pointed up to where we were hiding. We ducked of course and escaped – sort of escaped. This gargoyle, who wouldn’t tell us her name, caught up to us on the street and blocked our way – so rude. She had this horrible French accent and she said “Zat was a vary mean thing you tried to do to zat poor ghoul.” It was the perfect opportunity to practice the third “D” in Toralei’s formula for the successful prankster – Demure.

We told her that we had no idea what she was talking about but she ignored us and kept on talking – we have it all on camera. “She is vary nice and you are vary mean and I am going to tell all zee other gargoyles to watch for you now so you do not do such a thing again!” Talk about a monster with a chip on her shoulder and that gryphon of hers was ill behaved as well.

It screamed at me and I told her that if she couldn’t control her pet it should be on a leash. I should add monsters who can’t take a joke to my list of pet peeves and while I’m at it, that gryphon as well.

 8.31

We were supposed to meet up with Toralei tonight for some Claws and Effect practice during the meteor shower but some monster made us late.

I said go on without me and I would catch up cause I forgot my camera and had to go back and get it. Good thing I did too cause I got some purrfect pictures of the falling stars.

Even though we didn’t get to practice Toralei’s 3 D’s we got to all hang out at the coffee shop together listen to music and watch something better than any fireworks show.

Much, much better sister.

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 8)

Chapter summary: When Aaron gets stuck at work late and Jess has to go help out her dad, Aaron has nobody else to turn to but you to watch Jack. The only problem? Up until now, Aaron has been keeping his home life completely separate from you, and you have no clue how this will effect your already precarious relationship with Aaron.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This was not part of the original plan at all for this story, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

masterlist || read on ao3

In between What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine Love is so confusing, there's no peace of mind If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good You teasing like you do - Blondie, “Heart of Glass”

~~~~~~~ 

You were on your couch doing homework when you got the call from Aaron, and you frowned in confusion when you saw his name flash across your cell phone screen. Aaron never called you while he was working, and you especially didn’t expect a call from him today. He was doing a custodial interview with an inmate sentenced to death somewhere in Virginia, and you figured prison didn’t have the greatest cell service.

 “Hey there, jailbird,” you greeted. “Are you inviting me to the dance?”

“Very cute, Elvis,” Aaron joked, but it was half hearted. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I need to ask you for a favor, and I want you to know that I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other options.”

“Mhm, I love being the last choice,” you mused sarcastically. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Aaron.”

  Aaron elected to ignore your last comment. “The prison just went on lockdown, so I’m going to be stuck here for at least a few more hours,” he explained, and there was an unnatural nervousness to his voice. “And Jessica has to go deal with an emergency with her father.”

You frowned to yourself, unsure of where Aaron was going with his explanation, and even more unsure of who this Jessica person was. A pang of jealousy shot through you, but you quickly bottled that feeling. 

 Aaron took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Would you be willing to watch Jack for a few hours? I know it’s not ideal, but it would just be for a little while until either I get out of here or somebody else from the BAU gets off of work. I would even be willing to compensate you for your time.”

Oh.

OH.

Silence crackled through the phone as you took in his request, and you could practically feel Aaron’s nervousness. It shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it was. It had been two months since you’ve been with Aaron, you slept over at his house enough, and you worked in the same building as him. It was pretty inevitable that of course you were going to meet Jack at some point, but you always figured it would be with Aaron there to mediate. You had pictured that it would probably be accidental, maybe Jack would wake up early and would catch you sneaking out of Aaron’s house. Or you would be invited to one of Rossi’s famous dinners and the kids would be there and then there would be no questions asked. You definitely didn’t expect to babysit.

“Yeah, of course, I can watch him,” you said finally, and you heard Aaron let out a sigh of relief. “And you don’t have to pay me… or worry about finding a replacement. He can hang out with me for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Aaron told you, still sounding completely drained. “I will send your address to Jessica, and she will drop Jack off at your place in about half an hour. I really owe you, Y/N. I have to go talk to the warden now, but please call me if you need anything, okay? Bye.” Before you could even answer, Aaron hung up.

You took a deep breath as dread settled in the pit of your stomach. How hard would babysitting be, really? You’ve babysat before - Aly had a little brother who basically became your little brother. However, a weird part of you was nervous that Jack wouldn’t like you, which was ridiculous. It didn’t matter whether or not Jack liked you.

Right?

Deciding that you couldn’t just sit there and panic, you chose to use the time to tidy up your apartment, just to make it extra presentable. The organized mess that was your homework space was quickly arranged so that all of your notebooks and papers were in a neat pile. You took down the half empty tequila bottle from forever ago that was sitting on the top of your fridge and shoved it into a cabinet somewhere. The throw blanket that you had been wrapped up in was refolded and placed on the arm of your couch. You wanted to at least give the illusion that you were prepared to babysit Aaron’s son, and not completely freaking out inside.

Right on schedule, knocking came from your door, and you rushed to open it. You were greeted by a blonde woman, probably a few years younger than Aaron, who you assumed to be Jessica. Next to her was the elusive Jack, with his blonde hair and missing front tooth. You had seen a few photos of Jack in passing, hanging up around Aaron’s house and whatnot, but you never got a good look at the photos.

“Y/N?” Jessica asked cautiously, and you nodded slowly. “Hi, I’m Jessica, Jack’s aunt.”

Jack’s aunt. A million emotions hit you at once. Oh god, she was Haley’s sister. Your stomach started to feel queasy, and it took you a second to realize that it was guilt, although you weren’t quite sure what you felt guilty about. 

Logically, you knew Aaron had a life outside of you. Hell, you had slowly become part of that outside life now that you were friends with his coworkers, but you really tried to avoid thinking about Aaron’s home life. When he wasn’t with you, it was out of sight, out of mind. He was his own individual entity.

Now you were face-to-face with just how insignificant you were in the grand scheme of Aaron’s life. The fact was that you were probably no more than a side storyline in his life, a character created just for Aaron’s own development. He had a life and a family that you barely knew about. There was evidence of his home life everywhere - the bins of toys at his house, drawings on his fridge, family photos in matching frames in the hallway, even a small jewelry box on his dresser that looked like it had been collecting dust for a few years - but you had gotten good at averting your eyes.

“Hi, yes, that’s me,” you replied, shaking Jessica’s hand. Then you bent down so you were closer to Jack’s height. “Hey dude, I’m Y/N,” you introduced, giving him a small wave.

Jessica took the backpack she was carrying and helped Jack slip it onto his shoulders. “Thank you again for doing this on such short notice. Aaron should have sent over my phone number if you need anything, but Jack’s a good kid. He just has some homework that he needs to get done,” she explained.

“It’s no problem,” you told her, giving her your best reassuring smile. “He’s in good hands here.”

Jessica smiled gratefully at you before kneeling down to say goodbye to Jack. You stood in the doorway awkwardly as you watched the interaction curiously. It was as normal as it could get, Jessica telling Jack to behave and that she loves him, but it also fascinated you, like you were watching a movie and all of the characters had popped out of the screen.

Jack gave his aunt a hug before she left, and the two of you stepped into your apartment. That same nervousness came back in full force. What kind of games did he like to play? You didn’t have any toys for him. What if you couldn’t help him with his homework? Do kids his age learn fractions yet, because you did not remember fractions. What if-

“Woah!” came Jack’s voice, breaking you out of your spiraling. “Can I please sit on the bean bag chair?”

Well, Jack certainly wasn’t nervous, which offered you more relief than you thought it would. “Yeah, of course, you can. It’s my favorite place to do my homework.” 

Jack flopped onto the bean bag chair, his tiny frame almost completely consumed by it. You could see the confusion growing on Jack’s face. “You have to do homework?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” you told him. “And I know you do, too, so we can do homework together.”

Jack jutted out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will I have to still do homework when I’m old?”

At that, you let out a genuine laugh, even if you were a little shocked. The kid had personality, you had to admit. “I’m not that old,” you halfheartedly protested, “And maybe. It depends on what you want to be when you grow up.”

“I want to be a superhero,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Like Spiderman.”

You nodded, the movement playfully exaggerated. “Oh, well Spiderman is really smart. I’m sure he does a lot of homework, so you better get to work. Let me know if you need any help, okay?” You chuckled again at Jack’s increased pout, obviously disappointed in the fact that even superheroes had to focus on school. 

Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out a pencil and a brightly colored folder with papers sticking out of it every which way. He started on his worksheets, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration, and it hit you just how much he looked like Aaron. The blonde hair threw you off, but you had seen that exact look on Aaron’s face many times, eyebrows together and lips pursed ever so slightly. Like father, like son. You had to resist the urge to audibly coo at the sight. You were only human, after all.

You tore your eyes away from the boy and glanced over at your laptop, which was sitting open on your coffee table, the cursor blinking back at you teasingly, reminding you that you also had to get to work. You had essays to write and practice contracts to draft up. The two of you did your work in comfortable silence for a while, Jack occasionally asking you to help him read the instructions of his worksheet.

“Done!” Jack exclaimed proudly after a while, holding his packet of papers high in the air.

Just in time, too, because if you had to do any more criminal tax litigation work, you were going to pull out your hair from boredom. There was only so much corporate fraud you could read about in one sitting.

“With all of your homework?” you clarified, and he nodded so fast that he looked like a full-on bobblehead. “Good job, dude!”

“Did you finish your homework so that we can play?” he asked you.

“Yup, I’m all done,” you lied. Your paper wasn’t due for another week, anyway. “So what do you want to play?”

Jack tapped his finger on his chin as he thought about it. You were aware that you didn’t have much in the way of kid’s toys, but you had stuff to color or paint or play board games, and you were confident enough in your imagination to come up with a game if it came down to that. Jack looked around and suddenly his eyes got wide and he pointed to your Switch.

“Do you have Mario Kart?” he asked hopefully. “Can we play that?”

“That sounds like fun, let’s do that,” you told him, making your way to set up the console. “I’ll even let you be player one.”

  Jack was practically bouncing up and down in his seat now. “I’m really good at this game. I can even beat my uncle Dave!”

You laughed as the two of you picked your characters. Jack chose Yoshi, a solid choice, and you went with Toad. “You can beat your Uncle Dave? Wow, that’s impressive. I have to warn you, though, I’m also very good at this game. Do you think you can beat me?” you teased.

“Definitely,” Jack challenged, and the game began.

The two of you played for a little while, and Jack’s mind was blown when you told him about the shortcuts on each track. After about three cups and you telling him where every shortcut you knew was, the 7-year-old was starting to get antsy just sitting, so you decided to switch gears.

You brought out some leftover paints and canvases you had from a paint night with your friends, and you and Jack laid on the floor and did some painting, although you were not prepared for how messy it would get. Somehow, Jack ended up with his fingertips covered in blue paint, and you had a streak of green on your cheek from where you mindlessly brushed hair from out of your face. As you placed the artwork to the side to dry, Jack had already decided on the next game - the floor is lava.

Before you even realized it, three hours had passed and it was time to make dinner. Jack chose pizza, which you luckily already had in your freezer. The game was still going, but you and Jack agreed that the kitchen was the only safe place without lava, considering there were too many dangerous things in that vicinity.

Babysitting Jack was easier than you expected, and much more fun. Even in his more playful moments, Aaron was always a little bit guarded and on edge, so you had a hard time imagining what his child would be like. A weird part of you almost imagined a mini adult in a child-sized suit and a briefcase full of fruit snacks and crackers, as ridiculous as it sounded. But Jack was just like any other 7-year-old - goofy, a little loud, and excited about the world.

You wondered if Aaron was like that as a kid, or if that part of Jack’s personality came from his mom. Maybe Jack was a mini version of his mom. Now that you had gotten the tiniest taste of Aaron’s home life, you found yourself craving to know more, to see Aaron in dad-mode.

Selfishly, you also wanted Aaron to watch you interact with Jack, just to see his reaction. It was a gamble and you realized it. Best case scenario, Aaron would be able to breathe a little bit easier. There wouldn’t be that half second of awkward silence between the two of you every time he mentioned Jack’s name. That stupid guilt you felt so often would dissipate because, hey, you met Jack and now that was out of the way.

On the other hand, everything could come crashing down. Aaron could walk in, see you with Jack, and immediately regret his decision and regret you. It would solidify in both of your minds that you were no more than somebody he could call and fuck when he felt himself on the verge of breaking down. Any self-imposed importance you had placed on yourself in Aaron’s life, no matter how small it was (and it was pretty small), would be a lie. He had a shorter temper now than before, and maybe this would be the exact thing that would set him off.

You didn’t want that, of course, but you really did want to know what would happen, to see where you stood with him. Call it morbid curiosity.

You were pulling the pizza out of the oven when you heard the knock on the door. “Coming!” you called.

“Don’t touch the lava!” Jack reminded you from his spot on the coffee table, just as you were about to leave the kitchen. Your method of movement to and from the kitchen was the rolling chair from your desk and a broom so that you could push yourself where you needed to go, which you had to justify to Jack as being a lava boat.

You “rowed” yourself over the door and looked in the peephole. Aaron was on the other side, nervously rubbing his thumb over the rest of his fingers. It took some work, but you were able to open the door without falling off the chair.

“Hey, I know you,” you greeted Aaron, but your smile fell when you took in his appearance. His whole body was tensed up, like a rubberband about to snap. He didn’t have his tie or blazer on, and the cuffs of his shirt were undone. 

“Dad!” Jack shouted, waving excitedly.

“Hi, buddy.” Aaron smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was scanning the room, studying the scene in front of him. Aaron’s expression slowly shifted to confusion as Jack bounded across your furniture to get closer to his dad. “Jack, what are you doing on the table?” Aaron’s eyes shifted to where you were, noticing for the first time that you were kneeling on a rolling chair, holding onto the broom like a trident. “And why do you two have paint on you?”

“The floor is lava,” you explained nonchalantly.

“And you’re going to get burned!” Jack pointed out.

You chuckled and swiveled your chair so that you could get a better look at Jack. “How about we give your dad a minute to find a spot, okay dude?” You turned back to Aaron, lowering your voice. “The kitchen is a safe zone, if you don’t want to have to crawl around on furniture.”

Aaron frowned, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain. “No, I should take Jack home anyways,” he finally said. “You’ve helped enough today and I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you insisted. “Besides, we just made a pizza that I’m not going to be able to eat by myself. Come in, have dinner. You look like you need it.”

He really did. You were certain that he hadn’t eaten anything the entire time he was at the jail. He looked exhausted, too, and it was taking every bit of his energy to keep his usual stoic and stony composure.

Aaron wanted to argue, but instead, let out a resigned sigh. “Thank you. You, uh, said that the kitchen was a safe zone?”

“Mhm, and you might want to hurry because Jack is in it to win. Already tried to sabotage my chair boat.”

While Aaron’s face remained emotionless, his gaze softened as he stepped into your apartment. “Jack, did you have fun with Y/N?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

Jack hopped from the coffee table to the couch and onto a trail of pillows he had made. “Yeah! She taught me how to cheat in Mario Kart!” 

You rolled your way back to the kitchen, chuckling sheepishly. “Shortcuts aren’t cheating, it’s playing smart,” you defended. 

Jack just giggled and continued to animatedly tell Aaron about his day at school as you each started to dig into dinner. Well, Jack and you dug into the pizza, while Aaron took all off two bites and pushed his plate to the side. You had originally thought that it was the interview that caused Aaron’s tenseness, but you realized with a start that Aaron was completely focused on you. He was watching you curiously, like you had subtly changed your appearance and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different.

He was just intrigued by your interaction with Jack as you had been with Jack and Jessica’s interactions. You had thought that he was going to make a snap judgment and decide if he was ever going to want to see you again the second he saw you with Jack, but he was taking his time. He was profiling you.

“Hey Jack,” you interjected once he finished eating. “Your dad and I are going to do dishes, but I need you to do me a big favor. I can’t win Bowser’s Castle no matter how hard I try. Do you think you could do that race for me while we clean up?”

Aaron looked at you in confusion, but you kept your eyes on Jack, who was all too happy to have an excuse to get out of cleaning and go back to playing video games. He practically bounced back into the living room, leaving you and Aaron alone.

“Do you want something to drink?” you offered. Aaron was watching your every movement, studying you carefully. “I have tea, coffee… Irish coffee, if it’s that kind of night.” You added the last part as an afterthought, only partially joking.

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched upwards so subtly that if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have even noticed. “No thank you,” he answered formally.

You mindlessly traced circles on the tabletop with your finger, keeping your eyes downcast. You knew you couldn’t just outright ask what was on his mind, he’d never answer truthfully. “Do I want to know what that creep did to be put on death row?” you asked, keeping your voice as indifferent as possible..

Aaron shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell you even if you did,” he admitted and the two of you fell into silence again. It was the answer you had pretty much come to expect from him.

Despite the fact that, as a lawyer, you’d have to hear about all these awful things and see the evidence, Aaron tried to shield you from his work. He didn’t talk about cases, didn’t glamorize the work he did the way some younger agents would. In all the time you’ve known him, you could count the number of criminals you knew he took down on your fingers, and some of those were only because you learned about them in class. 

That was fine. You didn’t want Aaron to have to bring that to your bed, not when you were supposed to be his distraction from all that mess. And what a fun distraction you were.

Aaron looked at his watch, effectively ending the conversation. “We should go, it’s getting late. Thank you for watching Jack. And for dinner.”

You paused, debating your next move. “It’s no problem,” you said sincerely. “And if you need anything else from me… I’ll be awake for a while.” You let your offer hang in the air for a few moments, watching as Aaron seemed to be weighing options in his head, you just didn’t know what those options were.

You were just about to rescind your offer when he opened his mouth to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want any compensation?”

You waved off his offer. “I’m positive.”

Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Then let me buy you dinner sometime this week. It’s the least I can do.”

You paused, trying to keep your expression as neutral as possible. Aaron had never made an offer like this before, never took steps towards anything that could push this into something even remotely considered a relationship. It was easy to explain the constant sex. You could even justify the lingering morning-afters or the nights spent hunched over your textbooks while Aaron wordlessly refilled your coffee cup without you having to even ask by claiming that it all happened organically. It’s not like the two of you planned to stay up and debate the lost history of the term “beyond a reasonable doubt”. It just sort of happened, and who were you to turn down free coffee?

Anything more would complicate the carefully curated system, and neither of you had the time or energy for complicated.

Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to walk away and leave while you were ahead, you couldn’t help the soft “Yeah, I’d really like that,” that slipped past your lips.

You could have sworn Aaron smiled at your answer, but he didn’t say anything more.

The two of you walked back to your living room in silence. “Alright buddy,” Aaron called, ruffling Jack’s hair. “It’s time for us to head home. Say thank you to Y/N.”

Jack pouted as he exited the game. “Can Y/N watch me again soon? Please? It was fun!”

“We’ll have to see, she might be busy,” Aaron mused, looking at you so that he could gauge your reaction. It was enough of an answer to not crush Jack’s hopes, but vague enough that it gave you room to deny the offer. He was letting you choose how much you wanted to be around Jack, if you wanted to be around him at all.

You grinned down at Jack and held out your hand for a high five, which he took as an invitation to try and slap your hand as hard as he could. How could you say no to him? “Of course I can watch you again. I’ll even have Legos next time.”

For the first time that night, Aaron gave you a real smile, one that you could actually see. It was small, but it was genuine. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Y/N,” he told you and Jack echoed the sentiment, waving at you as they walked out the door. 

[seasidewriter1-writes]

Answering Asks from @fadingclamalmondrascal : “Hi! I hope you're still doing asks, but I understand if you're not, it sounds like you've got a lot going on. I've got 3 questions for you:

1: What made you want to adopt this story and write an "Anakin's big sister who falls in love with obi" au? What about it appealed to you initially, and what about it keeps you coming back?

2: I love Elara's Sith name! Carus is so cool. What kind of thought did you put into that name and her sith design?

3: What does your writing process for each chapter look like?”

Hi!! My asks are always open, and even if my life his completely hectic, I’ll always get around to answering them! But, thankfully, my life has started to calm down in the last week. I’ve gotten a lot of writing done in the last day, so I’m in a very “Balance” mood, so I’m super stoked to answer these!! (I also wrote a lot again, so buckle up!!)

1. So fun backstory on my finding the story: I was living in England for my first year at University, and I was on a big ol’ Star Wars kick because The Force Awakens had just come out in December. It was January. It was cold, the evenings were getting rainy, so one night after dinner and scrolled through FFN to find something fun to read. And when I first found and read the original story, pre-adoption (which I believe is still up and called “Another Skywalker”), I remember being like ‘wow, this is an interesting concept.’ And as I read it, in my head, all of these ideas were coming to my head; and I remember being kinda sad about that. I didn’t want to write my own story, then have it seem like I’d ripped off the concept from the author. Because this was the first fic with the “Anakin’s older sister falling for Obi” concept that I’d ever seen. I didn’t know if it was something of a trope for an Obi x OC pairing, or if this one was an odd one out. So I finished reading the 11 chapters, and the author had posted a note saying that the story was, effectively, up for adoption. I have never jumped on something so fast. I drafted out two scenes (a now obsolete scene where Elara sees Obi-Wan off to Kamino, and a chunk of the final battle RotS) and sent it to the author. When she told me that the story and concept were all mine to do with as I pleased, I was so excited. Because I realized that all the ideas that had been tentatively brewing in my head, I could now fully bring to fruition.

What initially drew me to the concept was the idea of being able to explore a story and a romance that is, in a way, a foil to Anakin’s. Almost a way to show that maybe, if things had gone differently, Anakin and Padmé’s romance didn’t have to be doomed. Because I have always believed that there had to be some way that it didn’t have to end in disaster. Presenting a Jedi OC x Obi-Wan can explore similar issues (and there’s a lot of fun to be had with that concept, too). But then you have two people who were raised with/to follow the same ideals. Though they are both unique individuals, they will come up to very similar blockages––struggling with breaking the Code, with sloughing off ideals and a way of life they’ve followed all their lives. But with a Skywalker OC… that changes. You get someone who wasn’t raised to keep her emotions in ultra-check. Someone who, like Anakin, is family oriented, passionate about protecting those they love, and innately wishes to express their emotions in a more open manner. Those characteristics present unique conflict (particularly in conjunction with Obi-Wan’s characteristics), and I just… I wanted to, and continue to want to, play with that. Because Elara is dedicated to the Jedi Code. She’s a good Jedi. But put her want to be a good Jedi (for herself, for her brother, for the good of the galaxy) right up against an undeniable, innate need and want to love (because, at her core, Elara is just a purely loving person)––you get whole other obstacles to overcome. It’s a lot of fun to figure out how her overcoming her obstacles helps Obi-Wan overcomes his, and vice-versa. How we can see, in recent chapters, that Obi-Wan realizing he can’t hold Elara at arm’s length anymore affects her; how she starts being more gentle towards him again, tentatively letting him back in. I just love playing with stuff like that!!

And there are a whole lot of things that keep me coming back to this story. One of the biggest things, I think, has to be the idea that ‘love prevails.’ I love myself a complex romance. Maybe that’s why I love Regency/Period Dramas so much; because there are so many ups and downs––and that’s what makes it feel so good! Because while there’s hope and love and happiness, there’s also drama and frustration and confrontation. But through all of that, at the end… love prevails. I’m a hopeless romantic, I’ll own up to that any time of the day. So seeing a couple, so hopelessly in love, go through trials and tribulations and come out on the other end completely alright? That’s my jam! And when you’ve got someone who stands so steadfastly by their ideals as Obi-Wan, but who very clearly is… so passionate and loving… That just feels like the way a love story with him would go. And ‘love prevails’ doesn’t just apply to the Obi-Lara stuff either. It’s about the familial love between Anakin and Elara, and how that love for each other may thrive or suffer in events to come… it’s the platonic love of Elara and the men of the 442nd. Star Wars is a story of many things––family, adventure, coming into your own… but it’s also about love. And getting to add to that aspect of the story in any given way, for people who enjoy reading it, to have fun conceptualizing and writing everything… it keeps bringing me back for more.

2. I had so much fun thinking up all the Darth Carus stuff!! It was prompted by a question in a review, asking what I thought Elara would be like as a Sith/what her name would be. So I started looking at all the other Sith names, and realized a lot of them were words that stood for descriptors of the Sith Lord. “Maul” for (the literal usage of) “maul,” “Tyrannus” for “tyrant” (derived, likely, from Latin tyrannia or tyrannos), “Vader” for “invader” (or “father”). So I decided I would use a Latin word for her Sith name, and decided I needed to think of what she would be like as a Sith. Tyrannical? Violent? Rampaging? And none of those seemed… right. It felt, to me, that if she were to become a Sith, it would be out of heartbreak. And it wouldn’t be a denial of love kind of heartbreak; it would be losing someone she truly loved (Anakin or Obi-Wan) forever. Their death, perhaps by a mistake that she made. So I went, ‘okay, the birth of her being a Sith is related to love.’ I searched up some Latin words and found “Carus” which means heart. And because Elara, Jedi or Sith, is so involved with her emotions and with love, with her heart… it just seemed to fit.

Now, the outfit––ohh, I had so much fun with the outfit. I’ve got a BFA in Theatrical Arts, so I’m big on costumes and costume details, so creating Elara’s Sith outfit was absolutely delightful. Again, I started with what I thought Darth Carus would be like. There’s a mournful aspect to her, so black as part of her color palette works, but I didn’t want her to be dressed in all black. I thought that, in the wake of her heartbreak, there would be a dangerous passion about her. An angry passion. So ‘anger’ and ‘passion’ are typically associated with burning colors like red, so I through red (and orange) into the mix. And I wanted them to be bright––Darth Carus is no longer hiding in the neutrals of Tatooine or the Jedi Order. She’s letting the galaxy know her pain. I did, however, want to stick with clothing articles that were more robe-like. It’s what Elara’s known her whole life. But instead of multiple layers, I stripped it down to singular, more form fitting articles. In a way, the fewer layers is displaying the vulnerability that turned her towards the Darkness. Red is the predominant color (the tunic) because it draws attention. You have to look at her, you have to see her pain. It’s almost like staring into a fire, or gaping at an open wound. And because all good Sith Lords need a dramatic cape, I thought I’d do a fun take on it and do one of the ones that attaches at the shoulders instead of drapes over them. Maximum drama for sweeping down staircases or jumping off of tall platforms. Now, like I said, I’m a sucker for small details… hence why I added the embroidery on the tunic collar. It’s floral. It denotes her love of life. Now, if this were all real life, real costume design in an actual movie… the embroidered flowers would be Gleannish Snow Blossoms. And, of course, amidst all the bright reds, vivid oranges, and swaths of black… against all this intensity… you have the delicate, cool softness of the real Snow Blossom pinned to the spot over her heart. The very same Snow Blossom that Obi-Wan gave her on Gleann. A gentle reminder of better days… of the reason she became the ways she is… of the man she loved so wholly and deeply that, in losing him… she’d much have rather killed her own heart instead. (Also, a friend of mine and I had a wonderful conversation discussing how much of a terrifying, badass power couple Sith!Elara and Sith!Obi-Wan would be. It’s delightful.)

3. So, if I’m writing a chapter that deals with a chunk of movie or episode, what I’ll do first is sit down and watch what I perceive I’ll be writing. I’ll take down notes on things that I’ll want to add in/describe. I’ve also got a whole document of ideas I’ve already written down, and a document of bullet-pointed ideas, so I’ll give that I skim/edit, too. I always have to pick what scenes to leave in or take out, decide if they can be summarized or should be left in. Sometimes this’ll happen the same day I start writing, but sometimes I take a day to really think things over, sleep on it, then start the next. Then I’ll start to write, and I’ll have the movie/episode open for reference. When I write canon dialogue, it’s a lot of: watch, listen, pause, transcribe; rewind, read subtitles, listen, pause, transcribe. I also usually have, like… five safari tabs open with different research pages open––one for the movie/episode, probably one for a character of some kind, a google image search of a costume or something, and another one that’s got, like, different kinds of starships or droids (because there are so, so many). A lot of the time I’ll just transcribe/describe a chunk of canon stuff, then go back and add in extra details, weave Elara into it, or change up the dialogue to fit. An example being Obi-Wan and Sugi’s conversation in the barn. I beefed that up a little bit, added in references, and used it to benefit the overall storyline.

With chapters that are more original content based, those take a little longer to plan. Even if I have an idea of what’s going to happen, it takes a bit of time to figure out how to order it all, how to get a proper lead in, how to make transitions. And I also contemplate whether or not what I want to write is really going to be beneficial to the story, or if it’s going to end up being meaningless filling. There are a lot of ideas that I have had or do have that would be fun to write, but don’t really… work into the story well enough (like, god, do I want a girls’ day chapter 😂). And it’s in writing these chapters in particular that I do a lot of my music listening. Star Wars soundtracks, the story playlists I’ve made… the right music can help me find the mood or setting of a scene, inspire a moment. Like, I cannot tell you how much of the bunker scene on Ryloth was inspired by Sebastian Böhm’s rendition of “Blue Monday.” Music plays a huge role in writing for me. I’ll have music playing when I’m driving or doing dishes or cooking, and I’ll start to formulate ideas while listening. There are times, too, when I feel stuck when writing that I’ll swap on over to YouTube and I’ll watch some Star Wars edits. There’s an amazing edit of “War Pigs” by Black Sabbath over battle sequences from the films, and it’s just… it feeds my soul when I get stuck writing battle sequences. I’ve got, like… a go-to list of edits I watch when I feel a little stuck, and they’re all phenomenal. And when all is said and done and I’ve finished the chapter, I usually take a break and sit on it for a bit. Then go back, read over it, do grammar edits, change things if I see fit too. Then it’s on to review replies and I get it uploaded and posted!!

[hothian-snow]

Sparagmos: First Draft

To celebrate me reaching 32K with my WIP, here’s a bunch of drabbles which inspired the initial first draft. I might reuse one or two scenes, but not the stuff with Darth Zhorrid. Both Yen and her master has changed a lot through my second revision of the fic too, and so has my writing style. Enjoy!

Darth Kharopos knew damn well that he was intimidating. He must be, lest all the other Darths devour him whole. He was also acutely aware of the effect he had on Yennevyr. It was almost amusing, the sudden change in her posture, her back snapping straight the moment he stepped into the room. Her deference towards him, the soft words and lowered eyes. Was she eager to please, or eager to survive?

From her quick feet and mind, he thought it was the latter. Self-preservation was a necessary trait among the cutthroat Sith, but for his apprentices - his legacy - he wanted more. He thought with her keen eyes and her outsider’s perspective, she’d be able to see the Empire for what it was. To see beyond the rabble, beyond the rat’s race and see what truly mattered. Instead, her eyes were puffy and pink, the next morning they met during saber practice.

Pathetic.

And it wasn’t a one off occasion too. Every time she’d come back from a particularly grueling mission, her mind was elsewhere, her blows lacking the conviction he’d expect from an acolyte worthy of being called his apprentice.

Drawing his attention back to the current practice, he swung a saber at her, the saber deflected mid-swing by a well-placed parry. He stepped aside, and noted how her feet were firmly planted into the ground, readying the body to absorb the weight of a heavy thrust or jab. A defensive stance- again. Must he truly hurt her for her to finally switch to the offense?

The tip of her saber was shaking, her stamina running low.

With the ease of swatting a fly, Darth Kharopos knocked the saber out of her hands. Scowling, he walked away, not pausing to glance back..

*******

Something was different. Clearly, something had changed.

Yet, it was less of a change or a growth and more of a pot bubbling over, the pressure and the heat exploding, the fragile cage of a badly crafted glass teapot cracking, its jagged shards flying into the wall before smashing into sharp little pieces.

Something flared in her eyes and her single red blade came to life, slashing in his direction.

He stepped right and striked left. She jumped back, moving like a spooked jungle-cat, before bouncing back forward with an unexpected speed and thrusted her saber towards his form. He blocked her, catching her blade with the end of his own. Her stance buckled under his strength, and so she slid her saber away but not before suddenly twisting her grips - shifting form, right in the heat of combat, inches away from her enemy - and plunging the blade into where he stood. Darth Kharopos spun his double-bladed saber, creating a quick shield that deflected away Yennevyr’s weapon.

The weapon flew out of her hand.

He felt her clearly. Frustration. Loathing. Wrath.

Their force bond was never this strong, but now he could feel her closer than ever. The way her heart raced, the blood thumping in her ears, her ragged breath and barely held back sobs- it was a dam broken loose, her force presence like a whirlpool throwing the cold serenity of his mind into chaos. Decades of careful restraint and calculating control kept him from drowning in the waves of her emotions.

Yennevyr, with her lithe form and dancer physique, sent a butterfly kick towards his head. Darth Kharopos reeled back. He could’ve blocked her again, that he was more than capable of- but his senses were screaming, alarm bells ringing.

With that distraction - that uncharacteristic distraction, that daring, was so different from the cautious acrobat who used to dance in and out of his range - she summoned her saber back, the hilt smacking into her palm with a loud slap. Fluid like water, she leaped and swung the saber like a guillotine axe above his head. Eyes wide, Darth Kharopos raised his saber up to form a cover, digging his feet into the sand below as the impact hit him. Yennevyr was not relenting.

Her eyes were scarlet. Those amber orbs now glowed red, the color looking like freshly spilt blood against her snow-pale skin. It reminded him of the first time he saw a total lunar eclipse: the moon bled red, as if someone had stabbed its white soil and the wound began gushing glistening ruby.

He let her hit him.

*******

Despair was an emotion Darth Kharopos never experienced, not truly and certainly not personally. Whether that was an indication of mental strength or privilege, he didn’t know.

Lord Atala’s death hit them all hard; the empty space where his mother once stood still felt like a void. Darth Kratais second marriage with Darth Labrys could never fill that gnawing, missing hole, but the woman’s hands were tender and her gaze was warm and when she whispered words of comfort to him, it felt like he had a mother again. Her presence had gentled his father’s severe disposition, and when she brought about his half-sister - Tatyan - into the world, the younger Sith Pureblood felt like a tiny bird fluttering in his palms. She truly was worth protecting.

When his father passed, it felt like a bad dream had come again.

Except this time, mother was grieving and Tatyan was bawling and they all cried together.

“Never show weakness in front of outsiders”, Darth Labrys said. “But here, we’re family.”

Because of family, he’d never known despair.

He was used to inflicting it upon others, though.

Hearing prisoners beg for death, attempting to gouge their eyes out as if the act could wipe away the vision of seeing their loved ones writhing as lightning tore through them, was something he’d grown accustomed to. He saw it coming like a holofilm in slow-motion: the moment where a war veteran’s mind was about to break, their will and determination ready to be shattered into dust at just a single jab. He always made sure their descent into madness was quick- no need to prolong the suffering. Genuine torture was only reserved for the worst of his enemies. It was satisfying, forcing some arrogant Republic general to their knees and making them scream, or exposing some tough Jedi for the weakling they were, like ripping open a bandage to reveal the ugly pus beneath.

How then, had he become so numb to the agony of others, that he missed seeing the same signs in his apprentice?

She was in despair, so upset she wished she’d died.

The circular burns on her arms looked like the ones he was used to inflicting upon Republic foes. It was an easy interrogation technique: stamping a recently deactivated lightsaber onto bare skin, the still-hot metal like a sizzling brand. And when he gazed into her eyes (oh sweet Yennevyr, when was the last time he truly looked at her?), they were dead. Empty glass orbs that had given up on life, if only her heart would just stop beating and give up on her too.

“Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

There was no mockery, no snippy retort in her voice, only pain.

*******

“I’ve always wondered how the law would work out in the long run,” Darth Labrys said, her voice lilting through the holocall. She was referring to the law to bolster Imperial ranks with worthy slaves and aliens, the law which also applied to the Sith. “You can’t expect a slave or a foreigner with no background, no exposure to Sith culture or history to integrate smoothly into Sith society without intervention, much less demand top performances from them.”

Not to mention the consequence of overwhelming power suddenly awakening within someone never taught to wield it, Darth Kharopos thought. The dark side was intoxicating, and one could lose themselves to everything from bloodlust to misery.

“I’m not advising you to go easy on her… but do be understanding, Tyrkos.”

His mother warned that even with the best medicine or therapy available, it would take time, and heavens knew that the Sith journey was already difficult enough, requiring one to fall apart and be reborn from the ashes, to kill who you were for what you could become.

Trust between Sith, especially master and apprentices, was rare. Now, he doubted she’d ever place her faith in him beyond hoping to one day take his place.

*******

Is this how I die? Darth Kharopos thought.

Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing his lungs. The rebreather was dying on him, for he could taste soot in his mouth. Collapsed against the cool floor of his hideout, back leaning against a bloodied wall, his apprentice loomed over him. How embarrassing, for his apprentice to see him so helpless.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she cried out. “Master!”

He thought he’d take that secret to the grave, to ensure that the fallout was minimal. Sith Pureblood, heir to the Rosokor family, involved in a light-side conspiracy. Should he be exposed, the Dark Council would have his mother’s and sister’s heads.

He pleaded for her to understand.

And if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

Her left hand clutched his holocommunicator where the damning evidence of his treachery laid, and in her right hand was the scarlet lightsaber, poised for execution. In the months under his tutelage, she’d grown into a stunningly beautiful Sith assassin indeed.

He closed his eyes.

“Tell me how to help.”

In shock, his eyes snapped open.

Her eyebrows were scrunched up but whether in anxiety or concern, he could not tell. There was a flush in her cheeks, and wildness in her eyes. Against his every expectation, Yennevyr chose mercy. She chose a chance at the Light. She chose him.

Master, did you not choose me, on Korriban? You saw something in me. I see something in you, too.

*******

Yennevyr hated mopping up blood. She had watched her late father’s maids do it all the time, his underlings scrubbing a crime scene clean. She later played the role of the domestic servant, doing the same back when she was enslaved under the Hutts, whether it be with spilled drinks or bloodstains from a brawl. She wasn’t afraid of blood- the coppery stench just smelled revolting.

Her master bled liters, the liquid forming sticky pools beneath his broken body. Sealing the wound wasn’t too difficult once she found the medkit, although her clumsy handiwork would definitely leave a scar. What was even more concerning was her master’s breathing, the fact that it sounded agonizingly labored and worryingly irregular.

With effort, they managed to haul their way to the hideout’s medical wing before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When his armor was stripped away and it was only his form in plain robes on the simple bed, her master looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. Heavy fatigue was written all over his sleeping face. It reminded her of those times she woke up especially early to see the Kaasian sunrise, the soft orange peaking through grey, stormy clouds. Some days, she deduced how master had been running some secret errands the night before, and she’d spot him limping home, his feet dragging, with an uncharacteristic slouch burdening his usually proud posture. Logically, she knew her master was no more or less a person than her, but to glimpse him tired and worn out had shocked her.

She spent the night by his side, the implications of her actions becoming clearer with each passing moment.

To reform the Sith society from inside out, she thought. A lofty dream. When did I become such a cynic?

With curious eyes, she glanced at her master’s resting form, the sound of his still ragged breathing filling the room. She wouldn’t even need a lightsaber; all she had to do was wrap her hands around his neck, and squeeze. She wondered if suffocation felt like sleep.

Oh, will I ever see you this vulnerable again?

Instead, she gingerly placed a palm on top of his limp hand, entangling her fingers with his. His hand was warm.

*******

After the suspicious death of Darth Jadus, Darth Zhorrid - in her sick ways - sought to consolidate her position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

As if the Council would stand her, Yen scoffed. After they’ve sucked her dry of whatever knowledge Jadus may have passed down to his daughter, she’s dead.

It was no secret that her master disagreed with many of the actions taken by Darth Jadus, but he’d always respected the chain of command, bowing whenever the Dark Councillor requested his presence, amicable before his superiors. This time, however, Darth Zhorrid asked for her master and would not expect anything less than absolute submission.

“Wait outside, Yennevyr. Do not interfere no matter what happens.”

Many may claim force cloaking to be an act of defense, like the Jedi Shadows who’d rather sneak past their foes than needlessly spill blood. Perhaps she truly was like that, in the past. Eager to run, to dart in and out unseen. Conflict-avoidant.

But a cloak was also a tool, like a viper’s green scales that blended into the grass, obscuring fangs and venom. To take it a step further: force cloaking was manipulation. It was to force upon someone a false visage, to bend the mind of onlookers to the point of them rejecting the evidence of their own eyes, denying the existence of a sword pointed at their head. On Korriban, Yen had figured out how to twist her force cloak, inverting it so that her opponents’ visions were plunged into darkness and the world became invisible to them.

It only took hearing her master scream for the first time for her cloak to become a dress.

The scent of ozone reeked through the semi-closed office door. By god, no matter how many times in the past she’d angrily fumed - fantasizing of sweet it would be to give her master a taste of his own medicine - actually hearing her master who had just barely recovered from his previous ordeal now screaming under the powers of some bratty Darth who probably did not even deserve that title...

Yen’s hands curled into a fist, and she was surprised by the anxious lump that formed in her throat. She took in a sharp inhale and when she breathed out, the Force coiled around her like serpentine tendrils, slick and cool. Shadows rested around her shoulder blades like a fashionista’s scarf.

Or for her enemies, a noose.

When her master stumbled out of Darth Zhorrid’s office, a hand clutching at his side, she took the opportunity to peer into the slit of the half-opened office door and caught the Dark Councillor’s sadistic gaze. Yen gave a smile.

*******

Yen had always been good at force cloaking. But this time, instead of projecting the lie of invisibility, she’d chosen an illusion- a glamour, a mirage. To project something false into the world required unwavering will and mastery over that image.

Her mask was fueled by hatred.

Never had she thought she’d one day hate anyone more that she hated the Hutts or herself, until she met Darth Zhorrid. That pathetic mix of insecurity and sadism was infuriating. She had read up on Darth Jadus’ treatment of his daughter. It took everything for her not to barge into that office and wring that sick woman by the neck and ask her if she thought she was the only one who had ever faced abuse. Everyone faced pain at some point in their life. Suffering was the story of all beings, especially so if you were Sith. Yet, when she hated herself, Yen only hurt herself. Unlike Zhorrid, she’d never tortured others as a way to lessen her own pain, to hide her weakness.

And for that, Yen wished Zhorrid was dead.

But not before providing use for her and her master, of course.

Wearing the Force - the fabric of the universe - as if it was a garment, was an act of complete domination. With a smile, she had sparked a flame of interest within Zhorrid. With a light touch of her fingers, she’d quicken or calm the Dark Lord’s pulse, the woman’s heartbeat hers to command at her pleasure. In a blink of an eye, Zhorrid would forgive her master for any misdeeds he’d supposedly done, and most importantly, Zhorrid would leave him alone.

Why pay attention to some grumpy old Sith when the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen was standing there in front of her eyes?

A drugged cupcake ready to be eaten.

Darth Kharopos felt his stomach sinking when he received the holocall requesting that Yennevyr go meet Darth Zhorrid in her chambers. His muscles tightened, as if readying for battle. He wasn’t scared of that snooty brat; anything she threw his way he could take. But Yen, his student, his ward, his protege, his apprentice-

She was smiling.

The Force swirled around her, draped all over her form like a dress blowing in the wind. It was as if she wore a robe of woven flesh, of slithering serpents and tendrils that wrap and cling and coil. There was a gleam in Yen’s eyes, her russet eyes mirthful, radiating confidence. The last time he remembered seeing his apprentice so self-assured was when he was bleeding on the cool tiled floors, her red lightsaber hanging over his head like a bloody guillotine.

“My lord, I am every bit your apprentice. Trust that you’ve taught me well.”

When Darth Kharopos was later summoned to Darth Zhorrid’s office, Yennevyr sat on Zhorrid’s lap like an overpriced poodle. What Zhorrid did not see was the undulating threads latching onto her, their ends sinking into Zhorrid’s skin like a snake’s fangs, or parasites whose teeth pierced her bloodstream, draining her dry.

“Ah, you’re here, Darth Kharopos,” Zhorrid said with a grin. “Very good, you look very nice indeed, perfect for the job.”

Darth Kharopos only nodded, his eyes glued to Zhorrid’s pale hand which stroked Yen’s hair as if she was some exotic pet.

“I need you to look into two places: Belsavis, and the Arcanum.”

Belsavis was a tightly guarded secret he was privy to knowing, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the name ‘Arcanum’. The Emperor’s property. Jedis have died to get a glimpse of the space station, and there were words of a rogue Dread Master recently robbing the place. Was it even under Intelligence’s jurisdiction?

A squeal snapped him from his thoughts.

“So you do know about the Arcanum!”

Her voice went from a slimy purr to an abrupt shriek. He felt a hard shove and invisible cold fists pinning him to the wall. His legs hung in the air, and he glared at that wretched woman.

“My lord,” Yennevyr murmured, her doe-like eyes widening at Darth Zhorrid. “My master’s a Darth of Imperial Intelligence. Is it not his role to know all that is going on?”

The pressure released and soon he was free. Zhorrid made a noise of agreement, muttering ‘Yes, yes… you’re right, of course.”

Zhorrid began ranting, a semi-coherent monologue punctuated with giggles and sudden screeches on the unfairness of her fate and the need to prove her worth to the Dark Council. Before her anger boiled over, a force tendril planted soft kisses on Zhorrid’s lips, quieting the woman’s anxiety in one swift move.

When the Dark Councillor appeared distracted, Darth Kharopos broke eye contact and glanced at his apprentice. He suppressed a shudder, seeing the predatory glint in Yennevyr’s eyes. Everyday, they grew more scarlet.

You will drink my words, or I will pour them down your throat.

*******

Belsavis he took care of alone, but as per Darth Zhorrid’s orders, he allowed Yennevyr to accompany him on the mission to the Arcanum. It was perfect: with every eye glued to the young rising-star commander, a Sith not-yet-a-lord with the bewitching presence of a black hole, nobody noticed him slipping away, leaking whatever information he could find on the Emperor to Republic SIS. His heart thundered the whole way, but every time he looked at Yennevyr - black hair tied up in a bun, a saber and light armor ready for combat - he felt like he could breathe easy again.

The mission was a success. They tracked the thief, Lord Tagriss, down to Ilum. His dualsaber stabbed a hole in the Sith Lord’s chest, and he felt his apprentice’s pride flared through their bond the moment Lord Tagriss’ dead husk fell into the snow.

When they returned home, she was ready to be a Lord.

“From this day onwards, you are known as Lord Soteira,” he declared, his apprentice kneeling before him. “It means savior.”

His apprentice stood up. When she looked at him, something swirled in his chest.

You honed my blade and sharpened my edges until they are lethal. You scrubbed away the rust, and revealed the blood-soaked truth. Master, don’t feel guilty thinking you turned me into something I already wasn’t. I’ll try to reach for the Light as you want me to, my lord, but don’t pity me if I fail.

[nancywheelxr]

Some brotherly fluff with Hela, Thor and Loki, pls?

Hi, hello, yes, Thor: Ragnarok was one of the best movies from the MCU and Loki is one of my favorite characters, so thank you for asking! Also, I’m sorry, I meant to keep this short, but somehow, this became a Ragnarok rewrite, so.

*

It begins to rain halfway into the play, a fine dripping of water that stubbornly refuses to pass, stays as a grey cloud above the palace and forces him to move the play inside the halls as soon as the first act is done. 

Perhaps, that should have been his first sign that his day would only decline from them on, but Loki had only frowned at the sky then– like he would tell Thor later on, he’s not a witch, he can’t see the future. 

If he hadn’t grown complacent in his deception, if he hadn’t settled on the boredom of his role, if he hadn’t believed himself safe in the stupidity of the court, then maybe he would have remembered what always follows the rain.

Thor is in a mood when he finds him in the throne room.

Surtur’s crown hangs from his hand, heavy and dusted with soot, and Loki knows at once that he’s been found out. And he wouldn’t even see his play past the first draft stages, oh well. 

Privately, Loki feels traitorously relieved to see his brother– never let it be said things are boring whenever Thor is around, if only because of his sheer inclination of seeking trouble whenever it fails to find him on its own, and for the past couple years, the taste of ruling has soured on his tongue, grown stale with the apathy of court life and the dullness of its interminable meetings over inane matters discussed by asinine people.

Still, for appearance’s sake and god forbid, to keep Thor from getting any ideas on his head, Loki calls for the guards, makes a show of calling his brother mad and crying treason.

It works about as well as expected and Loki admits he could have thought this a little more through. “Come on, brother,” Thor says, arm outstretched waiting for Mjolnir. If he pays attention, Loki can hear the sizzling of the hammer. 

“Fine, fine,” Loki easily wrenches himself away, less because he believes Thor would truly allow for Mjolnir to hit him and more to keep some sense of dignity and control over this quickly escalating situation, “I yield!”

A second later, Mjolnir is in his hand and thunder bounces off the walls.

It’s a testament of Thor’s temper and Loki should not push him further, not when he could be thrown into the dungeons for a lot more than treason now, but Loki has never been very good at making good life choices, now has he?

He grins, opening his arms, “surprise, brother, I am alive!”

Hurt and irritation flicker through Thor’s eyes and if he had been anyone else, perhaps Loki would feel guilt under his betrayed gaze. He’s not, though, he’s not anyone else and he’s not one for sentimentality, not since he learned how to survive, and besides, Thor has evolved to looking annoyed now. “Loki–”

His sentence is never finished.

The palace has stood true and tall for millennia, for thousands of years even before any of them were born, one could imagine it’s been there before Odin himself had been born, and it’s been subject of renovations many a time since then.

In none of those did anyone think of making sure it would withstand, well, Thor. 

The murals, old and brittle as they were, had not been made to survive indoor lightning or even the aftershocks. Before Thor can even start his undoubtedly riveting speech, they crack and crumble, falling to the floor like cherry blossoms in the spring.

“Did you know,” he starts and falls silent, unable to look away to the bloody horrors revealed underneath the idyllic portraits from before. While he has never considered himself squirmish, the sight fills him with cold dread, a nauseating sense of doom that permeates the air like dust particles.

“I think,” Thor says, his anger gone from his voice, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty as he, too, takes in the painting of a woman not much older than the both of them, leading an Asgardian army and placed at Odin’s right.

“We need to talk with the All-Father,” Loki concludes for him, too unease with this new-found revelations to wonder about the repercussions of his own actions.

In the face of what must be yet another dirty little secret of the All-Father, what is a little lie and mischief, anyway?

*

“I can’t believe you,” Thor says as they make their way to the room given to them by the girl at the front desk, sounding very much resigned in a way that makes it look like that yes, he could very well believe it. “Of all the places, this is where you imprisoned our father in?”

“Your father,” he counters reflexively, mind still preoccupied with frankly bigger things, “and it is not a prison, the humans leave their elders here as well. This house had glowing reviews, in fact.”

“You are impossible,” Thor continues as if not hearing his perfectly sound explanation, “yet again you survive the impossible and what is the first thing you do? Overthrow father and build yourself some ridiculous statues.”

“Now, you’re just being rude,” Loki begins to take offense, but then they are in front of the door and they will have to come in, face the Odin and all the complicated feelings he brings, and ask questions he doubts Thor knows how to word. 

The urge to flee is strong; Loki exhales, smoothes his hands pointedly not curled into fists.

“Well, go on, then,” he gestures for Thor to enter first, mockingly raising his eyebrows, and slips into careful indifference as he follows his brother into the room.

Odin is sitting by the window, watching the traffic outside with sunlight illuminating his face, warming the quilt he has thrown over his legs. It strikes Loki how very old he looks this way, how different from his memories. Maybe Midgard has this effect on their family, changing them fundamentally in places burrowed deep in their bones, impossible to shake off.

“My sons,” Odin says, and his voice, too, is frail, weary and worn thin, beckoning them closer with a wrinkled hand. It’s so jarring, Loki doesn’t have the presence of mind to correct him. “I am glad to see you while I still have some time left.”

Well, that’s just depressingly ominous. 

Thor makes a distressed sound, crouching in front of his father to look at him closer, and even Loki is not heartless enough not to look away from the grief on his eyes. “Father,” he says, “do not speak like that, it is not your time yet, it cannot be.”

His speech is closer to its original cadence, Loki notices, less infected with Midgardian terms and wordings, and wonders idly if he notices the difference at all. Unsure where to place himself in this reunion, Loki clears his throat, “we have questions, All-Father.”

Odin’s gaze settles on him, intense and unfairly melancholic, and Loki wishes he could muster his old anger as fiercely as before. “Loki,” Odin smiles, age and sadness pulling at the corners of his lips, he’d never been one inclined to have laughter lines, “I have failed you in many ways, but in this, I have failed you both. You come to ask of Hela, do you not?”

“Is that her name?” Thor asks, worry and curiosity briefly overthrowing his hesitation, “we have seen the murals underneath the paintings. Who is she, father? What is the meaning of those images?”

It seems, to Loki, pretty clear what the old murals seem to represent, or did Thor think Asgard came to rule the Nine Realms by asking politely? Still, he keeps quiet in the interest of knowing the heart of the matter all the sooner, not bothering to wonder how Odin knew why they were there– he supposes, after all, not many things could persuade them to work together, not anymore, not after everything.

And yet, as Odin speaks of their blood-soaked past, Loki finds himself hypocritically disgusted by the carnage and cruelty of their wars, and perhaps even more so, by this charade of peace and charity they had been playing in after Odin decided, in his oh-so-infinite wisdom, to abruptly change his ways.

“She has been secluded away since then,” Odin finishes with a miserable shake of his head, “and she will be released once I am gone.”

How very like him to discard his child like a broken toy, Loki thinks, bitter over a sister that isn’t even his, not by blood and certainly not by being raised together. If anything, the only thing they have in common is their failure to meet Odin’s standards. Did he even speak to her before making up his mind? Did he try to reason, to reach her before tossing her away into a barren realm, alone to stew on her anger?

Did mother know?

Distantly, Loki registers Odin speaking of preparing for war, meeting Hela with all the power they have on hand, even stooping so low as to ask for Thor’s little human friends for help. Something about it doesn’t settle right with him. 

Wasn’t this what started this mess in the first place?

Isn’t war the thing that has sent her spiraling?

Besides, if the Valkyrior couldn’t stop her, what hope have them of faring any better?

Faintly, in a voice that sounds so much like mother’s his chest aches with a familiar pain, he wonders what would have changed if Thor had not insisted on being stupidly stubborn on caring about him in Svartalfheim, even after New York, even after New Mexico. 

Irritatingly, he has been thinking of Thor as his brother for quite some time now, long enough for him to wonder if he had ever really stopped. His anger has dwindled, what once was a wildfire, has been muted into resigned fossilized coal. The ambers are still there, but it doesn’t burn him anymore, doesn’t feel like it’s going to overflow out of his body and spread to the world around him, doesn’t make him want the world to burn with him.

Even more so, he wonders how much of New York had been solely him and how much had been brought on by the Void, by– by Thanos. Falling from the Bifrost had been relieving, then terrifying, then lonely. It had not done any favors for his mind and it certainly had not left him yet.

What has this confinement been doing to their sister?

“We must talk to her first,” he finds himself saying, interrupting whatever battle plans Odin and Thor had been drawing, “if she has been cut off from all the realms for so long, how can we know anything at all?”

Thor looks at him as if he lost his head. In all fairness, there have been several opportunities where he could very well have. “Are you mad?”

“There is no talking with Hela,” Odin laments, in his most pious voice, most regretful, “she cannot be reasoned with, we must prepare for war and pray to the Norns.”

“Yes, because you have always been so successful at speaking with your children,” Loki tries not to sound bitter, not to sound like he’s counting himself into that lot, “forgive me if I don’t take you for your word entirely.”

“Loki,” Thor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he thinks Loki is being unfairly difficult. Strangely, when he speaks again, it is not to tell him off. “Father, he has a point. You have tried and you have failed, but you have also failed in that regard with both of us in the past and yet here we are. I have not tried to start any wars recently and surprisingly, neither has Loki. How can we be sure Hela can’t be brought around as well?”

Odin remains silent for a long time, lips pursed in his distaste, and Loki carefully does not show his surprise at Thor’s support. Begrudgingly, it warms him further than any of the All-Father platitudes. Then, finally, “I am old and weak in my age, I do not have the strength to argue much longer with you both. If your mind is set in this recklessness, I cannot stop you, but I will not aid you either. If you wish to pursue this course of action, seek Heimdall, he shall open a door to her realm with my aid if he so decides.”

Rising, Thor gives his father a solemn last look, gone is the blind worship that used to dwell there. “We shall. I don’t pretend to understand a time long past, but I have to say, father, I can’t see how sealing our sister away and writing her out of history has helped any.”

Once it’s clear no answer will be forthcoming, Thorn turns away to him, determination on his expression. “Brother, you know more of Asgard’s current situation than me– where can we find Heimdall?”

“Erm,” Loki hopes his smile is sheepish enough not to incur Thor’s wrath as he says, “about that, I might have exiled him for some time now. I never did try to give chase, so I cannot guess at his whereabouts now.”

Thor pinches the bridge of his nose again, sighs.

*

“My princes,” says Heimdall, placidly as ever, where he stands at his usual place with his sword as if he had never left at all, as if Loki had not stripped him of his job, as if he hadn’t needed to leave his homeland behind for the past two years. 

“Heimdall,” Thor smiles, and claps him on the back, his grin falling into a grimace not too long after, “do you know why we seek you?”

Just in case, Loki decides to silently take his place out of reach of Heimdall’s sword, just in case there are some hard feelings over his exile. 

“You wish to visit Hela in her prison,” he nods, stoic and grim, and his hands twitch on the hilt of his sword– surely a sign of overwhelming anxiety, coming from Heimdall. “I can take you there and I can bring you back, but I cannot promise what else might come with you, that is not the way gates work.”

“You think she might try to return with us,” Loki guesses. Unfortunately, it’s a very good point and a very real possibility, one they must never let come to pass, not if she is as mad as Odin paints her to be. “You will be watching us, will you not?”

Heimdall looks at him with his golden eyes and Loki has the uncomfortable feeling he’s being bared to his soul. “Aye, my prince, I will.”

“Then you’ll know if we succeed or not,” Thor catches on to his plan, nodding along, “if there’s even a chance she’ll come to lay waste to Asgard, do not bring us back.”

This could quite possibly become a suicide mission, he realizes, now that he has time away from Odin to go over his logic, separate it from the bitterness that unfailingly rises whenever the All-Father is around. What if Hela does not want to be reasoned with, not anymore? 

They could very well be too late.

One might wonder why he is still insisting on being a part of this at all, he is no Aesir and he is no Odinson, he has no obligation to fix Odin’s messes.

Thor’s pained voice murmurs over Heimdall’s as he explains their reasoning, their plan in not enough details and too much sentiment.

Loki curses himself in his head and loudly cuts in to point out exactly how wrong Thor is.

*

The realm is a wasteland in shades of grey.

Nothing on sight but dark sand for miles, dunes and dunes of it, black against the clouded sky, and the air smells faintly of smoke even though there’s no fire burning nearby.

It is a dead place made for dead people and it makes him wonder what it says about their sister that Odin thought fitting to send her here.

In but seconds, they no longer have to wonder: Hela stands before them, tall and regal, her dark hair and dark clothes and dark smile not unlike her prison. “Brothers,” she says, and her eyes sparkle with something– rage? Jealousy? Hate? Hurt? He cannot identify, it’s gone too quickly, replaced with an indifference too perfected not to be entirely false. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I’d ask if father dearest is gone, but if that were the case, we would not be having this conversation here. Actually, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

The hatred in her voice is unmistakable, but so is the pain, the betrayal, and Loki trades a look with Thor– perhaps, if it still hurts, then she still cares, then there’s still hope. “We come not in the All-Father’s order,” he dares speak, keeping his own tone carefully neutral, “or his blessing, for that matter.”

“We have only learned of you today, sister,” Thor joins him, earnest as he is bound to ever be in the face of a sibling he can save, “that’s why we’re so late. If we had known, we would have come sooner.”

Despite Thor’s pitch having more information, it is on him that Hela focuses on, eyes calculating. “You call him All-Father. I thought you my brother as well since you were here with him, was I mistaken?”

Well, shove him under the bus, why don’t you.

“In a manner of speaking,” Loki decides on, settling for a more diplomatic answer, one that wouldn’t start Thor in one of his tirades and would perhaps gain him some favor in Hela’s eyes. “Odin stole me from my planet after his battle had ended and raised me alongside Thor. I can’t say I’m overly fond of him or inclined to call him father.”

“And why is that? Did he discard you after you were done being useful, that does seem to be his way.”

Loki smiles. It is not a nice smile and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Thor send him nervous glances. “No, I cast myself away before he could.”

“Sister, we have come not to talk about the past–”

“Not now, brat,” she waves Thor off with one disinterested motion of her hand and it’s such a jarring sight, it does manage to shut him up. “I remember your insufferable wailing, few things change, I see. Now tell me, if you are not my brother, who are you?”

“I am Loki,” he says, pretends it does not sting to stop his introduction there, “and my brother and I have come to hear your side of the story.”

That throws her off, Loki can see in the way she cannot quite mask her surprise. Her eyebrows rise and her lips turn into a cruel smile, “is that so? And who says I want to tell it? Perhaps I would like it better to kill you both, watch your blood paint a little color in the sand. This place drains on my power, that is true, but I am still stronger than any of you.”

There’s a warning there, but there’s information, too. They hadn’t known how Odin kept her locked up, exactly. If she is weakened, then they are already safer than previously thought– not that there’s much comfort in that, they had not been safe at all before. 

Except, if she wanted them dead, she could have done it already. She didn’t have to show herself to them or even deign to listen to what they had to say. She didn’t have to ask questions or tell Thor to shut up.

If Hela is anything like them, like him, she must be bored out of her mind here.

They must be the most interesting to happen in thousands of years.

“You could,” Loki begins cautiously, “but then you would be back to the same state you have been for the past millennia. You are right, Odin is weakened,” at his side, Thor makes a noise. Loki ignores him, “but who is to say he won’t recover? He could be slipping into the Odinsleep as we speak and you of all people know from how much closer to death he has returned. Would you rather stay in your greying world– which, I can tell, is just bursting with entertainment– or take the opportunity to air your grievances with the All-Father?”

“You’re the worst,” Thor pinches the bridge of his nose once again, and Loki sees Hela cocking her head, eyeing them with amused curiosity, “why are you baiting her to kill us? We have just had a conversation about recklessness. Mainly, you complained about mine. I feel entitled to complain about yours now, considering you lump my life with yours on the line.”

“I was not baiting her,” he explains impatiently, they do not have this kind of time to be idling, “I was merely pointing out it is to her advantage to keep us alive. Forgive me for assuming she uses her brain, unlike you.”

“Are you ever going to come up with a better argument than calling me an idiot? It’s been centuries, brother, surely you must have a better comeback by now–”

“I will stab you–”

A sound, harsh and sharp, interrupts their bickering, and Loki is shocked to find it’s Hela laughing. It is not anywhere nice or reassuring, but he wouldn’t call it unpleasant. “I must admit, this is entertaining. Are you always this petty?”

“No,” says Loki while Thor says, “yes.”

“Delightful,” Hela grins, lips pulling back to reveal a row of white teeth that looks too sharp in this half-light, “I will refrain from killing you today, but know this, brothers, once I am out of this wretched place, I will destroy Asgard and everything in its wake.”

Loki looks at Thor. 

Thor looks back.

This is a good compromise for a first meeting, wouldn’t you say?

“Eh,” Thor shrugs, “we shall work out the details later. Now, tell us, sister, your tale and spare no detail.”

Taking in her seeming flair for the dramatics, Loki does not think it wise to ask her not to spare any details, but he only sighs, resigning himself to spend the rest of his day on this nightmarish desert.

*

Hela does not kill them on the first day and she does not try to follow them back when Heimdall opens the Bifrost, although Loki isn’t sure how much of that is because she cannot do so with her powers lessened.

Still, she gives them her side and it’s just as much of a frightening tale as Odin’s was, full of glorified victories and ruthless battles. Her words drip enough blood that he almost understands why Odin thought necessary to lock her and throw away the key.

Almost.

*

“Tell me, brother,” she says on the second visit, her voice sounding less like the clinking of swords in a battlefield, “how is my hammer?”

Thor pales. “Right, about that–”

They leave pretty quickly after that.

*

Days go by with the wind and Loki finds he is not as resentful to having Thor crowned king as he thought he would be, as he had been once upon a time. He wishes he could say it has all to do with his time as king himself, the boredom and the monotony, but he knows better. Unfortunately, he knows better.

It’s extremely annoying.

As for their sister, and it irritates him to no end that he is, in fact, thinking of Thor’s megalomaniac sister and his sister as well, she hasn’t tried to kill them yet, most likely because Odin’s magic has sealed her power for now. Of course, Thor likes to think they have been– building a rapport.

“She hasn’t threatened us this time,” Thor points out, “that’s progress.”

“Or maybe she thinks it is implied,” he sighs. This might have started as his idea, but he certainly did not think it would go this far. Or that he would have avoided the dungeons this far.

Or that he would still be there.

Maybe they are all surprising each other these days.

*

“So you have given up on killing him?” Hela asks, watching with bewildered eyes. Today, Loki has come alone, left Thor in one of his interminable meetings and endured Heimdall’s all-knowing gaze on his back, steady and unnerving. For some reason, Hela has taken this as an invitation to grill him about his story. “Why?”

She has a way of finding the heart of the matter and tearing it out into the open.

“It is complicated,” he says, sitting down in the newly conjured chair, “but blaming anyone else for Odin’s faults did not bring as much satisfaction. And this Thor is not the one who slighted me in our childhood, there is no fun there either.”

Hela hums. “Perhaps. But I think that is not why. You are a sentimental fool, brother.”

The tea he had brought with him warms his hands, but Loki still feels unsettled all the way back to the Observatory.

*

“I cannot believe you gave her a plant,” Loki says, shaking his head and feeling stupid just thinking of the stupid cactus in the stupid yellow vase, “what did you think that would accomplish?”

Thor shrugs. “Taking up hobbies is a good first step.”

*

Knitting, Thor decides, is a good second step. Predictably, he is wrong about that just like Loki imagined he would be. 

When Hela stabs his brother in the shoulder with the knitting needle, Loki laughs and notices she could have gone for much more fatal spots.

Perhaps this might truly be progress.

*

Odin is not getting any better.

They can only hope progress is enough when the seal is broken.

*

Of course, there are not only good days. If anything, most days end up with Hela raging over something or other and swearing vengeance on Asgard, and Loki tries not to think about it, but they are running out of time.

They have to make a decision soon– will they wait for Hela as a lost sister returning home or an enemy that could bring about the end of everything? Both choices are too dissonant from each other, two ends of a scale so far apart, they probably should not be part of the same scale at all. 

A few days after Thor found him in Asgard, he had cornered him in his room, his speech vastly different from before. Maybe you’ll always be the god of mischief, he had said, for once not sounding like anything at all, but you could be more. 

Then, he had not exiled him from Asgard but had made very clear that should Loki wish to leave, Thor would not stop him. He had seemed surprised to find Loki still there in the morning.

Decisions, decisions– it seems everything is about choosing lately. 

“There is a Midgardian saying,” he says now as they make the slow walk back to the palace, covered in the black sand of Hela’s prison, “that says the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Thor’s eyebrows rise. “Never thought I’d hear you quoting humans, brother.”

“In this case,” Loki shrugs, dusting himself off to keep himself casual, careful to betray as little as possible of how much thought he’s been giving this entire situation, “it has its merits.”

Thor hums agreeably, wholly unbothered by the sand. “True. Do you think we are making a mistake by trying to speak with Hela?”

What Loki really thinks is that he wishes people would stop asking him so many damn questions with complicated answers. “As a king, maybe. As her brother? I think you would not have forgiven yourself if you had not tried this first.”

For a long time, Thor doesn’t speak again. Then, “I really hope there are no more murals underneath those.”

*

As Odin weakens, Hela strengthens.

Or so they find out when they are greeted by inhuman growling as soon as the Bifrost fades. No more than a few steps away, a wolf larger than any horse snarls, hungry eyes trained on their throats. 

“Hm,” Thor clears his throat, “sister?”

Hela, who had been petting its head serenely until now, glances up lazily. “Yes?”

“There did not use to be a wolf in here yesterday,” Loki points out, “I am fairly sure I would have noticed if there were a wolf in here yesterday or any other day for that matter.”

“Oh,” she says, and for the first time since they learned of her, Hela smiles a smile that is not full of sharp teeth and hunger. She smiles and it’s just a smile, it’s nice, it’s almost happy. “I was able to call for Fenrir this morning.”

Thrown off by the jarring sight, Loki nods mutely, while Thor returns her grin with one of his won, bright and excited, “he is a mighty companion indeed! May I pet him?”

“Did you just ask to pet the giant wolf–”

“You may try,” Hela ignores him, waving Thor closer. With her track record, it really is a gamble whether she means for her pet wolf to eat him or not. “He will probably not bite.”

Approaching slowly, Thor reaches a hand, telegraphing his intentions loudly not to startle the animal, and to Loki’s utter disbelief, the wolf actually does cease its infernal snarling, ears dropping, and butts its head against his hand.

Absolutely ridiculous.

“Did you know, sister,” Thor says, and his voice takes a dangerous turn, teasing, which means Loki is probably not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next, “that on Midgard, the humans think Loki is Fenrir’s mother?”

“And here we go again,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, huffs.

“It’s true,” Thor continues, and Hela laughs, and it sounds less and less like broken glass and more and more like laughter. “They also blame him for Sleipnir and Jormungandr.”

“Yes, go on, laugh it up,” Loki glares but he has no hope it is not half-hearted at best. Oddly enough, it is now, dropping to one knee to card his fingers through grey fur softer than it should possibly be, that he first believes this might not end in flames yet. “But let us not forget what they did remember correctly– like the time you lost Mjolnir and had to pretend to be a giant’s bride.”

“You lost my hammer?”

Hela sounds mildly upset but her eyes are amused, no longer clouded over by the thousands of years of loneliness, by a madness not unlike his. Loki fell into the Void, but Hela had been trapped in a void of her own. Now, it will not be too long before she gets to be free once more, for better or for worse.

In any case, the future does not look entirely bleak if one looks from this moment. They are all together and there have been little to no violent threats. If he were anyone else, Loki might even call it nice.

And besides, in a thousand years from now, who knows gods of what they will be known as.

[httplovecraft1890]

The Theme of Free Will in Yandere Simulator

So in the past, I’ve speculated at length about what some broad story points might be for Yandere Simulator and while I’ve revised my opinion on the significance of a character like Fun Girl (her statement of “YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING I SAY. I WONDER WHAT ELSE I CAN TRICK YOU INTO BELIEVING?” feels a bit embarrassing in hindsight) I do think there are broad strokes that can be taken from what I wrote and applied to newer story points that’ve been shared with us since. You can consider everything below a refinement of those original ideas, I suppose. Let’s start by going back and revisiting Saikou Corp. Note: some of this information doesn’t have a specific source other than vague recollections aside from what YandereDev has said on Twitter, Reddit, etc. so apologies in advance.

What, exactly, do we know about Saisho Saikou? If we’re taking Fun Girl less as an actual plot point herself and more as a vehicle to deliver exposition to the audience then we can summarize a fair few things:

He was drafted into the service of the Imperial Japanese Army at age 17 in the closing days of the war. This retroactively confirms his date of birth was some time in 1928, meaning Saisho is 91 in 2019.

Saisho was confined to kitchen duty after being transferred to Okinawa at first. This changed after a bomb tore his dorm apart and he was trapped with the corpses of his friends for hours until he was rescued by other troops. During the attempted retreat after their rescue operation he called them cowards for wanting to fall back in the face of American forces. The memories of being stuck there with his dead friends still haunts him.

After being moved to a bunker, he was under constant stress from air raids and a chronic lack of sleep as well as malnourishment. When the U.S. finally found their hiding spot he tried to pull a pin on a grenade but it failed to detonate; he was promptly captured afterwards.

- From the June 1, 2018 Fun Girl text files We know little of his life after the war at the moment other than in 1946 he was reduced to running the company that would become Saikou Corporation out of his family’s garage (much like the company it parodies, Sony, was forced to do at first in our world by its creators). Given his later characterization I suspect that he probably ruthlessly took advantage of the breaking of up so many of the zaibatsu (large financial or industrial conglomerates owned by specific families; Mitsubishi is an example) by the American occupying forces following the war. In the decades following his country’s defeat Saisho created an enormous megacorporation that makes most of the consumer products seen in Yandere Simulator’s universe. As Headmaster Shuyona later relates to us, once he puts his mind to something he never takes no for an answer. Aside from the obvious wealth aspect that it grants him, though, what else is at work in his mind?

Like so many others, the defeat of Japan in the war simply unimaginable to him and, as far as he’s concerned, even if everyone else surrendered he never did.

The brainwashing and propaganda of the early Showa period never left him; as more and more Western influence began to creep into Japan, the more he began to freak out about it. Progressive politics and democracy are things he utterly despises.

Unsurprisingly, his reactionary politics have a racial component to them. For Saisho, the only people fit to rule the world are the Japanese and that if only everyone else realized it, there’d be a worldwide utopia. Though not outright confirmed, this also goes some way to explaining the almost eugenics-like obsession with ‘purity’ in the modern Saikou clan.

Even so, probably through careful PR stunts and knowing when to keep his mouth shut, Saisho’s worst beliefs aren’t known to the public.

- From the December 1, 2018 build’s Fun Girl files

It’s with some surprise then we know for a fact that Saisho wanted his firstborn daughter to inherit the company after he was ready to retire and only kept his son, Megami’s dad, as a backup. Despite the grueling and inhuman training that each Saikou generation seems to be put through, it seems that Saisho did genuinely love his daughter based on what Headmaster Shuyona confirms in Headmaster’s Tape #1. While this seems incongruous at first with his far right politics I think it’s helpful to see it less as a belief in equality between men and women, but instead that since she was a Saikou, she was inherently a cut above others because of that. Not many fathers would have schools built for their children in their honor if something wasn’t genuine, I think.

Megami’s aunt is a very interesting character at the moment. We know nothing about her other than the fact that she was first in line for the proverbial throne and hasn’t spoken to Saisho in 30 years because of him disowning her after they got into an argument. Fun Girl seems to hint that the conversation revolved around her trying to remember a supposed sister of hers (i.e., her) but this might just be her trolling us all. I think there’s something else very important given that time frame we also need to keep in mind: the date. What’s 30 minus 2019? 1989.

If we assume for a moment that Akademi opening its doors in 1985 was her first year, then following traditional Japanese high school length, it stands to reason her graduation occurred in 1988. The following year, Ryoba’s murder of the girl who was almost certainly Headmaster Shuyona’s daughter must’ve sent serious shock waves through Buraza Town. Megami’s aunt would’ve probably followed the proceedings with a lot of interest and I think a reason she parted ways with Saisho is because Saikou almost certainly tipped the scales in favor of Ryoba during her trial against the journalist. Why? Because of the country’s insanely high conviction rate. It’s greater than 99%. You’d practically need a miracle to get through it all and make the person who tried to take you to court look like a monster for doing so - something we know she pulled off. It’s not something that she could’ve done on her own without money changing hands or judges being properly blackmailed and flipping the media circus around. Headmaster’s Tape #6 also confirms that by 1999 Ryoba had seemingly regular contact with Saisho and Megami’s dad but it’s easy to extrapolate that they must’ve been speaking with one another prior to then; after all, just because Shuyona didn’t know about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen (it doesn’t help him either that Saisho almost certainly sees him as a useful idiot). Learning a dark secret like this about your own family, coupled with the hell they put you through growing up, would break anyone and I think it’s a good explanation of why she left. If we accept that Saikou Corporation are Ryoba’s and Mr. Aishi’s employers then several things fall into place - why they haven’t ever had to move, why they live in a well off neighborhood, how they can simply up and leave for 10 weeks at a time to a foreign country - and the picture comes into focus. One of the things that Fun Girl seems to confirm is that Saisho’s love for Japan is equally as strong as what Ayano feels for Senpai. Knowing what we know about how the Aishi family curse seems to work, that’s pretty bone chilling. Coupled with every other horrible thing he thinks, combined with his vast wealth and influence, and it’s a recipe for disaster. The question becomes, however, what the point of all of this is. What could a murderous young woman possibly offer one of the most powerful companies in the world? Her body and mind. Stick with me here. Pretend you’re a scientist working for Saikou Corporation and you’re tasked with finding out what makes Ryoba tick; we’ll ignore for the moment any possible supernatural angle that the story might develop to explain their condition. The Aishi ‘curse’ seems to be a psychological condition, effecting the maternal line, that results in its carriers possessing severely stunted emotional growth, antisocial personality traits, flat affects, monotone voices, etc. This begins to alter in the host, however, an intermittent time after puberty in their late teens when, through various circumstances, meeting an individual causes an unknown psychological trigger to occur, acting as a kind of drug that for a time rewires the brain to enter a euphoria-like state wherein they begin to function on a neurotypical level, but only in contact with the source of this change (19 being the median age when an Aishi woman typically marries their victim). What if you could isolate the factors that cause such a thing to occur? 30 years is a long time to study something, after all, and decades’ worth of research must’ve meant some kind of breakthrough. Assuming that Saikou Corporation is like any other megacorporation in fiction then they’re sure to have their hands in medical technology. Imagine taking the research you’ve done on a so-called ‘yandere’ and began to try recreating it. After all, the idea of being able to use certain external symbols or things as stimuli is practically dystopian in its usefulness. Like, say, introducing a corporate symbol and ensuring its customers only felt a sense of satisfaction when buying a certain product.

Let’s go further than that. What if you could engender the same feelings of emptiness, followed by unbridled joy, when looking at something as simple as a flag? Not only could you brainwash an entire nation, but any other place on earth that allows the services you provide as a global company...

From this perspective, the “why?” of Saikou Corporation involving themselves with Ryoba becomes evident. After coming to this piece of speculation, if it is the case, something else also really clicked for me. Two things, actually. The first is that it’d give new meaning to the speech Megami tells you on the Skype chat you can have with her at school:

Is someone there?...Ah! It's you...Why have you come here? Have you come here to taunt me? Do you even know who I am? I know who you are. I know WHAT you are. My father won't allow me to attend school while you are..."active". He has a reason for tolerating your presence at this school. I don't. You are a vulgar creature that is only allowed to exist because you serve a purpose. If it was my decision, then every last one of you would be exterminated. Have fun while you can. If you and I ever cross paths...you're going to have a bad time.

The purpose is to further Saikou Corporation’s knowledge of the yandere condition and to find further ways to exploit it. Megami’s dad is in on this scheme and has purposefully kept Megami off campus while Ayano is on her murder spree as a way to keep her safe. What’s more, Ayano isn’t the only yandere that’s active either. Such a statement is more revealing than you might imagine it to be too. I think it’s pretty accepted at this point that the journalist’s wife was a yandere herself. He tells us as much in Mysterious Tape #6

But as soon as we met, she wanted to spend every waking moment with me. She wouldn't let me out of her sight, and got possessive if another woman so much as looked at me.

I quickly began to depend on her for everything. It wasn't long before I couldn't live without her. I certainly wasn't in any state to take care of myself... I was like an adult-sized baby. Helpless and vulnerable. Who knows...maybe that's what she was attracted to. Maybe she just wanted to experience the sensation of owning a person. Maybe she wanted to keep a human pet.

Isn’t it odd how she showed up in his life only a year after his ordeal with Ryoba in court? How his marriage to her didn’t involve them leaving the town at all? If I were him, I would’ve probably left it behind a long time ago, especially if it brought up memories as traumatic as what he’d experienced (and the fact he was directly threatened by Ryoba too). But instead his marriage and alcoholism caused him to never get out until it was too late. The timing seems... convenient, doesn’t it? Almost as if it were planned.

It wouldn’t be hard, I think, to sic some girl afflicted with the condition on someone either in hopes they’d ‘imprint’ on them or alternatively try to induce that very same response in them somehow. It’s a safe bet, again, considering how long Saikou Corp. would’ve had to pour over the data they’d collected. There surely would’ve been theories on how it happened and they’d be unethical enough to try it on human test subjects. So if they could do that, who might it happen to?

I think that an overarching narrative theme in-game is going to be that of free will. Let’s consider for a moment both Megami and Ayano as parallels to one another. Both are incredibly driven women who will stop at nothing to get what they desire - order for Megami, Senpai for Ayano - with familial histories of treachery and abuse. If Megami’s life has been lain down before her without her having much say in the matter, how does this similar struggle reflect in Ayano? Arguably, Megami could have everything she ever materially wanted in life just as Ayano has in the form of the feelings Senpai gives her but the issue goes deeper. If the price for Megami was having every moment planned out for her, is it not possible that the feelings Ayano has are just as manufactured? I don’t mean that in the ‘love at first sight’ kind of way; I’m questioning if the meeting with Senpai was something that was set up for her to go through, a test to see if this poor schmuck could be the thing that would let them begin to move onto a new test subject to put them through their glorified obstacle course (Akademi). Not to mention the fact that it essentially occurs right after Ryoba and Mr. Aishi leave for America is an immediate red flag. If Megami is trying to stop Ayano, though, then it must mean that she’s rebelling against the wishes of Saikou Corporation itself. After all, they don’t want something that they’ve put years of investment into slipping through the fingers if they can help it. The end game she has in mind is anyone’s guess at this point but I suspect it will be the purge of anything related to the above secret project. As such, there’s going to have to be someone to offer us an alternative to bringing down the current iteration of Saikou - and I think we also have an inkling of who’s going to aid us in bringing her down.

Kencho is emblematic of the status quo. He desperately desires his father’s approval (the one who’s likely continuing his father’s wishes and pursuing this whole endeavor to begin with) and will do anything to gain it. If Megami steps out of line too much, he’s certain to know that means she’ll fall from grace. He’s only been prevented from doing anything about his current situation because he’s only second best and hurting Megami would upset his dad. However, if she were to have an unfortunate accident... well, it isn’t as if he could be ignored anymore. In exchange, I imagine he’ll give Ayano exactly what her mother had: a nice house, a life untouched by anyone who’d take Taro or Taeko away from her, and a way for the two of them to have children if you go the latter route. All Ayano has to do is just give in to being a pawn like her mother did, like Kencho did, and like his father did. Or she can, at last, have the first real choice she’s ever had in her life by siding with Megami and tearing it all down (with Senpai still the promised reward in exchange for her help, certainly...).

[dogbearinggifts]

“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Seven

This is Part Seven of a series examining how Luther and Vanya address their respective traumas, and respond to the traumas of others. My first draft of Part Seven got eaten by Tumblr, but I’m not about to let some stupid website boss me around. If this is the first time you’re seeing this series on your dash, you can catch up with earlier installments here: 

Part One  Part Two Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six 

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Episode Eight: I Heard a Rumor (aka We Finally Learn How Allison’s Power Works and My God Is It a Doozy) 

Our first mention of trauma comes after Klaus reveals what he learned from Reginald the night before. Luther, still hungover and understandably upset by the revelation, has found a seat in a bar when he is approached by Diego, Klaus and Five. 

Diego: Look, Dad was wrong to lie to you. To all of us. Luther: Look, I did my time, all right? Four years up there, watching and waiting because he said the world needed me. Four years of nothing but soy paste and processed air because I was naive enough to believe that dads don’t lie to their kids. But guess what? The joke’s on me.  I’m done. With all of it. With him, with you, with this family. You want to save the world? Go right ahead. I’m fine to sit here, finish my beer, and get my…buzz on. 

One thing I think a lot of fans forget about this scene is that Luther has just learned he was sent to the Moon for no reason—and that particular revelation came less than twenty-four hours beforehand. Mere hours before this scene, Luther learned the murder mystery that had given him purpose was yet another manipulation from Reginald, and that Pogo—who he trusted—had participated in the ruse. On top of that, he’s learned that the strong, capable father he thought he knew was suicidally depressed for at least the last four years of his life, possibly longer. His entire worldview has been shattered. And he’s angry. He’s angry with Reginald, he’s angry with Pogo, he’s angry with himself for trusting them both. 

This is a good thing. 

It’s not good that he’s willing to let the entire world be destroyed rather than try to prevent it. It’s not good that he’s willing to abandon his family at this crucial junction. And it’s definitely not good that he’s trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol. But the fact he’s angry? This is good. 

Remember the movie Inside Out, where Joy explains that Anger’s role is to make sure Riley is treated fairly? Sometimes Anger gets overzealous in his work and causes her to lash out at minor slights, but he also helps her identify moments where she suffers needlessly. His solutions really aren’t the best, and need to be tempered by logic, but his job is to remind Riley that she doesn’t deserve to be treated unfairly. 

Emotionally abusive parents don’t let their kids feel anger towards them. They tell them that Anger is the one emotion who shouldn’t be there, and that getting angry is wrong. They might allow them to get angry at outside forces, or people the parent doesn’t like, but anger toward an emotionally abusive parent is absolutely not allowed. To survive in an environment like that, kids need to find reasons to shut Anger up. They make excuses, tell themselves that their parents didn’t mean it like that, that what they’re going through is for their own good, that it’ll make them stronger, that they’ll see their parents’ logic one day and praise them for it. 

We see in earlier episodes that Luther did exactly this. Rather than allow himself to feel angry with Reginald for mutating him without his consent, he reminds himself that it was to save his life and therefore the consequences ought to be accepted. With being sent to the Moon, he tells himself that it was necessary. He was needed up there, his research would save the world, Reginald knew what he was doing. Luther never let himself feel angry toward Reginald, and that took a toll on his psyche. It led him to accept mistreatment, and it allowed Reginald to run roughshod over his boundaries. 

Now, the blinders are off. Luther is under no illusions, and he’s angry. He recognizes that he was treated unfairly, and he is not pleased. For many children of emotionally abusive parents, this is incredibly freeing. Having the tools to go through memories, one by one, and identify where you accepted mistreatment you didn’t deserve is empowering. It allows you go step away from your abusive parent, and it lays the groundwork to set healthy boundaries. 

Anger should not be a permanent state, in my opinion, and I speak from experience. Allowing myself to get angry with my parents freed me from their toxic influence, but constant anger is exhausting and, if left unchecked, can lead to overreactions for smaller slights. Anger should be allowed to run its course, but it should also fade into something gentler over time. It’s too early to tell what Luther will do with his anger, but the fact he immediately shoves it aside when he hears Allison is in danger seems like a good sign. He’s angry with his dad, but he’s not going to let that stop him from protecting someone in immediate danger. 

**********

The next trauma mention comes from Vanya, when Allison tries to convince her to leave the cabin and look at Harold’s police file. I’m skipping over Allison’s recollection of the day she Rumored Vanya, more for space than anything else, although I do reference it. 

Allison: He made me an accomplice.  Vanya: You did this to me?  Allison: I—I didn’t realize.  Vanya: You knew this whole time—that I had powers?  Allison: No, no, I didn’t really understand until I came today, until I saw it!  Vanya: Well, now it all makes sense! This is why you never wanted me around!  Allison: What? No!  Vanya: You couldn’t risk me threatening your place in the house, your dominance!  Allison: That is not true.  Vanya: You couldn’t handle the fact that Dad might find me special!  Allison: You are special, Vanya, with or without powers!  Vanya: Don’t—don’t say that!  Allison: We have a chance to start over!  Vanya: You destroyed my life!  Allison: Oh, please, Vanya, everything is out in the open! We can move on!  Vanya: Oh, I’m moving on. But not with you, with Leonard.  Allison: With Harold, you mean.  Vanya: With Leonard! The only person who has ever loved me for me! Pause Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re not threatened now.  The wind begins to move through the cabin, rustling curtains and causing light fixtures and wind chimes to rattle. 

That last line is intensely creepy and it gets zero attention in fandom—but more on that later. First, I’d like to take some factors into consideration. 

Vanya has gone cold turkey off the medication she’s been taking since the age of four. Getting off any medication needs to be done gradually and will come with side effects, but the fact she’s quit mood-altering meds abruptly means she’s going to have some trouble managing her emotions. She’s never learned to manage them, and she’s not going to learn all at once. 

Harold/Leonard has been subtly but surely pushing Vanya to see her siblings in the most uncharitable light possible. And we see from earlier encounters that his manipulations are working; she lashes out at Allison simply for being concerned that her boyfriend might be a crazy stalker. 

Allison’s confession could not have come at a worse time. It was well-intentioned, and it’s noble of her to want to make things right the moment she realized something was wrong, but she could have at least waited until after Vanya saw Harold’s police file. 

Even with all of those factors in play, what Vanya does here is pretty egregious. She wrote her book because she felt her story wasn’t being told. She published it because the world was hearing Reginald’s side of things, viewing her siblings as stars and forgetting her existence entirely. She told her story as she saw it because she wanted her side of things to be heard and respected. 

Yet when Allison tells her side of the story, Vanya rejects it. Allison presents Vanya with a story that does not paint her in a flattering light to begin with (“I was four, and naive, and just went along with what Dad wanted without questioning why even though it hurt you”) and Vanya immediately twists the narrative. Allison’s story portrays them both as victims of Reginald—Vanya to a far greater extent than Allison, which Allison acknowledges—and Vanya twists it into one where she is the sole victim of an evil father and a conniving sister. 

You can argue that Vanya has no reason to believe Allison’s story, but she has no reason to disbelieve it, either. As I pointed out already, Allison’s story does not paint her as a hero. She doesn’t refuse Reginald’s orders. She doesn’t try to get Vanya out of the soundproofed room and only acquiesce to Reginald’s demands when Pogo and Grace drag her back kicking and screaming. She just hesitates, and then does as she’s told. Allison’s story makes her look bad, and this is part of what makes it believable. 

Furthermore, the narrative Vanya insists upon denies Allison’s story almost wholesale. According to Allison, Reginald already knew Vanya was special. That was the problem. That was why she was locked up in that soundproofed room—as confirmed by her earlier flashback to the day Reginald locked her inside. Yet Vanya, without hesitation, throws these details out the window and insists that Allison was the problem. 

I will point out that Allison invalidates Vanya’s trauma here, with the words “Oh please, Vanya! Everything is out in the open! We can move on!” Vanya has just received a revelation that further shattered her world, has just learned that she’s speaking to the person who is responsible for her lifelong belief that she was ordinary, and Allison tells her to move on. However, I’ll also point out that Allison has spent the entire series trying to make up for her initial reaming-out of Vanya in Episode 2, as well as trying to protect her from a man she believes is dangerous. Vanya has responded to these attempts with patronizing and sharp reminders of Allison’s power abuse and painful divorce. Allison never responded in kind, but it’s clear from her exasperation in this scene that those words struck their mark. She’s been reminded of her past sins every time she’s tried to befriend her sister, and she is emotionally exhausted. She wants to move on. 

Now, let’s take a closer look at the creepy line. 

It’s disturbing, I’ll say that upfront. And I think it is all but ignored in fandom because it alone is enough to destroy the common perception of Vanya as an innocent victim pushed to violence by an emotionally abusive boyfriend and an uncaring family. On a smaller scale, it destroys the common view of this scene, as one where Allison pushes and pushes and finally backs Vanya into a corner, forcing her to lash out with power she cannot control. 

I’ve seen fandoms get things wrong before, but this….this is really something else. I’ll address the misconceptions one at a time. 

First up is the notion that Allison pushes Vanya into using her powers. In this scene, Allison never tries to force Vanya to do anything she doesn’t want to do. She comes to this encounter unarmed, she doesn’t try to Rumor Vanya until she feels she has no other choice, and she only ever tries to reason with her and persuade her to come to the car of her own volition. Allison touches Vanya without her consent exactly once—a gentle hand on her arm, trying to guide her toward the door; when Vanya doesn’t follow and instead sinks to the sofa, Allison sits opposite and goes back to empathy and persuasion. The idea that Allison’s behavior is so threatening that Vanya feels she must make an outsized show of force in order to make it stop is utterly obliterated by Allison’s conduct in this scene. 

Another common misinterpretation of this scene is that Vanya loses control of her powers, and that is why she causes objects to shake and the wind to blow through the cabin. However, we’ve seen her lose control of her powers. We watched it happen when she defended Leonard. Her counterattack took the form of one giant blast toward the men kicking him, and then there was nothing. In the minutes and hours following, she was confused and frightened, sitting in the hospital waiting area, replaying the events again and again in her mind as she tried to make sense of them. 

In this scene, Vanya is not frightened at all. She knew beforehand that she was the one causing the strange things to happen; she knows now that she is the one doing it. And it doesn’t scare her. Rather than fearfully going over what she previously did over and over, she threatens her sister: “Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re not threatened now.” Those are not the words of a terrified young woman losing control of her powers. Those are the words of a woman thirty seconds from flying into a screaming rage and making an outsized show of force—which is exactly what Vanya does. 

Finally, and most egregiously, is the notion that Allison backs Vanya into a corner by trying to Rumor her. To which I say—guys. Watch the scene again. Just….watch it again. Allison is not the one screaming at Vanya as the entire room is buffeted by gale-force winds. Allison is not the one who has refused, time and again, to hear Vanya’s version of events or listen to what she has to say. Allison is not the one who is becoming less and less rational by the second, and she isn’t the one with the power to turn ambient noise into a hurricane. 

Vanya is not the one who pleads, near-sobbing, “Please don’t make me do this” before attempting to use her power. 

Maybe I’m the wrong person to provide an objective analysis of this scene. In my household, my mom was the primary abuser, and what Vanya does here is disturbingly similar to the abuse I suffered throughout my childhood. The way she responds to Allison’s well-intentioned attempt at honesty—twisting the narrative, invalidating Allison’s remorse, growing angrier and angrier no matter what Allison says, simultaneously playing the victim while reminding Allison that she is the one with the real power there—it all reminds me so much of countless tirades from my mother that I cannot sympathize with her. I know many fans have watched this scene and see her as a victim of circumstance, but I can’t see her as anything but an irrational aggressor at best and an abuser at worst. My sympathy in this scene is with Allison. 

I’ve seen people chastise Allison for attempting to use the very power that robbed Vanya of hers, but to that I ask: what was she supposed to do? As I mentioned before, she came unarmed. Vanya has made it abundantly clear that her power is the stronger of the two and she is, at this point, past being reasoned with. Allison has no way of knowing if Vanya will even let her make it to the door; for all she knows, Vanya might mistake a sudden move on her part for aggression or simply decide she wants to punish her for taking her powers away. We don’t know what Allison was going to say before Vanya cut her throat, but we do know that it was her only means of defense. 

I don’t think Vanya meant to kill Allison. The fact she becomes near-catatonic in the next episode is evidence of this. I do think she was trying to shut her sister up, lashed out in anger, and did more harm than she’d intended. 

That said, I don’t think Vanya is being controlled by a separate entity, either, and I think this scene is evidence of that. Her transitions from rage to eerie calm and back again are unsettling, but not unnatural, with no personality changes in between. They don’t come across as those of a woman being controlled by an outside force; they come across as those of a woman being ruled by her emotions. She doesn’t stop to think through the consequences or rationality of her words and actions; she simply acts. Furthermore, when she slits Allison’s throat, her horror and remorse are immediate. If she were under the control of an entity that revels in violence, I think she would have taken that moment to gloat, or to calmly leave Allison to bleed out in the cabin. It seems unlikely that an outside being pushing Vanya toward violence would leave its host immediately after the violent act is completed, rather than getting its host to safety. 

The eerie calm she expresses in this scene, though, hints at something else, something darker: At this point, Luther has not yet locked her in that anechoic chamber in the basement. He doesn’t even know it exists, yet here is Vanya telling her sister, “Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re not threatened now.” She has not yet snapped, yet she’s already reveling in the power she holds over her sister’s head, displaying the same unnatural calm that will become her trademark as the White Violin. It’s not all she displays, true, but it’s very much there. 

Her tendencies toward violence, her dark side, the part of her that made her kill and/or maim nannies who tried to feed her oatmeal—whatever you want to call it, it didn’t go away when she grew up, and it wasn’t planted there when Luther locked her in the basement. That darkness has always been a part of her, and it was present long before Luther even learned she had powers. I do think being locked up exacerbated these tendencies, but Luther is not the reason for their existence. 

*********

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 9, Luther 10

Trauma of Others: Vanya 5, Luther 3

Read on to Part Eight

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Drunken Misunderstandings - 1/1

Summary: At a friend’s party Iris gets so drunk she forgets Barry is her husband and misunderstandings ensue.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4011

A/N: Sooooo I had this in my drafts for about two years. Its been so long I’ve forgotten who originally sent me the prompt. If you’re still around here’s the fic you wanted

Iris woke up in an unknown room with a pounding headache. She squinted painfully at the bright yellow sunlight that came through the windows. The night before came back to her in a blurry mess. The last thing she remembered was arriving to celebrate Linda's birthday party but after that nothing came to her clearly.

Obviously she partied a little too hard judging by the massive hangover she had.  

Vaguely she wondered where Barry was. Even if he did leave early for Flash business he would always came back to take her home. Only ever so often did he pull all nighters where he ended up crashing at Star Labs.

Slowly Iris got out of bed. She needed to pause several times as the room kept tilting on its axis. She waited even longer to fight off the wave of nausea that took over. Silently Iris chided to herself that as a grown married woman she really should be better than this.

With great effort she stumbled out of the room then down the hall to the kitchen. There she found Linda looking effortlessly put together freshly showered in her pink silk robe and hair pinned up. Her skin glowing and she didn't even have bags under her eyes Iris thought resentfully. How Linda managed to look this good after a night of drinking was a superpower Iris envied.

“Morning sunshine,” Linda said with a bright smile. “There's a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you.”

Iris perked up considerably at the promise of getting caffeine into her system.

“Do you know what happened to Barry?” Iris asked as she poured herself a cup. “Did he leave on Flash business?”

“No not really,” Linda said lips twisting up in amusement.

“Then why didn't he take me home?” Iris huffed out.

“Well...you didn't exactly want to go home with him last night.” Linda chuckled which only made Iris more confused.

“Did we fight?” Iris tried in vain to remember what happened last night. “I can't remember anything.”

“You were very, very drunk.” Linda supplied. “I'm not surprised you don't remember.”

“I'm afraid to ask what happened,” Iris started to worry now.

“To start...you were hitting on him,” Linda said.

“Oh. Is that all?” Iris sighed in relief. “That's not too bad. Barry's my husband. I'm allowed to hit on him.”

“That's not exactly how it happened...” Linda smiled knowingly before taking another sip of coffee.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Barry sipped at his beer, not feeling any of its effects of course, watching his friends and family let loose. Linda certainly knew how to throw a party especially a birthday party for herself. After months of crime fighting and battling big bads it was good to see everyone having fun. Even if he did have the unfortunate luck of being the only sober one here.

Barry glanced around the room in search of Iris. He hadn't seen her for over a half an hour when Linda stole Iris away to play a game of Beer Pong. Not that Iris needed him to watch over her but he couldn't help but worry when she was out of sight.

His concerns were answered by a sharp tug at his sleeve.

He turned around to come face to face with his wife. A smile broke out across his face at the sight of her. A reaction he couldn't help but have whenever he was near Iris.

His happiness quickly turned to amusement the more he took her in.

Iris seemed to be struggling with the simple task of standing upright. Her body teetering under the effects of the alcohol she'd been consuming since they arrived. Her dark eyes that looked up at him were brighter than normal and a little unfocused. The brown skin of her cheeks flushed a darker color. All signs pointed towards that Iris had moved past being buzzed to completely drunk.

Not since college had Barry seen Iris this intoxicated when she had gone out drinking with her sorority sisters then drunk dialed him at two in the morning to pick her up. Barry then spent the next few hours holding back her hair as she heaved up the contents of her stomach. Since college Iris monitored her drinking. Never having more than one glass of champagne at a social event and limiting herself to two glasses of wine at home after work.

Her decade long stretch of 'careful drinking' had apparently been broken tonight.  

“Hi there,” Iris fluttered her eyelashes as she gazed up at him.

“Um hi?” Barry smiled down at her. “You feeling okay?”

“You're really cute,” Iris appraised him with dark but unfocused eyes. “Have we ever met before?”

Barry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Sometimes Iris would play the 'hey there stranger you're cute' game but usually she'd drop the act fast in favor of getting straight to the point of kissing him. Iris had no patience playing coy when she could be making out with him instead. But with her being this drunk made it much harder to tell how serious she was.

The best way to find out Barry figured was to play along.

“I don't think so,” Barry leaned his long body in closer to her. “I'd remember a beautiful girl like you.”

Iris let out a sweet giggle before shyly ducking her head away. Barry couldn't help but fall for her all over again. Not for the first time Barry thought she was the cutest person he'd ever seen. He practically melted when her fingers coyly played with the ends of her hair as she bit down on her lower lip.

“Well we should get to know each other better then,” Iris said with a teasing lilt to her voice.

She took a step forward closer only to trip on her own feet.

Without thinking Barry reflectively reached out to catch her. His hands wrapping around her forearms to steady wobbly legs.

“Wow,” Iris said in wonder with big eyes. “You are super strong.”

Barry felt heat rise in his cheeks at the compliment.

“I bet,” Iris said in a breathy voice. “You could bench press me.”

Barry didn't know why that sounded incredibly suggestive to him.

“Uh thanks?” He said awkwardly.

He was about to find a place to sit them both down when Iris practically melted into him leaving Barry no choice but to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her up.

“I like strong men,” Iris's fingers idly ran up and down his chest leaving a trail of electric shocks through him.

Barry found himself falling under her spell. Her soft body pressed up against him and the smell of her lavender soap made his thoughts all foggy. His hand that rest on the small of her back could feel the heat of her skin. His eyes traced the way her silk dress wrapped around her generous curves.

“Hey can I ask you a question,” Iris said while flicking her hair over her shoulder to expose the long length of her neck.

“Yeah sure,”Barry swallowed thickly.

His knees were going weak every time he saw the dark promise in her eyes. She kept biting down on her full lower lip making him want to kiss her senseless.  

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Iris said in a hushed voice as if they were sharing secrets.

Barry arched his eyebrow at that but decided to keep playing along with this game.

“Well actually,” Barry reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I have a very beautiful, very talented wife who I love very much.”

What happened next was a reaction Barry would have never anticipated.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I started to cry?” Iris asked incredulously.

“Yes you did,” Linda said while munching on cream cheese smeared bagel. “Not even just a couple tears. We're talking about heaving loud sobs.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Iris frowned in confusion. “I know I was drunk but....there's just no reason for me to cry.”

“You were upset because you thought Barry was married to someone else,” Linda shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently you also get memory loss when drunk along with being extra dramatic.”

“Oh god,” Iris dropped her eyes down to stare at her coffee in mortification.

“Don't worry about it,” Linda laughed . “We've all had our embarrassing drunk moments. I often wake up next to mine in bed. A little crying is nothing.”

“Did no one notice?” Iris asked hopefully.

“Well...” Linda trailed off.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Geeze Barry what did you do to her?” Cisco asked.

Barry stared hopelessly up at Cisco and Wally and Linda who had come over once Iris started to cry. The rest of the party goers were glancing over and exchanging hushed whispers at the scene.

Iris was currently sitting on the floor, face buried in her hands as she cried. Barry had crouched down to comfort her but no amount of consoling seemed to help.

“I didn't do anything,” Barry flailed for an answer. “I thought we were joking. I didn't meant to upset her.”

“Did you criticize her outfit?” Wally offered up.

“No of course not,” Barry replied affronted.

Not that he ever would say a bad word about the clothes she wore but on this particular night Iris looked amazing in a emerald green dress.

“Did you tell her that you don't like her cooking?” Linda pressed.

“What? No!” Barry looked at Linda like she was crazy. “She's just confused. She thinks I'm married to someone else.”

Wally, Cisco and Linda gave him looks that said they weren't convinced that could be true.

Barry ignored them and turned back to Iris when her cries turned to a mix between hiccups and coughs. Her shoulders still shaking with her face hidden behind her hands.

“Iris?” Barry tentatively reached out with his hand to touch her.

He immediately pulled back when Iris jerked away from him.

“Iris please,” Barry said with desperation. “I thought we were joking around.”

“Its not funny,” Iris dropped her hands away showing her red eyes from crying. “To play with a girl's heart like that. If you were taken you should of said so in the beginning.”

Barry sighed while Cisco and Wally behind him snickered in amusement.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I'm never drinking again,” Iris groaned out from where her face was buried in his hands.

“Oh don't be dramatic,” Linda said from the sink where she was washing the coffee cups.

“How can I face Barry?” Iris sighed out.

“Well you better figured it out,” Linda glanced at the clock. “Barry said he'd be stopping by at ten.”

“What!?” Iris's head popped up. “Why didn't you tell me that before?”

Iris's mind raced cataloging how badly she looked in this moment. Her hair wasn't properly wrapped last night leaving it a tangled mess. Dark circles were under her eyes. Her dress from last night wrinkled from her sleeping in it all night.

“Didn't I?” Linda gave a sneaky smile.

Before Iris could call out her friend a knock came at the front door.

“Of course he's on time,” Iris grumbled. “He's never late when I need him to be.”

Linda cackled as she left to go answer the door.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Barry watched helplessly as Linda picked Iris off the floor who continued to sniffle. Normally he'd pull his wife into his arms to hold and comfort her whenever she was upset but he didn't know what to do when he was the cause of her distress even though not from his own doing. No one ever told him what you should do when your wife drinks so much she forgets you're married.

“Can I help?” Barry watched Linda struggle to hold Iris upright. “I can carry her to your guest room to sleep it off.”

Barry reached out to grab Iris's arm to steady her but she sent him a death glare that had him keeping his hands to himself.

“Ehhh don't think that's a great idea,” Linda sent him an apologetic look. “We don't want her to get all upset again. No offense.”

In the end Wally ended up carrying his inebriated sister to Linda's guest room while Barry watched with concerned eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Cheer up,” Linda slapped Barry hard on the shoulder to get his attention. “You should be doing cartwheels after tonight.”

“My wife is crying because she thinks I'm married to someone else,” Barry grimaced at the not to long ago memory. “Why would that be a positive thing?”

“Even with memory loss she still thought you were the hottest guy here,” Linda smirked at him. “Don't pretend like that doesn't stroke your ego a little.”

Barry went red in embarrassment because he couldn't deny that thought had come to mind.

“Now I know you'd rather your wife stroke you tonight but beggars can't be chooses,” Linda laughed as Barry went even redder and balked at her. “Come back tomorrow with flowers and I'm sure all will be well.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Iris stood up from the kitchen chair. She smoothed down her very wrinkled dress she slept in. Her hands patting down her messy hair. For some strange reason her stomach was a jumbled mess of nerves.

Seconds later Barry walked through holding out a bouquet of sunflowers for her. Linda thankfully was nowhere to be found. The last thing Iris needed was for her best friend to witness this embarrassing moment.

“Oh Barry,” Iris smiled a little bashfully when he handed her the flowers. “You really didn't have to. Not after how I behaved last night.”

“Nothing is too good for my wife,” Barry stoops down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. Iris had hoped that would be it but when Barry he pulled back there's an expression of mock seriousness on his face. “You do remember I'm your husband right? We never did figure out  if you'd sustained permanent memory loss or not.”

Iris scowled at his teasing but couldn't hold it for too long with the way he's smiling at her.

“Yes I remember,” Iris put the bouquet down to stand up to loop her arms around Barry's shoulders. His hands sliding easily around her waist as she went on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. A soft sigh escaping Iris as their lips moved perfectly together. Iris let out a pleased hum as the kiss deepened when Barry pulled her in closer to him. Suddenly the painful hangover disappeared under Barry's touch.

“Sorry about last night,” Iris murmured against his lips. “I can't believe I forgot about you, about us being together.”

“Its okay. Not like I haven't lost my memory before either.” Barry stole another kiss from her. “Besides nice to know you think I'm the hottest guy in the room. So hot that you'd cry if you couldn't be with me.”

Iris rolled her eyes at his smug expression.

“Don't get too cocky Mr. Allen,” Iris grabbed his collar to pull him down to her level. “Don't think I don't know that you wouldn't cry too if you thought I was married to someone who wasn't you.”

“Nah wouldn't cry,” Barry grinned back at her. “I'd simply seduce you away.”

“Oh yeah?” Iris lifted an eyebrow up in question. “And how would you accomplish that?”

“Let me take you home and I'll show you,” Barry smirked.

Before Iris could get in another word Barry gathered her up in his arms to speed the two of them back home.

[stellamore-after-dark]

Oooohhhh can you turn the last ariki spicy hc’s into a situation? 👀 we love ourselves a frustrated fish boi

😈

It had been days, days of your relentless teasing. Ariki was the embodiment of patience, such a virtue is not common nowadays in anyone,  but Ariki…well he had enough for himself and possibly all of Saiph. He had been working on keeping his composure, a low profile around you cause if you knew you were having any sort of effect on him it would be over, for him and for you. You, however, knew better. Since the moment you met Ariki it was immediate sparks. From the moment you, literally, fell in his arms you knew that he would be the one your soul would love and best of all the feeling was mutual. However, in this moment his fight or flight reflexes were failing him and he was at your mercy and you were well aware of it.

It was the end of the week and some of the summit members had been drafted for that week to hold a series of meetings outside of the Inner Sanctum, you and Ariki were part of the lucky few that were chosen. You were sent into a more urban area, along with the other members, that was heavily guarded for this event and each summit member was to be in their own room with a guard posted on their door with no visitors allowed…at all. With theses conditions in place you decided to have a field day with your lover. Each day it was something new; from brushing your hand lightly against his arm, to wearing his favorite scent, to getting real close to him and whispering how bad you needed him right now, it was putting him in a head space he had never been before and he was about ready to pounce on you. Thank goodness it was the end of that dreadful week and the summit was going to reconvene in the Inner Sanctum, and he was going to have you all alone in his own room.

“Hey Ariki, are you ready to go back?” you dropped an octave to your voice making you sound like the voice in his dreams.

His ears perked up as he moved his head your direction, giving you a warm smile that hid all of his true intentions.

“Why of course love.” You smirked back at him knowing that he couldn’t see your face. He kept smiling at you knowing that you probably had a smug look on you’re face without you knowing that he was planning your demise.

You both boarded the same carriage that took you to the Inner Sanctum, as the carriage when on its way you decided to tease him again, the difference is that you didn’t know that this would be your last time teasing him. You started by putting your hand on his knee and slowly it started creeping up to his thigh, once you had reached his inner thigh his hand reaches down and griped your wrist. He was looking out the carriage window as you tried to release yourself from his grasp to no avail.

“Ok, ok Ariki I get your point, can you let go now?” You were starting to actually feel uneasy. His hand on your wrist was hard enough that you were afraid he was going to leave a bruise. You hear small chuckle come from him as he turns from his former position with a smile on his face directed at you.

“Oh dear, whatever will you do? If this is making you question your choices……wait until we get home!” At that last part he got close to your ear and whispered it like a prayer to you ever so gently, but there was a fire in those words like a coiled up spring ready to burst. And that made you relax as you moved your face towards him to give him a kiss behind his ear. He moved before you could make it as he also released your hand from his hold; your lover was finally learning how to tease you back…and you were so proud.

As the carriage pulled up into the entrance of the Inner Sanctum, two guards were at the ready to open the door and when they did Ariki jumped out first followed by you. As you were both starting to walk in to the Sanctum one of the guards stop you both.

“Excuse our intrusion Mr. Tawera but we have a message from the Crown Prince who desires to meet with you over some agreements between the elves and the Marakihau.”

“Thank you kindly for this information, however I have other pressing business to attend to…” He turns to offer you his hand. “My sister will take this mater and meet with him if its of such urgency.” You turn towards Wauuru who makes you jump since you did not expect her to be so close to you. When did she even get there? Wauuru is looking at you with a smirk and all too knowing eyes.

“Go on then, I got this.” she says as gratitude flows from your mouth and Ariki pulls you away. As he basically power walks you through the palace you both finally reach his bedroom door. He opens it, leads you inside, and then immediately slams you against the closed door kissing you fiercely. You cup his dace with your hands as he takes your hands and pins them on top of you. He breaks from the kiss leaving you slightly breathless. He gets close to your ear again.

“Everything you did. You. Will. Pay” As he captures your neck in a myriad of kisses emanating a small excited laugh out of you that gets cut short by a moan that escapes your lips. Your back starts to arch as Ariki put all of his wait on you literally pinning you to the door.

“Now, now. We won’t be having any of that, BE patient.” He lets go of your hands only to start undressing you. You reach out your hands to do the same but he swats them away. “I am normally a very patient person, but you’ve drained my patience this week, so, I won’t say it again love…be patient!” Never had you been so turned on by this man than the way you are now. It was rare and few between when he’s so dominant, your weeks work paid off. He removes your last article of clothing only to tell you to lay on his bed. You do as your told and walk towards his bed. You climb on it as slowly as you can, and you could swear that Ariki could see you the way his eyes were so fixated on you. You finally put your back towards the cool sheets underneath you as you revel in the new feeling. You put your arms on top of your head in a tangled mess.

“Alright Ariki, here I am, what would you like of me.” in the same breath Ariki answers.

“All of you……spread your legs.” You feel a blush coming as a reaction of his first declaration but its quickly replaced by you bitting your lower lip and doing as he said. The shuffling sound of the sheets as you move your legs makes Ariki’s ears perk up as he moves to kneels in between. He starts by kissing your knee while he drags his nails from your buttocks all the way through the under side of your thigh making you hiss and start closing your legs With his free arm he stops you and holds your leg in place. He starts kissing you up your leg, reaching your thigh, and eventually your inner thigh. You feel your whole body starts to vibrate as you close your eyes and brace your self to feel his mouth on your most sensitive area. But he doesn’t. He stops and pulls away all together. You open your eyes to find him standing on the edge of the bed. You prop yourself up by your elbows with a questioning look.

“What? Were you expecting more? Oh my love, we’re just getting started.” He slowly begins to take his clothes off, too slow for your taste as you move to try to reach him only to be stopped by Ariki moving back away from you several feet.

“I never said you could move my dear, go back to the way you were or else we are done here!” He finishes that sentence with a smile that makes you wanna smack the smug off of him, your earlier pride is slowly turning into regret. He knows too much now.

You lie back down as he finishes undressing himself. You are caught breathless at the site of him, no matter how many times you’ve seen his nakedness he always leaves you speechless with how beautiful he is. Of course, you notice his arousal which makes yours spike to it’s highest level. He begins to walk back to you. He finally meets you in the bed only to be teased further.

“Hmm, you seem eager. Anxious even. Is there something you are waiting for love.” He says as he starts pressing a finger into your entrance. You gasp as he massages that delicate spot making your through your head back in desperate agony.

“Oh, I liked that sound you made precious. Do it again.” He says as this time he inserts one finger in making you writhe in pleasure. He starts pumping his fingers into you making you moan, he adds another one, and then a third. You feel your release coming as all of a sudden he stops. He takes his fingers away making you feel empty and he does this until you are begin.

“A-Ariki, please”

“Please what my love?”

“I can’t, I can’t take this anymore”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you are currently taking this like a champ and I most certainly have no intentions of ending any time soon.” At that last declaration your body convulses and your mind starts racing.

“Ariki please!”

“What do you want? Tell me, beg me” he snarls through gritted teeth as you loose your patience.

“I want you!!! I want you inside me please, please make me cum!!!”

With that Ariki’s snarl becomes a smirk as he nuzzles into your hair next to your ear.

“Now, was that so hard to do my little temptress?”

He gently enters you as he picks up your legs and puts them on his shoulders coming towards you to rest his hands on either side of your head. The first few strokes had you gripping the sheets, white knuckles, and long moans coming from you making your head tilt back as your eyes rolled. He was finally giving you what you wanted but not how you wanted.

“Oh god, Ariki please”

“For you being at my mercy you are very demanding” he said between huffs of breath. “What is it now, what do you want?”

“Fuck . me . please” With that coming from you Ariki slightly blushes as a wild determined look crosses his face. It only takes a second for him to switch gears as he start plowing into you. With every thrust being followed by how much teasing and longing you’d caused him that past week without him being able to at least touch you. He made you apologize with every stroke threatening to not give you your release if you didn’t. The stakes were to high so of course you obliged. He had made you cum twice before he reached his end. When he was reaching his climax all that could be heard were the huffs of breath between the both of you and the slap of skin as he pumped into you so vigorously. When Ariki finally reached his end he slowly took himself out and off of you as he rolled next to you on the bed both of you panting breathlessly. Ariki turns his head towards you.

“I hope you know that I didn’t mean of what I said love.”

You turn to him with a slightly bewildered look making you laugh between huffs.

“I know baby.”

“Did you enjoy yourself at least? I wasn’t too rough on you was I?” Ariki is asking all these questions as he’s reaching out for you inviting you into his arms. You quickly accept the invitation as you hug him, nuzzling your head between the crook of his neck and the bottom of his chin.

“I’ll be a little sore tomorrow, but I’ll manage.” You smile against his neck which in turn makes his face light up with that brilliant smile of his. He kisses the top of your head as he’s rubbing circles on your back. You are starting to doze off as Ariki speaks up.

“You know, what you were doing during that week was completely unfair. I was at a disadvantage throughout all of it.” He kept going on and on about his woes through the week and at some point you stop him and ask: “Well, would you like me to stop teasing you?” You asked knowing what his answer would be. You start slipping back into weariness as you hear his answer ‘no’, as you let sleep carry you away you hoped that you would get the opportunity to go through this again now knowing the “punishment” makes the work so much more gratifying.  

-Admin Nani

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

🏰⚔️🐲👑👑👑 DMODT 55 - decided this would be the full draft

Luca fought the separation, his son wailing miserably as Eren left. Armin and Hanji left to soothe his son as Eren hurried through the castle to the keep. With repeated explosions, most of the doors had been ripped from their hinges, the space nothing at all like the busting and busy hub he remembered. Everywhere around him was smouldering ruins, including the stables that looked as if they'd taken a direct hit, while people rushed to take care of small spot fires. The small castle well wasn't enough. They were fighting a losing battle and exhausting themselves in the process. Anger filled the omega as he shifted, violent storm clouds gathering to match his mood. All of this was so fucking pointless that it disgusted every fibre of his being. Flapping his wings, rain began to fall as thunder boomed, soldiers shrieking as he took to the sky above them. Things were even worse from the air. Mitras hadn't fared well. Dragons had raised a fair chuck of the city to the ground. This only spurred on his anger as he roared. Hanji may have been right, the battlefield may have been the worse place possible as his mind began to see every single red cloak as the enemy, not just people forced into service by their horrible queen. If they could devastate Eldia, then he could devastate them back. Dipping and weaving on the wind, he roared breath of storm along the enemy lines, the pelting rains and ripping winds making it impossible for the enemy to gain the upper ground as they were forced to dive for cover. Queen Dina had picked the wrong dragon to fuck with. Eren following the chain of destruction right back to the port, driving as much of the enemy from his lands as possible. A single dragon could sway the course of battle, Marley might have three, yet he highly doubted those dragons wanted to be there, or that they chose to become instruments of war. High above the port, he eyed the battleships along the coast. Hanji's intel had been correct. Each harpoon and long distance gun was mounted on a wooden platform, with a layer of what seemed to be of steel on top the top. The wood would absorb a great deal of the shock, but it was also the weakest part of the structure. If the platforms integrity was compromised, the recoil would more than likely rip the thick bolts holding the unit together from their housings. Swooping over the ships, they fired in his direction as the battle dragons took notice of his current appearance. He didn't wish to hurt fellow dragons, but if he could cripple them enough for them to be "useless" they wouldn't be able to continue to destroy Eldia. Taking a deep breath, he rained fire down on the ships, the rain falling around them was no match for his breath that heated the metal, and set the world ablaze. As the naval officers rushed to take cover, he pulled back, going back over the ships in a second deadly wave. It was while he had his back turned that the first battle dragon thought to make its move, strong claws tearing into his back as the two of them "collided" midair. The shock was enough to knock him down momentarily, but not enough to knock him from the sky completely. Twisting, he roared as his back was torn open, his wing narrowly missing the snapping jaws of the battle dragon. Catching the beasts giant eyes, his heart hardened. There was nothing left inside this once great beast. No spark of life. Just empty black pain. Marley had stripped everything that made this dragon who they were from them. Killing them was now the kinder option. Unleashing a breath of fire, the dragon roared under the assault, releasing him and howling in pain as it body twisted. With its face and wings on fire, it fell hard to crash between two ships, managing to capsize one in the massive wave that its body made. It brought him no pleasure to turn his breath against another dragon, and he'd never though he would. With the dragon gone, he turned back to the ships, the ones suffering the effects of his breath were covered with people abandoning ship. Good. Let them. If they chose to be cowards in order to survive, then that was the smart choice to make. Raising himself back up over the battle, Eren roared, praying that Mikasa and Erwin could hear him, or at least see him. He prayed his presence would give them strength to last that bit longer as he turned his attention to the rest of the naval fleet, a fresh wave sitting a few hundred metres out to sea. They were his first targets. Again with a breath of fire, he covered the ships. Most of the personal was below deck. He wasn't a water dragon, or an ice dragon, so he wasn't as competent as they were with underwater magic, leaving him unable to go for the ship's massive propellers. All he could do was leave them smouldering wrecks waiting for rescue, and leave Marley to restrategise before launching a fresh wave of ships. Heading back to the coast, in the time he'd been gone, the ship's that were still able to had reloaded, harpoons fired towards his body with alarming speed and accuracy. Using the magic of his storm, he sent lightening hurtling down to the cannons and guns. He needed to land. He needed to find Erwin and Zeke, and get them both back to the safety of the castle as soon as possible. He'd used a fair share of magic, and exhaustion was hitting far too soon. He had to trust Mikasa and her squad would live, his sister the bravest warrior he'd ever met. Setting his eyes to the battle, he mistakenly turned his back to ships, thinking his breath had taken care of the imminent threat. Hearing a whizzing noise, he turned just in time for a harpoon to rip through his wing and side, the chain was broken, but the force of them impact sent him falling from the sky and onto the beach below. His body shifting back to human form just as he landed, driving the wind from his lungs as his shoulders hit the ground first. Confused and dazed he blinked up at the sun. The world suddenly so silent that terror filled him. With a rush, everything came back to him. The stench of the blood on the beach. The sound of the screaming. The clashing metal of swords and bangs from rifles. The pain... god... the pain. With ginger fingers, his hand went to his right side. Blood gushing from the wound there as his magic tried to heal what it could. Coughing sadly, he couldn't move in his current condition... and he was fucking terrified that this was it for him. That he was about to die having accomplished nothing but ruin for his country. He was so fucking scared. Each cough hurt his body, causing him to twitch and spasm. Tears ran from his eyes as he continued to stare up at the sun. Armin was right. He'd needed to rest... "Eren!" Dazed, Eren rolled his head limply to the direction the voice had come from. The figure above him blocking out the sun as they all but glowed red. It was pretty, like a dragon... a smile coming to his lips. Dropping to his knees beside him, without the blinding light of the sun, or the shadows hiding his face, Zeke came into view. The alpha wearing a rich red cloak with looked to be scales woven into it. Gently the man took his face in his hands "Eren?" "Z-Zeke?" Coughing, Eren tried to gather enough moisture in his mouth to speak "Eren, you're ok. You're going to be ok. Do you understand?" "Z-Zeke?" "I'm here. I'm here, omega" Pressing one hand to his bleeding side, Zeke swore "How bad...?" "You'll be ok. Where were you?! I've been so worried..." Zeke was a terrible liar... worry written all over his face as he tried to stem the bleeding "Porco... Queen Dina..." Zeke's expression turned first to surprise then anger as it came together for the alpha "My mother did this" Eren nodded as he coughed, whimpering in pain. He didn't think he'd find Zeke so soon. Behind Zeke, a shadow appeared, Eren's eyes widened as he tried to warn the alpha. "You're not the man I thought you were" Standing behind Zeke, Yelena placed her foot on the man's back as he tore her sword from where it impaled the alpha. Zeke's eyes were wide as his hands went to the bleeding wound in his chest. Neither the alpha nor Eren could believe that Yelena had been the one to run their sword through Zeke. The incident had barely happened when soldiers were upon Yelena, forcing her to turn away before she could savour her victory "Zeke!" Slumping over him, Zeke coughed warm, wet blood across Eren's borrows clothes, Eren pushing the alpha up enough that Zeke fell to rest with his head upon Eren's chest, with his body up against the omega's like they were two lovers laying in bed. No. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Moving his hand, he summoned up his magic, trying to heal the alpha. Grabbing his hand, Zeke rasped out "Don't" "I need to heal you..." "She's good... she's severed my spinal cord. I can't feel my legs" A wound that severe... it was a wonder Zeke was still able to talk. Lowering his hand, Zeke held his over Eren's, pressing them both to his swell "Tell me, is the baby ok?" God. He couldn't... he couldn't tell Zeke the truth "Yes. They're just fine... Historia said they were protected by my dragon" "That's good... so good... I'm sorry I couldn't be the alpha you needed" The sincerity of Zeke's words had Eren sobbing "No. You tried... you're going to be a great dad..." "We both know that's not true. I wasn't a good man" "Zeke, please. Please, you can't die" He didn't love Zeke... but he appreciated him. He appreciated the way he'd started to try. The way he'd never hurt him or forced him into bed. The way he held his hair back when he was sick, or held him close when he was scared on the ship "That you'd shed a tear for me, proves you're going to be a better mother than mine ever was" "No... Zeke, please. You have to stay awake. You have to meet this baby..." "That you're both ok... I couldn't ask for anything more... I need... need to tell you" Zeke dissolved into coughs as Eren tried to pull the alpha closer to him. There was so much blood... Zeke's breathing was horrific to hear. The wet gasps as the alpha clung to life "The sword... the sword on my... you need to take it... Obsydin's mate... made the sword" The omega had no idea what that meant... he couldn't even find the words to ask. Coughing at his own pain, Zeke's fingertips dug into Eren's belly, the alpha letting out a choked sob "Eren... I'm scared... I'm scared of what comes next" "Shhh. You don't need to be scared... you're going to be ok. You're going to be ok, and this baby is going to be ok" "I don't... I'm sorry for how I treated you... I'm... so sorry... I loved you... the best I could" "No. Zeke. No. It's ok..." "Thank you, Eren... I know it wasn't a real marriage... but for it was the greatest dream... you and our baby..." Zeke's choked breathing hitched four or five times as he tried to get a breath down, the alpha letting out one last soft breath... "Zeke?!" Shaking Zeke, he got no reply. No. No. No... "Zeke! No. Please... please... you have to wake up. Please... please... don't leave me here..." Holding Zeke tight, Eren sobbed against him. His magic flaring out of control as his world narrowed down to the two of them. Zeke wasn't the best alpha. He wasn't the greatest and in most cases he was a downright arsehole, but he'd tried for the baby... the baby he thought to be his... It wasn't fair. Zeke was trying to be a better person. He was growing and learning... Drawn by his magic, a second if the three battle dragons landed to Eren's right. The large yellow beast, roaring over him, the animal oozing anger and bloodlust. Laying Zeke down, the omega closed his half open eyes, pressing a kiss to the alpha's forehead. They were still on the battlefield, the battle dragon pulling him out of his headspace "Eren?!" Jumping over him, Erwin charged recklessly towards the dragon "Erwin, get back!" "Let me handle this!" "Not on your own..." Fuck... Pushing himself up, it felt like his entire side was on fire. The wounds deep enough that they'd probably scar, even with his magic slowly stitching the torn muscle and skin back into place. Flapping it's wings, and raising onto its back legs the dragon let out a fiery breath, Erwin dodging to the side "Eren, what can I do to stop it?!" "They've lost their minds! Marley has control of them!" Running towards the water, the alpha was drawing its attention away from Eren "So I should kill it?!" He hated it. He hated that there was no other option. Wrapping an arm around his waist, Eren nodded, barely on his feet "Beneath the wings or the throat, just beneath the jaw!" "I don't think so!" Crashing into Erwin, Porco had his blade drawn. Erwin's attention now split between his two opponents. Eyeing the man who's fault all of this happened, Eren's anger surged again, his fingers cracking as sparks shot out like lightening "Eren?!" "Porco is mine! I owe him for the excellent accomodation" Laughing, Porco pointed his sword towards him "I see you escaped" "I see you're unfortunately still alive. They always say cockroaches would survive the end of the world" "You wound me. What can a half dead monster like you accomplish?" "You're about to find out" Porco charged, Eren dropped to his knee as he placed his good hand upon the ground. Vines rushing from his hand, to ensnare Porco's legs, tripping the alpha "What was that?" "Pieck, now!" Yelling out for Pieck, a shot rang out, hitting Eren in his left shoulder. The omega yelling out as he yanked his back. It wasn't like the vines were going anywhere "Eren?!" "I'm ok, Erwin!" He wasn't ok. He definitely wasn't ok... but what else could he do? Erwin was fighting a dragon, the least he could do was take care of two humans. Abandoning his bleeding side, Eren placed both hands down, the vines around Porco surging into the man's body, impaling him and forcing him to release his sword. Now for Pieck. She'd had time to reload... Only, when her second shot rang out, it was Erwin who was struck. Fucking Marley. He was so done. Snarling, his eyes turned black, Eren raising his hand towards where the shot had come from, shooting razor sharp winds in Pieck's direction. Hidden upon a rise, the sandbags in front of the small woman were obliterated before her body was torn to shreds. He scream sounded like the sweetest of music to his ears, as the world turned red. Raising his busted left arm towards the yellow dragon, the beast roared in challenge, Eren's winds diverting its fiery breath "Sorry, Erwin but this one's mine" Breathing in, Eren summoned up his storm breath, his hand dropped as he unleashed it on the yellow dragon, the beast clearly not expecting a dragon's breath from a human, it footing growing unstable as lightening shot through its body, sending it crashing sideways. Erwin was quick to lunge for its exposed side, driving his sword through the softer scales near the wing and into the heart of the beast, its howl of pain snuffed out in an instant. Collapsing on the spot, Eren couldn't hold himself up any longer. Any extra magic he'd drawn out with his anger, gone. His body leaden, as he gasped for breath. Yelena was missing, and Erwin didn't know about Zeke's death... holding his own side, Erwin jogged over to him, blood spilling over the alpha's hand. Kneeling beside him, Erwin pulled him against him "What are you doing here?" "Zeke's dead... Yelena killed him" "Shit. Alright. We need to get you out of here... where the hell were you?" "Castle dungeons... Yelena... need to watch out for Yelena" "Can you move?" "Give me a moment" "Eren, we don't have a moment..." "Then go. I'll be ok" "I can't just leave you" "I'm not leaving Zeke here... he's... still my husband" "Eren..." "Just... leave me next to him. I can protect myself... you're wounded..." "I'll be fine. She nicked the side" It was more than a nick. Erwin was still bleeding, but his magic wouldn't heal the alpha. He was too weak... "Go. Bring back reinforcements... I'm sure Mikasa saw me..." "I..." "Erwin, just help me to Zeke. I won't move..." Erwin growled, before lifting him. It hurt so fucking much, Eren biting through his lip an attempt not to cry out in pain. Moving him to Zeke's side, Erwin rolled Zeke half over him "I'll be right back. Stay there and don't move" He wasn't going anywhere, and Zeke's body was now acting as a shield. Brushing his hair back from his face, Erwin's expression softened "It's good to have you back" "It's good to be back... Just don't tell Armin I got hurt... he's never going to let me hear the end of it" Erwin winked, both of them finding the action strange. Coughing lightly, the alpha nodded "Your secrets safe with me. Now stay down" * Erwin had only just left when screeching filled the air, the beach still covered with soldiers fighting as the third battle dragon returned. With its size and power, the dragon could have easily left another trail of destruction back to the castle. A battle ship was back up and running by the sound of it, and the battle was shifting back in Marley's favour. Where the fuck was Erwin... shit was about to get real all over again, and this plan now seemed completely stupid and terrible. Word hadn't spread that Zeke was dead, and as he held his husband, Eren wished the alpha was alive to see this war end... all the warmth of the man was already gone, all Eren had was the memory now. Fading in and out, Eren wasn't doing great. He could feel the baby moving, but to him it felt kind of slow and sluggish. His head hurt something fierce, and a growing migraine was building behind his eyes. For some unknown reason, despite being a human pincushion, Porco was yelling for Pieck and Yelena, the alpha only killing himself faster, though Eren had thought him dead already. He'd hoped he was dead... The alpha had caused him to be separated from his precious son. With his hand flat against the ground, his magic wouldn't flare. He couldn't draw the vines in tighter to end the alpha's life... if he could have laughed, he would have. For all his talks of peace, he'd killed today. He'd killed and he'd enjoyed it. What kind of a person did that make him? Historia probably wouldn't wish to tell him now he'd killed dragons. He'd sworn to Draecia that he wouldn't be like Obsydin, yet now he really was a killer... not that he hadn't killed before. Was this his karma for his actions? Watching the green dragon loop around, the great beast let lose a torrent of flame along the beach, no discriminating between friend or foe. The smell of burning flesh causing the omega to vomit, while the victims screams echoed in his ears. Scrunching his eyes closed, Eren concentrated on his breathing... he needed magic. He needed to bring the dragon down. His storm was still overhead, the rain spitting a miserable drizzle intermittently... but if he didn't have the magic to finish Porco, he definitely didn't have the magic to bring down a dragon... With shifting winds, the dragon above him swooped down, Zeke's body torn back by its claws, leaving him horribly exposed. Zeke slipping through his fingers as his body was thrown aside. Opening his eyes again, the green battle dragon walking over him to place its front two feet either side of his shoulders, before roaring in his face. Glaring back at the beast, his own snarl wasn't nearly as impressive. Raising one large foot, Eren thought he was completely fucked... "Get the fuck away from him!" Oh... now he was definitely hallucinating. It was no surprise that in his final moments Levi came to mind. Rearing up, the dragon turned his attention to fake Levi... Tears welled in his eyes at the sight of his mate. Levi's hair was longer, his appearance rougher... but he was just as beautiful as he'd ever been. In his hands, the alpha wielded Obsydin's sword confidently "You don't touch him with your filthy hands" It even sounded like Levi. Of course it did, it was all in his mind... "Eren, stay where you are! I'll deal with this bitch!" Atop the green dragon, Yelena laughed. Trust her to ruin his final moments for him "Just stay there Eren. I've killed your husband, now I'll kill your mate" Charging at each other, Levi's moves were nearly too fast for Eren's eyes to track. A human shouldn't stand a chance against a crazed dragon, but Levi was holding his own. The man was snarling, his nails still black, but the air of madness was gone from around him. "Eren!" Grabbed from under the armpits, Eren was dragged backwards from Levi and Yelena's fight by Erwin, the alpha pulling him far enough back that he no longer faced being trampled. Crouched behind him, Erwin's face was right up against his ear "Is that... Levi?" "You see him too?" "He came back..." Eren blinked trying to clear the tears from his eyes. Was... was that actually Levi? But how?! And why?! "I've sent word of Zeke's death through the forces, but we've taken heavy casualties. How are you? Can you move?" He couldn't feel most of his body due to exhaustion except his shoulder and his side, those hurt like a bitch. Groaning, he shook his head, he couldn't even feel his baby... the baby... his breath hitching in fear "No... I can't... I can't feel my baby..." Placing his hand on Eren's stomach, Erwin rubbed softly. His instincts deciding that he needed to growl, still, whatever he did, the baby kicked softly. Taking both his hands, Erwin placed them on his stomach, the baby kicking again, Eren gasping with relief "Did you feel that?" "Y-yes..." "Are you still bleeding? I can smell exhaustion and pain?" "I don't know... half of this blood is mine and half is Zeke's" "Just focus on breathing" "Erwin... Zeke's body... please make sure she doesn't hurt him anymore" "We need to deal with Yelena first. I'm going to back Levi up" "Is... he's really back?" "Yeah, he is" Oh god... he wasn't prepared to talk to Levi again. He'd never imagined him coming back... Erwin patted his shoulder "Let us protect you" Levi had other plans, as Erwin advanced on the green dragon, his mate growled in warning "This bitch is mine" "I have a bone of my own to pick with her. I hear she's responsible for killing Prince Zeke" "Prince Zeke wasn't the man I thought him to be. He lost himself chasing that little Eldia slut, and fawning over their baby. Like he'd make a good father... Zeke was a god, but even god's fall" Yelena had gotten under Levi's skin. The alpha finally striking recklessly, with Erwin drawing Yelena's attention by striking at the dragon's tail. Growling, Levi pointed his sword at Erwin "Stay out of this!" "You heard him, stay out of this!" Being the stupid arsehole he was, Erwin didn't back down "I won't let you hurt either of them" Laughing, Yelena turned her dragon towards Erwin "What's a one armed arm bastard like you going to accomplish?" "I'm going to draw your attention while he attacks" Throwing himself forward, Levi skidded on the beach sand, thrusting Obsydin's sword into the dragon. Rearing in pain, Yelena jumped from the saddle of the dragon, drawing a pistol from her side as she rolled to crouch. Aiming the gun in his direction, Eren's eyes met hers, the woman's expression almost bored as she pulled the trigger. Flinching, the bullet never hit. Erwin between him and Yelena as Levi attacked from behind. Parrying the blow Yelena's gun was sliced in two, the woman going for her sword, but that wasn't what caught Eren's eye "Erwin, move!" The alpha stood no chance, the flailing dragon letting out a long deep breath of fire. Eren screaming as Erwin dropped to the sand clutching his face. Half his cloak was gone in an instant, as the man howled in pain. God. Why was he so useless?! He was a fucking dragon! Erwin had dragged him out the way, he'd risked himself for him, now the man was injured further. He couldn't have possibly recovered from Pieck's earlier shot. He needed to help him... It was like dragging a dead horse through mud, of at least that was how he felt to him. Crawling across the sand like an idiot, he winced at each clash of swords between Levi and Yelena. Their fight was like a cat playing with a mouse. Levi clearly stronger than Yelena, the woman on the back foot, yet fighting like she wasn't. It was a long few moments for him to reach Erwin, pulling him into his lap. The whole right side was blistered and burnt. The sight revolting, yet Eren forced himself not to look away. Praying to whoever he was listing, his magic gathered for a moment, but there wasn't enough to heal the alpha's burns. With tears dripping on Erwin's face, the fucker smiled "You shouldn't be here" "You're an idiot... why? You took the shot..." "Maybe I wanted to protect you? Maybe I'm just a coward?" "You're not a coward, you're an idiot! You have a whole kingdom that needs you" "No. They don't need me... it's time for a new prince" "Don't you dare lump that on me" "Not you... Armin. He's going to need you" As Yelena screamed, both of them looked towards her. Pinned to the ground, Levi stood on her arms, the woman kicking up a storm, yet couldn't dislodge him. Bringing Obsydin's sword down, Levi decapitated Yelena effortlessly. Both of them flinched away from the sight. Stepping off her, Levi eyed the wounded dragon. He was just one man, where as Eren and Erwin were two, and the centre of the hurt dragons attention. As the dragon prepared to breathe, Levi bolted towards them. Throwing the sword down about a foot in front of them, the alpha pulled his cloak up covering what he could of, of the pair. Not understanding, the dragons breath didn't reach the three of them. Behind Levi, the sword absorbed the magic, before bouncing the magic back at the dragon. Weakened, it was caught in the fire, the creature burning to death where it stood. Straightening up, Levi met his eyes, before they travelled down to Eren's swollen stomach. Impulsively, Eren blurted out "Erwin... it's Levi's baby" Erwin smiled, his hand patting at Eren's leg until he took it. He'd been meaning to comfort Erwin, but with Levi's eyes on his stomach, the wrong thing had fallen from his mouth "I'm happy for you. I know how much you wanted that" "Historia confirmed it... Armin knows" "You've seen him?" "He and Moblit broke me out. Everyone at the castle is waiting for you to come home" "Eren, you're a good kid... I didn't tell you that before... You don't have to be strong for me. We both know it's not good" "If you think I'm going to let you off that easily, you're an idiot" "All you've done for Eldia. You deserve to be happy. And you're going to guide Armin as he takes over as prince" "Officially?" "It's time Eldia had a blood prince who doesn't hide in the shadows" No... it wasn't going to happen. He wasn't losing another prince today. He didn't care that he was verging of passing out, Eren fought it... but fuck, he felt like shit. Eren was so tired he didn't know his words were mumbled, and slurred. Erwin was so out of it in pain, that he didn't realise the omega wasn't making much sense at all. Somehow they were managing to communicate, and concentrating on Erwin meant not looking at the alpha that had his heart racing and their baby kicking up a storm "Stop acting like you're dying. You're not going to be winning any beauty contests, but you'll be back to being an arse in no time" "I release the commands on you..." "Don't say that..." "Eren, I do. You're the bravest fake Prince of Eldia to date... better than this one at any rate" "Erwin... I already lost my husband today... please don't leave me too... he... He wouldn't want you to die" "You brought out the best in him. You brought the best out of all of us" He was so tired... he couldn't keep his eyes open "Eren, sleep" Levi's voice was soft as he gave the command. Eren unable to disobey the command, as his eyes slid closed. He didn't want to fall asleep. He wanted to see Mikasa for himself. He wanted to see Erwin taken to a healer. He... maybe wanted to talk to his alpha... but he was so fucking scared of what Levi had to say, and so fucking angry the man had left him to face all of this alone... yet, he fell asleep right there with the war continuing around him.

[the-barn-rat]

IB 1. Dianora Brixie, Sk.

SUP FOLKS i’ve decided im literally going to just post monster hunters (working title Iron Bound) as i fucking write it?? because 1. i really like hearing what people think about what’s happening/what’s going to happen as i go, which ties into 2. I Want The Validation

this is literally a fresh completely unedited draft, so there will be a lot of changes & additions, especially to descriptive setting prose. that being said, if there’s specific shit you want to hear more about immediately, lemme know and i’ll make sure it goes in draft 2

These posts will all be tagged “monster hunters draft” in case you want to track them or don’t want to see them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: that monster hunters shit i’ve been planning since like november

.....

Sigi is the only one who can tell that she is distracted. They are twins, and so they know each other’s tics and tells, but it still feels like a weakness. He eyes her across the table, squints and tilts his head—dark and owlish like hers, with sharper angles—and she lets out a long breath through her nose, ignoring him. A folded-up letter sits heavy in the pocket of her waistcoat. Dia can’t think about it now.

At the centre of the cabin, the hunter kneels for preparation. She could be made of lifeless bronze but for the steady rise and fall of her breastplate. The mentor, whose virtue-name is Eager, clasps golden ornaments into her hair and onto her black horns.

There’s a murmur outside, beyond the stone walls and locked shutters. Townspeople have gathered, doubtless fascinated by the spectacle of a hunting crew. Dia ignores them in favour of the crossbow resting in front of her: she fidgets with it, checks the springs and sights and checks them again. There is nothing wrong with the crossbow, but she needs to occupy her hands.

Eager steps back, and the hunter stands. Dia never feels right sitting down when the hunter stands. The hunter is too tall, too broad, and it makes her nervous. She feels as though she must be ready to flee or hide at any moment, however futile an exercise that would be.

At least this one is Cornuta, and not one of the stranger breeds. Not Seguna with their twisted animal faces, or fish-like Pescqui with their gills. Hollow comforts. This hunter could still slaughter all of them if she chose to. If the rumours are true, she might yet choose to.

Eager produces an elegantly carved mahogany box, about the size of his own palm. He presses his thumb to the rune on its front, and it opens for its keeper. The single vial inside glows a soft, sickly yellow-green.

“In defense of the common folk, your masters,” Eager intones, “sharpen your senses and steel your mind.”

Wordlessly, the hunter takes the vial, uncaps it, and swallows its contents. If Dia were closer, she might see the hunter’s pupils shrink down to dots for a breath and then dilate until her irises are slender lilac rings. Dia prefers not to be closer until absolutely necessary.

Sigi fits a belt of flasks and tiny grenades around the hunter’s hips. Dia slides the crossbow into the hunter’s hands, checks the straps on her quivers, and backs away.

The pathfinder speaks: “It was last sighted eight miles north of town, in a valley bog between two nameless peaks. We have no expert testimony, but eyewitness accounts continue to support our initial conclusion that the creature is a green hag.”

“You hear that, Ferro?” Eager says, addressing the hunter directly. “This is a fawn’s assignment.”

The hunter nods once, terse. In theory, her kind can speak. Dia has never heard this one’s voice.

“Medic, is she sound?” Eager says.

The medic, Antare, has not risen from his seat at the table. “Do you reckon she injured herself kneeling on the floor?” he asks.

Eager reddens. His mouth twists underneath his full silver-specked beard. “The rituals are not for nothing,” he starts.

Antare sighs, but he stands. He’s the tallest and broadest of them, the only one who can look the hunter right in the eye. Dia has wondered privately if that’s why they sent him to replace the last medic. If she snaps again, he’s the only one with half a chance.

The medic stands square before the hunter. “The body is sound,” he says.

Eager says, “You haven’t…”

Antare cuts him short. “I checked her over at dawn,” he says. “She’s in excellent health. The body is sound.���

“The path is clear,” says the pathfinder, effectively delaying the inevitable argument.

“The steel will bite,” says Dia.

“The fire will burn,” says Sigi.

Eager collects himself. “Murat’s light guide you to your quarry,” he says. “In his name, Valiera’s Nezetta Six Ferro, strike true.”

The hunter gives a shallow, wordless bow from the hips, and otherwise does not respond to any of the proceedings. Eager unlatched and opens the door, and the smell of pig shit and springtime mud billow in before the hunter steps out.

The small gathered crowd flows away from her like water. They fall silent, staring up at this tamed creature of legend. She may well be the first and last they ever see; Apla is a small, unimportant farming village well-protected from most fronts of the First War. This hag is an irregularity at best.

She stands there, not looking at the people, until Antare brings the horse they bought from one of the farmers for well above its value. It looks small and scruffy beside the hunter. When she sits astride, it drops its parrot-mouthed muzzle and arches its ewe neck as though it knows that this is the most important thing it will do in its life.

A murmur starts to rise again from the farmers. Dirty-faced and small-minded, they cast wide-eyed glances at each other, up at the hunter, at the crew standing behind her. Dia knows what they will say, to each other and to Eager and to whomever else is stupid enough to stay outside the tower for longer than necessary. They will continue to say it until the hunter returns with the head of a hag.

Eager senses the shift. “My friends,” he booms, opening his arms wide. “The hunter is strong and true. She will bring your tormentor’s end.”

“We sure that ain’t a demon also?” someone says.

“Go, hunter,” Eager intones. “Win their hearts and minds with the highest gift.”

The hunter swings the horse about and kicks it into a trot, and then a gallop. None stand in her way. Dia watches horse and rider disappear up the dirt road, between the pig farms and into the encroaching woods.

Dia tunes out the villagers’ concerns as well as Eager’s responses to them. As soon as the hunter is out of sight, she turns back into the tower, giving Sigi a look on her way past. He understands and follows her up to the third level, to the bed chamber she claimed as hers.

Sigi goes to open the shutters on the single window.

“Don’t,” Dia says. “I can’t stand the fucking smell.”

Her twin shrugs. “City smells worse.”

“That’s why we don’t live in the city, either.”

Sigi smirks. “That and no other reason, right?” he says.

Normally, she would laugh. This time, she half-turns away from him and rubs at her eyes. His face falls; she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the folded-up letter.

“Courier caught me right before we boarded the Olunaria,” she says. “I forgot about it until this morning.”

When she holds it out to him, he approaches it like a skittish deer. He reads it in silence, a small frown wrinkling his brow. He does not shed a tear; neither had she. They were never close to their lord father.

“What does it mean for us?” he says carefully, once he’s through.

Dia sighs. “Hopefully, very little. We weren’t expecting an inheritance, were we?”

“No, I meant…” Sigi says. “Should we go to Brixi? Cecilia may need us.”

“Cecilia needs us as far away as possible,” Dia snorts. “If we go now, the nobility will decide that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to mine the estate.”

“Or perhaps that Signore Fiadri’s bastard twins have come to their sister’s aid in her time of mourning,” Sigi says. He is charmingly naïve, sometimes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We can’t leave the crew now.”

He doesn’t argue. He folds the letter up and slips it back into her pocket. “I’ll be in the cellar,” he says. “Knock before you come in.”

And that’s the end of that, she supposes. They ought to write to Cecilia, eventually, but that will fall to Dia. Sigi is better at expressing emotions, but Dia knows how to avoid political misunderstandings.

There is no one here to call for wine. This little tower is barely maintained and has not hosted a hunting crew in years.

Dia goes to the pantry on the main floor, freshly stocked with bread, cheese, eggs, cured pork, and root vegetables from the local baron’s kitchen. The carrots and turnips are firm and fresh, but they’re not what she wants.

“No drink allowed in a sentinel tower,” says a voice at the door. The pathfinder leans against the frame, a performative boredom etched across his face. Every member of the crew is well-dressed and groomed, but the pathfinder’s class is still obvious to a trained eye. He wears silks, embroidery, and ennui like the wearing is sport.

He pats the limestone wall. “These are sacred stones.”

Dia stands up straight and gives a short curtsy. It feels ridiculous when she’s wearing breeches and a waistcoat. It must look ridiculous, too, because the pathfinder gives a snort of mocking laughter.

“My lord,” Dia starts.

“We could see if Apla has a tavern,” he says. “Though they’re as like to brew pig piss into ale as grain.”

She says nothing. He looks her up and down.

“I’ve heard the Fiadri is short a patriarch,” he says. Dia feels a misplaced flare of anger at his flippancy, but then she notes the wine skin dangling from his hand. He holds it out toward her. “Lesson one of crewing: bring your own.”

Dia takes the wine skin. “Thank you, my Lord,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The pathfinder’s brow knits. He tips his head back to squint at her down his aristocratic nose. He always manages to look tired, but now the circles under his eyes are especially pronounced.  “Aren’t you highborn? You’ll take my wine, but you can’t say my name?”

Dia carefully keeps her expression neutral. “Forgive me. It’s safer to stand on ceremony.”

“Fair enough. Drink, it’s Luquian.”

She does. The wine is good: robust and sweet, blooming on her tongue for a long breath after she swallows. She tries to hand the skin back, only to have the pathfinder push it away.

“I have more,” he says. “A Kyriak dry white and a Sahnish spiced red. Both excellent.”

“Each more expensive than that farmer’s horse, I’ll wager,” Dia said, but she took another drink of the Luquian.

“A discerning Brixian palate,” says the pathfinder.

“My lord is too generous,” Dia says, to see if he insists.

“Corso,” says the pathfinder. “Valiera, if you must, though I’m about as near the Valiera seat as you are the Fiadri. If you really think about it, we’re equals.”

“You’re no bastard.”

“Neither do I hope for my brothers to die,” he said, somehow blunt and nonchalant at once. It occurs to Dia that this might be Corso Valiera’s way of offering his condolences. She won’t ask how he knew; information is a pathfinder’s currency. She takes another drink.

“Corso,” she says.

“Dianora,” he says. “There, now we can be colleagues.”

Below their feet, something rumbles like distant thunder. The pathfinder’s thick black brows climb, and Dia sighs and hands him the wineskin. “He’s the more emotional between us,” she offers, by way of explanation.

“And yet you’re the one hiding in the pantry, sharing illicit drinks with your patron’s fifth-born,” says Corso. “At least that sounded productive.”

Dia’s scalp tingles with embarrassment. “I had neither the time nor the space to bring my prototypes,” she snaps.

“Easy, there,” he says and, maintaining eye contact, takes a drink.

She realises, suddenly, that he’s still standing in the doorway, effectively blocking her path. Eager is outside with the masses. Sigi is in the cellar with his concoctions. Antare’s movements are nigh impossible to track. Corso Valiera outranks them all by far.

Dia’s heart beats rabbit-quick. Idiot. “I should go,” she says, controlling her tone. “My sister will expect a reply.”

The pathfinder hums. “Right, yes,” he says. “The worst part, this. The performance. The determination of what parts and pieces of your grief to display, to hide, to inflate for others to notice.”

He seems to turn inward, eyes distant and faded. Dia makes for the door, and the pathfinder stands up straight, blocking her path. He’s not much taller or older than her, but he’s broader and stronger. She doesn’t look him in the eye.

“Take this,” he says.

Dia blinks. The wineskin hangs between them, still mostly full. She reaches out and carefully takes it by the neck, and the pathfinder looks down at her.

“My advice, for what it’s worth, is to write at least four letters and burn the first three.”

She’s quiet and still for long enough that he notices, sighs, takes several deliberate steps backward. It’s the sudden release of tension from a spring, knocking the fear out of her lungs.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Dianora,” he says. When she looks up, he winks. “I’m shocked that you haven’t heard the rumours.”

She has, actually. She assumed they were slander. “I apologize,” she says stiffly. “I’m sure you are an honourable man. I have wronged you with groundless conjecture…”

He waves her off. “Go write your sister,” he says.

A part of her still expects that he’ll stop her as she goes by, but he doesn’t, and she’s left to feel childish and strangely dirty as she half-jogs up to her chamber. She hates it. It’s not Corso Valiera’s fault, really. He gave up a dangerous truth to calm her. Dia wondered, once a heavy door was closed and locked behind her, if he somehow knew or sensed the truth about her.

She takes his advice about the letter, sort of. The first sheet of parchment is utterly wasted on failed greetings alone:

I am so sorry to have heard—

My deepest condolences, dear sister—

We have just received—

This awful spectre follows us to Apla, where—

Father’s timing is impeccable as always—

Dia takes a long pull from the wineskin, corks it, and buries her face in her hands. She might sit there for a minute or an hour, and then she burns the parchment over a candle.

Hoofbeats drum on the dirt road outside. Dia starts: that’s quick, much too quick, even for a hag. She cracks the shutters, holding her nose against the smell. The shaggy brown horse gallops home, riderless.

Dia rushes down the stairs, teetering only once with drink. Corso and Antare stand in the doorway; Eager is outside among the people, has been for hours. Dia stands between the two men, peering out, listening.

“Is it dead? Is the demon dead?”

“We’re doomed. It’ll come for us next.”

“You said the hunter would stop it!”

“It ate my goats.”

“Liar!”

Eager stands, stoic and still, with a hand on the horse’s bridle. The beast is unharmed, without a drop of blood on it that Dia can see. A man comes wading through the crowd, and Eager hands him the reins.

“She has sent the horse back,” Eager intones. “You see? She has returned him unharmed to his master. The hunter will follow in time.”

“He speaks with confidence,” Antare mutters.

“An impressive front,” Corso replies. “He’s about to piss himself, as he should be.” Both Dia and Antare shoot him a look. The pathfinder shrugs and meanders deeper into the tower, ignoring the throng outside and leaving Antare to shut the door.

“I wasn’t aware you were concerned,” says Antare.

“You didn’t see the body,” says Corso. “To be frank, we should already have a courier running back to my father.”

Dia understands, belatedly. “You think she’s gone feral. So suddenly?”

Corso levels her with a look. “You didn’t see the body,” he says again. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and leans against the table at the centre of the room. He looks exhausted. “Maybe, when this is over, we’ll all be reassigned to something normal. I’m fond of the Ottiudi strain, myself, which of course means that the Signore will give me a Seguna. What are the two of you being punished for, by the way? I never asked.”

Antare says nothing. Dia swallows. “We wanted to work a hunting crew,” she says to fill the silence. “Your brother…”

“Ah, yes, right,” says Corso. “The University man himself. I suppose it was the best he could do for a pair of bastards. Terribly sorry that you’ve stepped out into this mess, green as grass.”

Dia has read the last medic’s journals, of course. They all have, but the tension in the pathfinder’s voice is a stretched bowstring, ready to snap. Drinking wine in the pantry, Corso’s face had been a healthy, warm brown. Now, it’s gone grey.

Antare stares out the window like it holds a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “Why would she run off now? She must know she’ll be hunted in turn.”

“You talk like she is a rational, thinking creature,” says Corso. “She was not thinking then, and she is not thinking now. I’ll draft a letter to my father.”

The door swings open. “You’ll do no such thing,” Eager says. “Have a little faith. She either fell off the horse or sent him back and out of danger.”

Corso presses his lips together. Dia thnks that gesture is all that keeps him from yelling at a Brother of Murat.

“You fear her,” Eager says.

“Bloody right I do,” says Corso.

“As you should,” the mentor says, nodding sagely. “As one fears the wolf, or the mountain-lion, or the summer storm. She is a force of nature. She has not lost her mind to a hag.”

Corso scoffs.

Eager presses on. “Do you remember what she was, before? The monsters she slew? She can be that again. It is our task to keep faith and to help her reclaim herself.”

The pathfinder complains, but the mentor helms the ship. They wait. Eager goes back out to the villagers after a time. Dia bangs on the cellar door and tells Sigi what’s happened now. Corso produces the Sahnish red and drinks most of it himself. Antare seems to vanish and reappear at will.

Near midnight, Corso balls up the fourth draft of his letter to the Valiera and tosses it into the hearth. Sigi reaches across the table for what’s left of the Kyriak white. Eager joins them, at last, and bolts the door behind him.

“Sleep soundly, my friends,” the mentor says. “Murat’s light will guide her home.” He flows up the stairs, calm as anything. Antare is the first to follow. Sigi goes next.

Dia meets Corso’s eye. “You saw the body,” she says.

The pathfinder’s face is lit with firelight behind and candlelight before. It flickers across his skin, casting a twisting grimace across his still features. “There was no head,” he says. Slurs, but only barely. “She had not cut it off, mind you. It was gone. It was paste on the stone. My nephew found a tooth in the garden, just last week.”

Dia nods. She sits in silence for a time, watching the fire burn. “If you’re right, then she’ll be gone soon.”

He doesn’t respond. She rises, at last, and puts herself to bed, where she stares at the ceiling until a dozen shouting voices stir her at dawn.

She staggers down the stairs just in time to see Antare shoving his way past Corso and Eager, rushing out the door with his equipment under his arm. Outside, another small throng has gathered, milling about with wordless shrieks and cries. Antare shouts, disperses them just enough for Dia to see the hunter’s body, face down in the mud.

The smell of pig shit hits her then, stained with something acrid and sharp that burns in Dia’s lungs. The hunter’s face is tipped just enough that her nose is not submerged in muck, but her eyes are shut, and they don’t flutter when Antare turns her over. The medic’s eyes bulge, and he swears.

“Clear the table,” he shouts over the din. “Clear it, there’s no time to move her!”

Antare lifts the hunter’s body, draping her across his arms like a gruesome bride, and marches through the villagers in a straight line. It’s only when he passes through the door that Dia sees the gore and sinew dropping from the empty socket of the hunter’s right shoulder.

“Alchemist!” the mentor shouts. Sigi has already recovered Antare’s equipment. He arranges knives and cloth and bottles of bubbling fluid on the table beside the filthy, prone body.

Corso mumbles. “Just let her die. Just let her die. It would be a mercy.”

Eager grips him by the shoulders and shakes, once, before turning to Dia. “Take him away, girl. You don’t need to see this.”

Dia wants to protest that she’s seen any number of surgeries and dissections. Instead, she grabs Corso by the arm, decorum be damned, and pulls him toward the stairs.

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come For Us

Chapter 51

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

As I have stated already, my laptop is broken at present so please excuse grammar mistakes and the lack of GIFs and pics.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

HERE is the link to Chapter 1 on Ao3

Rating - Mature

Thomas looked at the letter in his hand and rubbed his face. It was the last correspondence sent by Charlotte, declaring her joy at him informing her that the mines would be closing, three days ahead of schedule, Friday week and that he would leave the Saturday morning, hopefully making it to them by the Wednesday after.

It was the Sunday after the mines had closed, and he had not made his way to Pembrokeshire. He had not made even an attempt at it. The reason being that on the Friday, as the mines were shut for the winter, the snow began to fall, and continued to fall throughout the night, until, by Saturday afternoon, it had fallen until it left two feet of freshly fallen snow on the ground, and it blocked any form of transport to or indeed from Allerdale Hall. It left Thomas alone, more alone than usual, there was no Mrs Phillips, no men, just him and Blake, alone with whatever ghosts haunted the house, his ghosts. He had seen the shadows from time to time, he was convinced that he had started to see Edith’s silhouette, and Enola’s, even Margaret McDermott, oddly, the one that concerned him most was his mother’s as he had the least to do with that one. It scared him no end. He thought of what Edward had said and was forced to acknowledge, he could possibly be going mad.

He walked into the kitchen, Blake all but attached to his side and looked around. With Mrs Phillips coming daily, food was brought fresh for the most part, with her not able to make it through the snow, there was little there to eat. He scoured for a few minutes, but flour was the most edible food he could find. Sitting on the chair by the empty fireplace, void of heat, he sighed, Blake placing his head on his lap. “I fear we will starve here at this rate,” Blake whined in sympathy with his master’s tone. “I am not sure what we can do.”

The next moment, Blake’s ears perked and he looked to the door before barking once and rushing to the steps. Curious, Thomas followed. There, looking at him in his doorway was Mr Parsons, Mr Carson and Edward. “How…?” “The snow is deep, but not too deep for a workhorse and a plow.” Mr Parsons smiled.

Edward stepped forward causing Thomas’s attention to come to him. He could sense Edward looking over his appearance, no doubt disapproving of the further loss of condition he had endured from further lack of sleep and proper eating in the near a month since they had spoken, the day Edward had come to inform him of Charlotte’s pneumonia. “Sir Sharpe, the weather will worsen, as you well know from your years here. This house will be unreachable after the snows begin again, you will perish here alone if you remain. We cannot get a carriage or even a good cart up the road, merely the horse and plow. Mr Parsons and Mr Carson will bring the Allerdale horses out of the stables and to the road, including your riding horse, but I fear little more than yourself and Blake can come also as a result, no one can carry luggage in it. Grab only what you truly need and we will get you from here.”

“I…”

“I spoke with Reverend Wickham, he will house your horses until Spring, for only the smallest charge of their feed and a donation to the fixing of the church roof, I doubt you or indeed Lady Sharpe would mind, a hundred pounds is nothing really considering,” Edward stated. “I think two hundred a fairer price for such kindness.” “Aye, that will pay for further work.” Mr Carson smiled, having always wanted the town church to be improved.

“If we cannot get the carriage out…” “I am sorry, Sir,” Mr Parsons shook his head. “The snow has collapsed the shed it is in. We’d never dig it out today.” Accepting it was futile, Thomas nodded. “I will get only what I need.” He stated, relieved to be leaving the house at all, much less with immediate effect.

He rushed up the stairwell, going to the bedroom he shared with his wife, the bedlinen tussled from his fitful attempts at sleep. When he felt a presence behind him, he shuddered at the worry of what it was before the sound of heavy footfalls caused him to turn around and sigh in relief at seeing Edward there.

“Carson and Mr Parsons are getting the horses. What is essential?” “I can buy most everything I need but I require some of the plans for the machines, I cannot make the improvements I must through the winter without them.” “Then get them and let us get from this house immediately,” Edward ordered.

“You did this, why?” “Mr Parsons and Mrs Phillips have been all but frantic as to you being here without food or such, Mr Carson owes you his employment and does not want any harm to befall anyone and how could I ever look my sister in the face again and say I did nothing to assist her husband when there was chance to? As a doctor and your brother-in-law, I am obliged on two fronts.” The floorboards above them creaked with sounds akin to footfalls. “Jesus, get what you need and let us go. If the cold did not get you, this place would.”

“It is their ghosts,” Thomas stated, looking up, recalling how he ran into the room he and Lucille used to do their most horrid of deeds in to see Lucille standing over the lifeless body of Edith Cushing, just above their heads. “They are reminding me of what I allowed happen, of my wrongs.”

“Well, as much as I feel you need to recall such, if that is their ghosts, I do not like their manner of doing it as it affects me also, so get what you need and leave them to their haunting.” Edward looked around. “Clothes?” “I will get more,” Thomas stated, grabbing the few pieces of paper that allowed him to pay for everything from that room before rushing up the stairs to the attic to grab his paperwork to bring with him.

Twenty minutes later, Thomas closed the door of his family home, with only a satchel by his side and the clothes on his back and walked to the three men holding the three horses belonging to Allerdale Hall, two for the carriage and his riding one, as well as the large Clydesdale that was pulling the plough.

“Have you all you need?” Edward asked again.

“I do,” Thomas confirmed, taking his horse’s reins from Mr Carson who then went to the draft horse.

“Then let us get from this place.” The foreman ordered, mounting the large animal with assistance from Edward, and forcing the horse forward. All the men rode the horses they held out of the grounds, Blake bringing up the rear on the freshly ploughed snow.

* “We’ll get this lot stabled and then you look like you need a good meal, Sir Sharpe. I am sure the inn will have something for you.” The reverend commented as they arrived at his home.

“It’s kind of you, Reverend, but Mrs Davies has dinner prepared at mine and is expecting Sir Sharpe there also, so extra portions are readied. You are, of course, welcome to join us, all of you.” “Terribly kind Doctor, but as you know, it is my brother’s birthday and his wife has invited us all over.” Mr Carson apologised.

“I must go to Ms Berkley’s, I fear she is not taking her sister’s passing too well and is seeking God’s comfort.” The reverend explained.

“I need not ask you, Mr Parsons, Dolly has your pie ready.” Edward smiled with a clap on the shoulder to the man.

“You know me too well, Doctor.” Mr Parsons chuckled. “Sir Sharpe, if you require me…”

“Thank you, Finley. I cannot put into words my gratitude to you, to all of you for coming to my aid today.” Thomas smiled.

The men gave their goodbyes and left Thomas and Edward alone. “Come on,” Edward urged.

There was silence between the pair until they got to the doctor’s cottage. On arriving, Edward simply wiped the snow and slush off his boots before entering, Thomas imitating after, Blake close on their heels.

“There you are, I was getting worried.” Mrs Davies rushed into the room to see Edward before seeing Thomas also and smiling in relief. “Thank goodness, I will get the food.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Edward smiled as Lily rushed over to her master. “I dare say you have not been out today.” She wagged her tail happily at the attention.

Blake gave a playful yip which brought her focus from her master, the pair sniffing excitedly for a moment before going closer to the fire to rest.

Thomas stood awkwardly, uncertain of what to say or do. A moment later, Mrs Davies returned to the room. “Food is in the kitchen and I have the spare room readied with fresh sheets.” “Thank you, Mary,” Edward repeated. Thomas looked at Edward questioningly. “You will stay here, obviously.” “Obviously?” “Well, considering your recent decline in health and the underlying knowledge you are my sister’s husband, you hardly think I was going to shove you out with the horses in the Reverend’s stable, did you?” Thomas remained silent. “I know we do not meet eye to eye with most everything, but you are indeed the husband of my sister and the father of my nephew and if I am to be honest, for all your wrongs, you treat them both well, far better than our father did us, so I feel obligated morally and professionally, to take you in at this time. My sister would have my guts were I to not do so, not to mention, I think my mother would haunt me in this life and what comes after were I to show such lack of manners.”

“Thank you.” Thomas was startled by him even doing it for so much, considering he was certain Edward hated him beyond all redemption.

Edward merely nodded in response before feeling the tension rising slightly. “Come, dinner will be getting cold.”

* That night, Thomas slept. For the first time in weeks, he slept, broken sleep, the cries of the child still in some far recess of his mind, echoing out of it, but when he woke, he lay his head on the pillow once more and found himself able to fall asleep again.

The next day, Mrs Davies served him his meals in bed. When he finished one bowl, another filled as full was brought to him. His appetite, it appeared, returned with a vengeance and between meals, he slept. In the afternoon, Edward entered the room.

“How are you feeling?” “Good, thank you.” “Mrs Davies said you are eating well, that is important. Are you getting rest?” “I am.”

“Good. I...I think you in need of a check over, health-wise.” “You mean you want to place me in the asylum you spoke about?”

Edward scoffed. “Why would I convince Mr Carson to hire than horse to get you out of that house solely to shove you in somewhere? It would have cheaper and less time consuming to leave you there. It is nothing more than an open-air asylum at the best of times and you would have had the same end result of perishing there. No, I mean general health, breathing, heart, eye-sight, all the things I can check. You have been ill since Charlotte left and that takes its toll on a body, I want to make sure you are not more ill than simply suffering from being there alone with your thoughts.” “You still think that house does not hold things?”

“If it does, it is your doing.” Edward placed his doctor's bag by the bed and took out what he needed.

“I know that hence their reminding me.” Thomas sat up. “Did Charlotte ever mention anything?” Edward took Thomas’s arm as he spoke, checking his pulse while holding up his pocket watch.

“Not to me.” Thomas looked at the watch and smiled. “Did Charlotte get you that?” “For getting into college.” Edward smiled looking at the Thompson family arms on the outside. “She always loved getting me things. She always makes sure it is something I would like.”

“She loves you dearly.” “As I love her.” “I am sorry, for everything. Lucille, all of that.” “Your apology is not something of great power. It is one of the few murders that woman committed that you genuinely have nothing in the world to do with.” “Yet you hate me for it?” “Yet I hate you for it.” Edward nodded. “I find that the hardest part in this, accepting that for your wrongs, you seem to truly be doing right now. Are some wrongs so wrong that they can never be righted? I do not know.” He held up his finger. “Follow this.” He ordered.

*

For a week, Thomas stayed at the doctor’s house, eating and resting, getting healthier. The snow fell again, as was to be expected. According to Mrs Robinson the midwife, who had to try and go somewhere even three miles from it, the road was well hidden, she had to turn back, and Crimson Peak was so covered, those who looked at it said even the red of the clay could not be seen, such was the coating on it.

Thomas walked into Edward’s living area, having finally roused enough strength to do so. There he was met by Mrs Davies and Mrs Phillips. “Ladies,” he gave a slight bow. “Where may I find Dr Thompson?” “In his office.” Mrs Davies informed him. “He is alone.” Thank you.” With a knock on the door, Thomas entered the room to see Edward writing for a moment. “May I speak with you?” Edward looked at Thomas and placed the pen down. “Yes?” In the week of Thomas being there, they spoke only for short periods of time. It was clear Thomas still made Edward uncomfortable.

“I wish to thank you for keeping me here, but I feel I have outstayed my welcome and I have to leave.” “You do not have to leave.” “But I do, I made a promise to Lottie that I would join her and I will keep that promise.” “You cannot possibly think to make it to Pembrokeshire?” “I made my wife a promise,” Thomas stated firmly.

Tags @ilovekingt @sigridlaufeyson @lokiloveheart @texmexdarling @wolfsmom1 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @perpetual-fangirl @lokilover9

[mythicmoss]

Adversaries Outline

Seeing as Adversaries is my first WIP novel that I actually plan on finishing and I’ve spent way longer than I needed to planning it all out, I figured it deserved its own Outline Post!

Keep in mind that while I may be posting rough chapters here, the finished work will be up on Tumblr but also Wattpad, Quotev and FictionPress so that everyone can have all the chapters in the same place without needing to scroll through the tags which may or may not be in order. I’ll post links to the finished chapters on those other platforms once they’re up.

Basic Concept:

A cis boy and a male NB from a different world are sent to Earth on missions for their governments. The boys are from rivalling nations and end up at the same university, where they must blend in as humans so they’re not found out. These boys end up in the same circle of friends and once they find out what the other actually is, they still find themselves drawn to each other.

Genre(s):

New Adult, Romance, Fantasy, Action-Adventure.

There’s more information under the cut!

Summary:

Kuzan is an NB from the country Hetraia (country name is subject to change) who was promised by Lu’then, his country’s leader, that he could have a shelter and consistent access to food if he completed a mission to Earth with his sister. His sister was unable to join him until recently because a health issue popped up, and when Kuzan learns that his sister was killed by one of Lu’then’s guards, he decides that he can’t be loyal to a man who promised his sister a warm bed and killed her instead, and does his best to actively expose Lu’then’s corruptness whenever he visits his home world, Myserres.

He meets a boy named Adrian, and it makes him stop for a second and question what Lu’then actually told him. He couldn’t have meant what he said, or he’d be here supporting Kuzan whenever he could, or at least finding a way to contact him. This only reinforces Kuzan’s belief that Lu’then never really cared about giving Kuzan a place to stay, as long as he could be useful.

Saeren is a cisgender Prince who’s older brother is destined to become the ruler of Thalian. His father sent him on the Earth mission to prove that even with his underdeveloped wing, he could still be useful to him in some way. Saeren seizes the opportunity to prove himself to his family, but when he meets a boy named Kayden, it makes him question everything that’s been parroted to him his entire life.

Saeren continues on his mission while Kuzan tried to find creative ways to avoid theirs, and along the way, they develop a close bond. They make friends along the way, and despite having lied their entire time on Earth to avoid their identities being revealed, Kuzan and Saeren decide to remain friends and perhaps become something more, if Saeren’s parents don’t mind too much.

Characters:

Protagonists:

Kuzan

- Absolute nerd who loves BOTW and Skyrim. Will chase away catcallers and beat them up if necessary. Slightly disrespectful towards authority bc of what Lu’then put him through, and doesn’t learn how to share his feelings until he sees a campus counsellor. Eventually he learns how to trust that others want what’s best for him, and is better off because of it. Has an emo-on-a-budget sorta aesthetic. All in all, a very soft boi.

Saeren

- Smol but tol. Loves books and theatre, and absolutely destroying Kuzan at Mario Kart (he hasn’t yet, but he will one day, just you wait). He can paint really realistically from practicing in secret. He will also chase away catcallers, but he has a strict moral code and violence is a big no-no. Overly compliant because of his emotionally abusive parents, and will agree to things he doesn’t want just because he doesn’t want conflict. By seeing a campus counsellor, he learns to advocate for himself, and eventually changes how he views conflict through many, many years of treatment and reconditioning, even after he goes back to Myserres. Loves bright colours and wears them all the time. Also a very soft boi. Soft boi with soft exterior.

Antagonists:

Lu’then AKA Lucian

- Manipulative dictator who sees no problem with telling blatant lies and spreading propaganda. He often works from behind the scenes and gets his second-in-command or henchmen to do his dirty work for him.

King Aarell

- Corrupt king of Thalian who is against blatant lying, but he frequently bends the truth or doesn’t reveal all of the information about things that happened. He’s very persuasive, a little too much tbh. He favourited Saeren’s other siblings because they didn’t have a disability, and could therefore contribute much more to a city that was built for people who can fly.

Protagonists’ Helpers:

Arzune (it’s a bit of a special reveal who she is so I’ll keep it quiet for now)

Krishna

- Flamboyant Indian character with a love of theatre who’s roommates with Kuzan when they’re freshmen. You’d think that he’d be the gay friend. But no. He’s the only straight one. He goes to the Improv Club, like Kuzan and Saeren, and becomes the close

Nnedi

- Kind-hearted Nigerian friend of Krishna’s who goes to some of the same clubs as Krishna and Kuzan. She’s often Saeren’s go-to to talk about problems when Kuzan isn’t around. She’s majoring in science, and joined a coding club for fun, which is how she meets the other characters.

Wapun

- Sassy Algonquin girl with a love of feminism, costuming, cosplay and fashion design. She also loves special effects/ gore makeup and convinced Kuzan and Saeren that she had a huge abscess on the side of her face and was just too stubborn to go to the Campus Health Centre. Being a lover of cosplay, she’s also extremely geeky, and meets most of the other helpers and protagonists because she’s in the same coding clubs.

Antagonist’s Helper’s

Lu’then’s Helpers

Second-in-Command (who has yet to be named)

- We love characters that havem’t been planned at all at the start of the first draft, don’t we?

      2. Lu’then’s Henchmen (Who I’ll develop as I go along)

- And lastly, all of the people who work for Aarell and are absolutely terrified of him.

Please keep in mind that all the character names are subject to change at this point, but I’ll make sure to let you guys know if I change one! If anything confuses you guys later on, I’d be happy to answer some asks.

[trevorrain]

Recap

This is going to be a long text post. There is no TLDR.

About a week ago I expressed a few words of gratitude towards a follower. Thanking them for their time and for the content on their blog as well. They asked how the job was going and I couldn’t help but kind of laugh to myself when asked that. 

The last post I made on the goings on of myself was over a year ago from now, I believe. Not really thinking that people might be interested since nobody is really asking unless prompted.

Warning: Below I talk about dementia and other not so very happy things. I just need to get this off my chest. Don’t keep reading if you have a sensitivity to these things. Lord knows I understand.

I just feel the need to kind of ‘recap’ what happened in greater detail. Even so, there’s much being left unsaid. I’ll make a follow up post where I talk about the most recent goings on in my life.

But this night is one where I’m lost in melancholy, and I’ve been meaning to talk about the few things that have been occupying my mind as of late. 

But first, I want to clarify what had happened to me two years ago.

I was living with my parents. Helping to take care of them in a way. Having been born over a decade away from my nearest sibling in age. It was soon after moving to St. George Utah that my mother was diagnosed with Dementia that would turn into full blown Alzheimer syndrome. I was with her in the room during the diagnosis. For reasons that would take too long to explain, she wanted me to be there instead of my father, and I remember her holding my hand so very tight. She didn’t tell me where we were going and why.

It would be years still before she deteriorated to the point where she needed professional help. I knew I was inadequate to take care of her and pushed to have her admitted into a nursing home, or have skilled staff come to our home on a regular basis to give her the care she needed. Father’s insurance was not the best for helping long term. She had been admitted into a nursing facility temporarily while I worked on getting the neccisary papers to get medicaid approval.

Mother was a high fall risk. Rarely slept and would wander without caution. She sustained injuries as there was inadequate staff at the facility to watch her 24/7. She was in the hospital from those injuries when I was told she was approved the medicaid was approved. Just in time for her to be admitted into hospice. Due to the broken bones and bruising along with the rapid progression of her condition, she was not expected to last long. 

The time period is fuzzy to me. It was either a week or two weeks before we were told her last day was fast approaching. Father and I stayed up most of the night, waiting and listening. Among the details I’m skimming over is the sound of her breathing. I remember that the most, but I imagine it would be very unpleasant to read about. It’s my fear of causing pain by my story that keeps me from telling it in detail. Even if I want to.

Father and I decided to get a few minutes of sleep. I woke up to dad tapping me on the shoulder. Mom waited until we were both asleep before passing away. 

I had to stop typing for a few minutes after writing that.

The funeral was held that weekend. There was plenty of time to prepare. I returned home with my father, and we tried to figure things out from there. Tried alone, anyway. Father didn’t talk about his emotions, and we were different types of people. We weren’t close. Despite my hangups and so much that was never resolved between us, I still loved him.

He wasn’t eating much, so I tried to cook his favorite meals more often. He didn’t get out often, so I did most of the shopping. Doing what I could with a part time job. But understand that they both married when they were 21. They had been married for over 40 years.

One day I noticed he wasn’t feeling well. When trying to talk to him, he would respond with confusion, as if he didn’t understand what I was saying. He was acting strange. Due to the daily pain from extensive nerve damage from his working days, he would sleep in an easy chair rather than the bed. This night he chose the bed. I checked up on him the day after and found he hadn’t moved, and wasn’t responding to my questioning. I found things like the remote control he uses being put in the fridge and a few other abnormal signs of behavior.

I called the home healthcare people that were checking on him. They recommended I call an ambulance. I did.

He spent three days in the hospital and ended up recovering, but the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. They only found he was low on potassium, and recovered not long after they gave him the needed IV fluids. Discharged within 3 days. 

A week, maybe two later, it happened again. A neighbor helped me get him into the car so I could drive him to the hospital this time. They ran almost every test they could think of on my father. He spent 7 days in the hospital this time before some recovery took place, and he only remembered the last 3 days of it. Again, it was low potassium. They couldn’t find the cause. 

Should be noted that a psychologist saw my father while I was away, and he was convinced my father also had dementia of some kind that was overshadowed mother’s more advanced condition.  I mentioned before my father never spoke about his feelings, not being one to believe in emotional health. Any question of his health when it came to mental or emotional was a lost cause.

And really, it was that kind of behavior I grew up with. But talking to my siblings, it’s possible that the parents that I grew up with were very different from those that raised my sisters and my brother. I’m... still processing this.

He was exhibiting late stage dementia. He never recovered fully from that last hospital visit. 

The health home that took my mother in for hospice agreed to look after my father for a few weeks, and I was happy to hear this at the time. They could monitor his health much closer and with a more skilled eye than I had.

But my father's antiquated behavior towards women made the female staff uncomfortable, they didn’t feel safe around him, and I was called to pick him up within 24 hours. 

Suddenly the care of a man three times my age was put upon me. I had taken the task in stride before now. I felt... oddly... older after my mother had past. Like I was stepping into a more adult role and I wanted to do well at it. I mentioned that getting my father in that facility was my way of figuring out how to better take care of him, I felt more in control. Then I get that call asking me to take him back. I was furious.

But I took him back. He wasn’t taking care of himself very well, so I doubled up on the groceries and the cooking. Trying to get him to eat with the little appetite he had. Setting up doctors appointments. He was complaining about his stomach hurting. Taking him to these appointments lead to him feeling very sick. He ended up cancelling one that I set up. I made him promise to go to the next one.

The day of the appointment is when he died. I found him sitting on the couch, pale. I knew something was wrong. I called an ambulance.

It’s harder for me to talk about dad passing more than it is with mom. I was closer to my mother, but the way my father passed, with the emotional burdens, the things the family found out in his medical records. It brings this whirlwind of emotion out, making this hard to write. Especially for how tired I am right now. Where I had weeks to say goodbye to mom, I lost my father to a heart attack in the middle of an Emergency room surrounded by doctors and technicians, being asked if they should keep doing chest compression, calling my sister because I couldn’t make a decision like that on my own.

It was made for me after they found he had bled out internally. Almost completely. There was no saving him.

I didn’t leave the hospital until after the mortuary sent someone for the body. After they did, I went home. It felt so empty. It would feel that way for weeks.

I don’t get many chances to talk about this. I haven’t had many. I had, for the longest time, resolved not to say anything until someone asked me. Nobody would ask. And I understand why. It’s a unique grief. People have said they couldn’t imagine how I feel, can’t imagine how it would make them feel. I suppose there’d be very little reason to ask my feelings because it’s a safe assumption that ‘bad’ would cover it. People feel like there’s little they could do, so often they don’t try. In the end, it’s unfair of me to judge others on my made up personal parameters like that.

I’ve talked with people that had completely forgotten about this aspect of my life. Makes me wonder if I’m doing any disservice to their memory by trying to sidestep something that effected me so much. That feels so real even years after. I don’t know. I’m starting to question why I’m even typing this up right now. Possibly a moment in grief.

Part of it is my fault. I’ve made it part of my life to try and be selfless. To bring some sort of happiness or contentment to people I meet. Friends, strangers, acquaintance, I care for the well being of. For me to go out of my way to find a friend or person to talk to feels almost aggressive. Like backing someone up in a corner and saying ‘Hey! I have a sad story, this will make you feel uncomfortable, but you can’t move due to me taking advantage of this unspoken obligation, taking hostage of your time!’ I don’t want to force people to commiserate with me.

But it doesn’t mean that I don’t want, or even actually need, this commiseration. Much of the fault lies with me keeping this bottled up for so long anyway.

I’m going to queue this post up for tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow. I’ll try to draft an update of how I’m doing now then. Maybe help shake some of the cobwebs out of my head.  Goodnight for some, good morning for others.

Peace.

[katnisshawke-blog]

Something in the water.

This is a first draft.

Cullen talks to his father. My HC takes place 10 years after the inquisition disbandment. For more info, this is the related link on AO3.

Any constructive criticism, opinion or suggestion is more than welcome. If you don’t want to let me know who you are, PLEASE feel free to leave a comment on anon.

Enjoy. <3

Cullen did not expect to find his father there. He was sitting by the lake on the wooden wharf, his legs dangling over the water and his eyes fixed on the wrecked Andraste’s statue. Her head was laying at her feet, overgrown with Spindleweed and Arbor Blessing, as a Maker’s kind reminder about the destiny of faith.

Stanton Chandler Rutherford was that kind of man who could have guessed your thoughts by just one glance. Cullen knew that very well, and he was just about to turn on his heels to slip away when he got his father’s voice grasping him.

“At last! I thought you would never have come!”

Cullen sighed narrowing his eyes and wondered how, in the Andraste’s name, he had heard him.

He paused for a heartbeat, and after considering the chance of cowardly running away, he turned back again and replied:

“How did you know it was me?”. He moved closer to the old man’s back. When Cullen stopped right next to him, Stanton said:

“You know? Fishes are back. Probably I shall come here on tomorrow, just to see if I’m still able to catch some.”

Cullen’s eyes softened looking at his father: the man was cheerfully swinging his legs, barefoot, with shoes tidily stowed at his side and socks carefully settled inside of them. He seemed like a little kid about to get into some mischief of his own.

“Come, son, have a seat.” He spoke looking straight ahead, slightly patting on the wooden planks with a peaceful smile on his lips.

Crouching down, Cullen felt a stubbing twinge in his left knee, but he ignored it, just as much as he ignored most of anything, by now.

They kept silent for several minutes, listening to the sound of the water and breathing the early morning fresh air. The sky was rapidly colouring in pink and violet, although the sun did not reach the horizon yet.

The mist was enfolding them, almost forcing the flow of time to a cosy stop.

Father and son were sitting, quietly, each one dipped in their own thoughts.

They were so similar. It wasn't about their likeness, really; it was rather something related to their posture, the way they carried themselves, an inner attitude that gave to them the ability to recognise through the silence the needs of others.

The only physical trait they shared were the eyes: same shape, same colour, same way of showing disappointment or approval, the same manner of fleeing if any concern or sorrow burdened their minds. 

Cullen was the first who broke that silence:

“So… Is this Mia's ruse or what?”

“Who's Mia?” replied his father with an amused smirk. Cullen grinned back, slightly shaking his head at his dad's joke.

“Your sister worries too much about anything, you know that.”

 Suddenly, Stanton burst out in a relentless cough. Cullen put one hand on his father’s back until he saw him catching back his breath. Then he said:

“Does mother know you are here? I’m pretty sure she would not agree with it.”

“Ah! You are sounding like Mia!”

“You look rather pale, father…”

“Now! Do not try to steal from the thief, boy! You don’t look any good either, you know?”

Cullen shushed himself at once, as he would not risk an argue about his state of health. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but think that his father and he were akin because life made two veterans of them.

Stanton was far from being a soldier, though, he found himself forced to show a firm discipline in rejecting any generous offer coming from the Divine as she first attempted to deflect his son's purposes.

When at first Cullen devoted himself in helping former Templars to overcome their Lyrium addiction, everything seemed to be well accepted by the Chantry Clergy, until those who wished to join Cullen’s ranks were no longer only former Templars.

Some within the order began to wonder why they could not adopt a different method to serve.

Cullen drafted personally some rules for his division, a kind of brief dissertation entitled “About Faith and Duty” in which the core principle was “Serving the Maker willingly”. This treaty collected more success than expected; the most blatant example was the complete reorganisation of Redcliff barrack, where no Templar was recruited before their 18 years, and no Lyrium use was allowed. It was a small detachment, of course, and probably that was the main reason for which the Chantry tolerated this anomaly.

Nevertheless, the first dissonant voices weren’t long in coming. The major detractors of this reform came obviously from the "orthodox" groups of the Chantry, those who adduced as a justification to their criticism the fact that the Lyrium was necessary to the Templars who had to face the risks that Magic and demons carried as a consequence of their nature.

Cullen, on the other hand, had shown everyone how he had coped with this without resorting to the Lyrium, during the last period in the Inquisition.

Despite this quarrel, the barrack of Redcliff was a complete success, also thanks to the intercession of King Alistair who was used to shield the interferences of the Chantry which, for its part, maintained a certain degree of caution in dealing with the Ferelden Crown.

Other minor barracks placed in peripheral areas of Ferelden tried to conform with the new way. In these first glorious years, Cullen travelled all over the Country to encourage and promote the chances that resulted from such efforts.

Vivienne, right after her election, was inebriated by the potential deriving from her position. Of course, her attention was completely focused on the most urgent diplomatic issues, however, she felt that nothing was impossible, not even managing what she thought were the whims of a traumatized boy who could not fully understand the glory that came from the sacrifice of themselves.

Though, when she realized that the matter could risk getting out of hand, she backed off. As she knew that the Commander was used to consider himself such an example of integrity, she tried to distract him with gifts to his family and (probably the most effective attempt) marriage proposals to the youngest of his sisters, Rosalie. A good highborn match as brother-in-law would have leashed Cullen to her will once for all.

Fortunately, Rosy was a Rutherford and, as any other Rutherford, she was stubborn enough to want to decide herself about her own future.

Since diplomacy had had no effect, Vivienne moved into action with official orders: she removed the highest levels of the order sided with Cullen, and replaced them with officers loyal to her line of thought.

On more than one occasion, the veterans on leave realized that the Chantry forgot to pay them the expected annuity. For many of them, that was the only source of income that allowed them to provide for their families...

In a short time, all Cullen's efforts went thwarted.

He resigned. Again. His attempt to restore an order that corresponded to the expectations of a more just Chantry, in which each one could serve the Maker according to his own conscience and free will, had been a complete failure.

What Vivienne had done was just the proof of how naive he had been.

He went back to Honnleath, in the hope that helping his family would have been enough to forget, but the anger and resentment were poisoning him at least as much as the Lyrium had and still was somehow, even after years of withdraw.

“Poor Andraste!” Said Stanton awakening Cullen from his constant examination of the past.

“Poor, poor Andraste with her face in the mud!” he expanded his mind getting back on his feet.

Cullen stood up as well. He didn’t notice when his father put his shoes back on, he was too lost in his minds, yet the old man appeared to be ready to go.

“I must hurry, before the real Commander finds out I’m not at home”, Stanton said.

“Mia?” 

“Your mother! She could kill me with her lectures before this cough will.”  They sniggered. Stanton climbed on his horse with thinly disguised effort. Cullen would have helped him, but he saw his father frowning as he tried to get closer, so he stopped himself.

“Sure!”, puffed out Stanton when he was sure to be firmly sat in the saddle. “Someone should do something for that poor prophetess.”

Cullen’s smile faded off at those words.

“Not you, son. You have already done your part.” This was Cullen’s turn to frown. His father noticed it and added: “Unless your heart tells you differently.”

“Now you sound like mom!”, replied Cullen with a hint of venom in his tone, just because that old shoe never missed a chance to catch him out. His father ignored his provocation. Instead, he improvised an impression of his wife:

“You, mad stupid bastard! Always thinking with your heart, aren’t you?”. They smiled at each other. Something bitter was growing in the air between them.

“Yeah, well…What can I say?”, said Stanton, “Must be something in the water.”

“Yeah.” Cullen agreed.

“Take care, son. See you.”

His father spurred the horse on and disappeared in the mist that was floating around the lake. Cullen followed the shadow until it was completely gone. Then he came back to the dock. He sat down again and took out of his pocket the letter Cassandra sent to him. He looked at that, then at the Andraste’s head.

He exhaled and whispered: “Cullen. You, mad stupid bastard.”