#and feeling it is his role to heal everyone and suddenly he is unable to care for someone he loves

[girlscience]

okay okay okay okay. I KNEW that the fight between Luffy and Usopp was going to be different from the rest of the show so far and I knew I was going to have thoughts about it but oh my god I did not expect it to FEEL so different. Like up to this point they have faced some fucked up people and had some serious fights, but the Strawhats themselves haven't really felt serious. This alone feels like it legitimized Luffy's captaincy and proved how the crew will trust and follow his decision making. (which is why I really really love Zoro's part in it because even Luffy was having a hard time doing this and Zoro told him he couldn't waver because if he did who could they trust? and I have so many feelings about that) Anyway, this was really the first incident related only to the crew themselves that has felt actually serious and I really appreciated that.

[sticktopia]

Welcome to the Garden (Sanctuary AU)

The Garden. A pocket dimension that sits on the line between life and death. This little world is designed to house and heal broken souls. Those who have died under tragic circumstances, or have many regrets are called to this realm. Once they let go of their trauma and regrets, the soul can pass on to its next life. That is the role of The Garden.

Ajax (Chapter 9)

“Creators, no!!! No!!! Hey!!! Wake up!!! Open your eyes!!! Please!!!” The stick heard a voice. It sounded so familiar, yet he could not remember who the voice belonged to.

“Who are you?” He asked in his head, unable to make a sound with his voice. He wasn't even able to open his eyes and face the person who cried out for him.

“Who are you?” He repeated as he felt himself become weightless. The stick felt as if he were floating. It was strange at first, but it was also quite comforting. He then heard the voice again. But it seemed to be much farther away than before.

“Please!! Don't leave!!! I’m sorry!! You're my only friend!! I cant live without you!!!” The stick began to feel guilty. Whoever was with them sounded so heart broken. He wished he could remember who the other stick was.

“I'm sorry dear stranger. But I hope you know that whatever happened was not your fault.” The stick suddenly felt himself being placed down on a soft surface.

“What a strange feeling.” He thought as he got comfortable. The voice from before was now nothing but a soft whisper.

“I'm sorry, mysterious person, but I can't hear you anymore. I guess that means goodbye.” The stick suddenly felt his consciousness fade.

“Maybe I should just… rest my eyes….”

**********

When the stick came to, his whole body ached. He groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. He came to regret that decision when he was blinded by a bright light. The stick turned his head away from the light and groaned.

“Where am I?” He wondered aloud. He then heard some footsteps coming his way. The stick squinted and looked up with his eyes. Through his partially blurry vision, he could see a hot pink stick make her way to him.

“Hey! You're awake! Are you feeling better?”  They asked as they kneeled next to the disoriented stick.

“Where.. Am I…?” He asked before coughing.

“Ah, careful, you took a lot of damage.” The hot pink stick suddenly grabbed something and stood. They suddenly lifted the stick’s head and pressed something to his lips.

“Here, drink this. It should help you.” She said as she began tiling the container. The stick did as he was told and drank the sweet substance. Once he drank it all, he was feeling a lot better. As he opened his eyes wider, he could see clearly again. He could finally make out features of the stick that held him closely. The hot pink stick wore a white beanie and a green bandana around her neck. Their short hair hung just over her shoulders. The injured stick blinked in confusion.

“Who are you?” He asked. The hot pink stick placed the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed and carefully laid him back down.

“My name’s Razzberry. But everyone calls me Razz. Now what about you? What’s your name?” Razz asked, crouching black down next to the stick. He stared at Razz blankly. A name, he needed to tell her his name. But… He couldn't remember  his name.

“M-My name… uh, my name is….” The stick looked up at the ceiling and furrowed his brow. What was his name? Did he ever have one? Why couldn't he remember his name? Heck, he couldn't even remember what he looked like!

“Do you not remember your name?” Razz suddenly asked. The stick looked over at Razz with a terrified look. His eyes were glossy from forming tears.

“I-I… I don't remember my name! I-I don't even know what I look like! Who am I?!” He cried as his hands flew up to his head, hands gripping his messy hair. He felt like his mind was going crazy. The poor stick was trying to figure anything out about himself. But he was only drawing blanks.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s ok.” Razz said as she carefully removed his hands from his hair.

“It’s ok dude. Calm down.” The confused stick looked over at Razz, tears falling from his eyes.

“What happened to me? Why can't I remember anything?” He cried. Razz sat on their knees and wiped away the stick’s tears.

“Hey, it’s gonna be ok. You’ll remember it eventually. Everyone does.” She said with a comforting smile.

“If it makes you feel better, we can give you a temporary name till you remember your old one.” Razz suggested. The new stick sniffled and looked back up at the ceiling. He thought about it. It was something that he would have to get used to, but it was better than him being nameless.

“What names do you have in mind?” Razz hummed as she rested her chin on the back of her hand.

“We already have a crimson here…. And red is too basic…” Razz muttered to themself. The stick sniffled as he waited in anticipation. Razz then snapped her fingers.

“I got it! How’s the name Ajax? Does that sound good to you?” Razz asked him. The stick thought about the name.

“Ajax. That has a nice ring to it. Yeah, I like that! My name is Ajax!” Ajax said excitedly, a smile growing on his lips. Razz smiled back.

“Welcome to the garden Ajax!”

**********

Once Ajax had the strength to walk around on his own, Razz led him out of the med bay.

“And you're absolutely sure that you’ll be fine?” Razz asked. The red stick nodded a bit.

“Yeah. That drink you gave me really helped me out! I feel quite energetic!” Ajax said as he placed his hands on his hips. “I feel much better than I did earlier.”

“Well that’s a good sign.” Razz said as she walked by an open door. As Ajax followed, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the bathroom. Curious, he paused and turned back to see who or what was in the bathroom.

“Hello?” He said as he opened the door wider. As he did, he found that the room was completely empty.

“Huh. That’s weird.” Razz then came up behind Ajax.

“What is it?” They asked as they looked into the bathroom as well.

“I thought I saw something moving around in here.” Ajax mentioned as he glanced up. He then saw another stick behind a window.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on you.” As Ajax said this, he noticed that the stick on the other side of the window was mimicking his every movement and every word.

“Why are you copying me?”

“Stop copying me!”

“I said it first!”

Ajax suddenly heard laughing behind him. Turning around, He could see Razz fall to the floor, her whole body quaking.

“A-are you ok?! You're not hurt are you?!” Ajax asked as he kneeled to help Razz up. As Ajax helped Razz up, he realized that she was laughing hysterically. The red stick figure furrowed his brow as he helped her stand.

“Why are you laughing? What’s so funny?” Ajax half demanded. Once razz caught her breath, she looked up at the very confused stick.

“A-ajax-Haha!! D-do you r-remember what a mirror is?” Razz giggled to themself. Ajax paused as he thought about her question. He then looked back at what he thought was the window. It was in fact a mirror. He blushed as he realized he had made a fool of himself.

“Haha, yeah keep laughing.” Ajax huffed as he shoved Razz, who was still giggling. As Razz was busy struggling to collect themself, Ajax turned back to the mirror and studied themself. His hair really was quite messy. He also noticed that his face didn't look quite like Razz’s. Instead of the solid circle, he had a ring. He wondered why his head was shaped so differently from Razz’s. Razz then caught their breath and rested a hand on Ajax’s shoulder.

“A-alright buddy. Let's get you fixed up to meet everyone else.”  Razz said as she led Ajax out of the bathroom and took him to his room.

**********

As Razz finished fixing Ajax up, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Razz called as she brushed out the last bits of Ajax’s hair. As the door opened, Ajax looked over with his eyes. He saw a pastel yellow stick walk into the room.

“Is he ready?” She asked as she walked up to the duo.

“Just about.” Razz said as they placed the brush down. “What do you think Ajax?”

Ajax looked at himself in the mirror. Razz had cut his hair short and styled it into a sort of fade. Ajax couldn't help but to smile at his new look.

“Wow, you did really good Razz.” Ajax said as he turned his head to see the back of his head. Razz smirked and twirled the scissors on her finger,

“Hell yeah I did.” Razz said. The yellow stick chuckled, gaining Ajax’s attention once more.

“Well Ajax, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dandi. And I am the master of the garden. I wanted to welcome you here personally before you went to introduce yourself to everyone else here.” Dandi said with a bow. Ajax smiled and bowed his head as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Dandi. Um, thank you for welcoming me.” Ajax said as he stood. Dandi nodded.

“Come now, everyone’s been quite curious about you.”

Chapter 8-(Chapter 9)-Chapter 10

[the-element-siren]

Darklina Prompt

This is inspired by a twitter post from @calico-writes, link down below

Everyone is born a beta, their real nature doesn't reveal itself until they meet their mate.  Some are actually betas while others are omegas and alphas. When they do meet their mate, it's as if all their senses are heightened and a mark appears on their heart. Sometimes, if true mates are in the same proximity and have not mated, they will feel a pull and find each other.

Aleksander has spent years dodging the question of his true nature. Despite not being his true mates, he has loved and lost through out his years.

The day he arives at Krisbirk, he feels a pull like nothing he's ever felt before. Unfortunately, his duties keep him busy most of the time and he's unable to find his mate.

Alina has wondered about her true mate her whole life. Though she wonders if maybe she'll never meet him. She knew that she had a better chance once she joined the army but all the hate she's faced because of her heritage has her wondering if her mate will hate her and deny their bond. It can be done and the rejected one of the pair tends to grow sick and die. But she holds on idea that maybe Mal is her mate and he just needs to see her activate her bond. She's felt a pull since her unit arrived at camp but thinks that it might be Mal.

After being dragged into the Black General's tent, Alina feels a strange pull. Aleksander feels the pull again and it is strong as if she was right there. When Alina is presented in the middle of the room, they both pause. It's as if they are both seeing for the first time. They walk toward each to each other and everything fades away. They see each other in so crystal clear that neither seems real. There is soon grumbling that brings them back to reality. Aleksander kicks everyone out, even his guards much to Ivan's insistance of staying. His shadows help remind everyone who is in charge.

Freak outs, makeouts, and confirmation of powers happen in that order. And for those wondering, we have a role reversal. He's the omega and she's the alpha. Both agree that it's a good idea to keep it quiet for now. Aleksander has a healer brought in to finish her healing. Afterwards, Alina demands to see Mal and explain everything. That goes as well as you can expect. He acts like a child and accuses Alina of lying to him their entire lives. Aleksander is about to defend his alpha's honor when she suddenly start berating Mal. Her alphaness agrees with her.

https://twitter.com/Calic0zy/status/1599870108750721025

[yelenadelova]

The Problem with the “Mad Woman”

I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Wanda will become a villain by the end of WandaVision. Here is why I desperately do not want that to happen. This will get quite long so I’m including a tldr and putting the rest below the cut. But I’d really appreciate if you gave it a read if you have the time.

tldr; The “Mad Woman” trope is the trope in which women “go mad” or turn evil after acquiring a certain level of power. Many people are theorizing that Wanda will fall into this trope. This trope is damaging for many reasons. Media is excessively fixated on the suffering of women. And this trope sends the message that women cannot handle their grief and cannot manage their power the same way that men can. This trope can be extremely damaging to the girls and women who look up to these characters. I truly hope that this trope is avoided with Wanda’s story in WandaVision and beyond.

DISCLAIMER: I’ll be talking a lot about Wanda and occasionally other Marvel characters. I will only be referring to the versions of these characters that exist in the MCU. I am not knowledgeable enough on their comic origins and stories to speak on them.

One trope that I have noticed in my consumption of media over the years is the “Mad Woman”. This trope often occurs when a woman faces a huge loss and is overwhelmed by grief or faces continuous challenges and roadblocks to their goal. No matter how a character arrives their the end result is always the same. The woman “snaps” and “goes mad” committing acts of violence, lashing out, making grabs for power, betraying people she loves, etc. One famous example of this trope is the case of Daenerys Targaryen, who after facing the loss of multiple loved ones and failing to gain the acceptance of others, suddenly went mad and burned an entire city to the ground. There is speculation that we will see Wanda face a similar fate. Theories often dictate that Wanda will be so overwhelmed by losing Vision (as well as other important figures in her life such as Pietro and Natasha) that she will use her powers to lash out at others, harming anyone who gets in the way of the reality she is creating and eventually becoming a villain in the MCU who must be stopped.

Let’s get into the first reason I hate this trope. Media seems to be obsessed with the suffering of women. It’s of course not uncommon for any character to suffer greatly regardless of gender, especially in franchises like Game of Thrones or the MCU. A certain amount of pain and loss is to expected. However, when it comes to female characters their stories too often center around this pain. Female characters are more often shown being overwhelmed by their pain or being unable to move past it. Male characters are more likely to be seen soldiering through and moving on. By centering so many female storylines around this pain it gives the message that women are less capable of handling these feelings of grief. 

A second reason this trope is damaging is the idea that women cannot handle their power. When a woman is given great power, political, magical, or otherwise, she is often shown as being unable to handle the weight of it. With Daenerys, this was seen in the form of her becoming “corrupt” as she gained more power in Essos and Westeros. With Wanda we see that the more she masters her powers and abilities the more she seems likely to “go mad” and use them for evil or her own selfish reasons. I have no problem with the storyline of powerful women feeling like monsters and addressing these feelings. In fact, I think it can be quite compelling. It is an interesting story to see a woman deal with the way society, and often the character herself, views her as a monster. It can lead to great character development to see these women come into their own with their power and wield it well. However the problem lies in the fact that this so rarely happens. Instead we see women being unable to handle their power. The character either becomes a victim of their own power in a way, being driven mad by it. Or they taste power and become corrupt. It establishes a precedent that tries to discourage women from any sort of ambition or power.

This trope establishes a sort of glass ceiling of powerfulness. If we look at Dr. Strange in the MCU, he wields similar magic to Wanda and is quite powerful. While he may struggle with knowing how to use his power and fighting for good he does not go mad or become a monster. This trope largely exists to keep women in check. Once a woman reaches a certain power level she goes mad. This gives off the message that women are not capable of holding the same power as men. We as women just don’t know how to handle it. If a woman manages to become extremely powerful without going mad she is often deemed “OP” or “overpowered” by the fandom, think Captain Marvel. And if a woman never accumulates this level of power she is often looked down upon by fans for not being powerful enough, think Natasha Romanoff. 

I think this trope is often the result of not knowing how to write a developed female character or a storyline for them. Women often meet these fates for “shock value” and these stories are often written and produced by men. There are so many stories that can be told with these powerful women. We can see them overcoming these feelings of being a monster, struggling with their own mortality, finding love, feeling isolated, taking on a leadership or mentor role, or any number of storylines. And we do see these storylines. We see them with male characters all the time. Male characters with the same power levels as these female characters have compelling and interesting storylines not focused entirely on their inability to handle power. 

While this trope may not seem like a big deal it can be extremely damaging to women and girls who look up to these characters and find solace in them. It sends the message that they cannot handle the same power levels that men can. It sends the message that they cannot handle the same levels of grief and trauma without going mad. I have seen firsthand fans of characters like Daenerys struggling with the fates these characters meet. They feel afraid that any ambition in their own lives will lead them to be rejected, outcast, and seen as mad.

When it comes to whether or not we will see Wanda’s story and development fall prey to this trope, I think the jury is still out. Much of Wanda’s storyline in the past has focused on her feeling like a monster and being overwhelmed by her powers. However, previous movies have, in my opinion, dealt with this well. We see Vision telling Wanda that he is not afraid of her and that he wishes everyone could see her the way he did. We see Wanda saying “I can’t control their fear, only my own”. I truly hope that Wanda’s story in WandaVision and beyond focuses on this idea that Wanda’s powers do not make her a monster. She is just a woman who has been through so much pain and is hurting. She needs help. She needs to heal. If she does end up “going mad” I truly hope we see a redemption arc that allows her to find peace. Her story and character can be compelling in so many ways other than madness.

In conclusion, I am so incredibly tired of the sexist “Mad Woman” trope. And I am tired of the damage it has done to the psyches of women and girls. It’s time we learn how to tell new complex and meaningful stories about these powerful women. It’s what they, and we, deserve.

[bittermuire]

A (long) analysis of Azriel,

+ a bit of discussion about Gwynriel vs. Elriel at the end.

Lately I’ve seen much discussion surrounding Azriel, and there seems to be a lot of hazy gray area. We know he has a terrible past, carries a lot of trauma, is both mentally and physically scarred, and has disturbingly possessive habits. But why? That’s the question.

I think most of Azriel’s character can be filtered into three sections: his anger, his possessiveness, and his self-loathing. Altogether I believe these form his crippling sense of emotional immaturity, which ultimately shines through most every action he makes in the books.

So yes, I firmly believe Az is a child in the body of a 500 year old Fae. But is he treated as such? No. No, he is not. In fact, he’s treated as the exact opposite, and that can’t be doing wonders for his mental health (which is already in shambles. Off to a cheery start.)

Let’s take a look at his past. He was both mentally and physically abused for the majority of his childhood. Then he was thrown into an unforgiving culture that both mentally and physically abused him as well. Then he was essentially bullied by Cassian and Rhysand for quite a while... until they randomly decided to like him, which is a choice he didn’t seem to play a hand in. And then he became a professional torturer. All the while falling madly in love and becoming obsessed with a female who can’t love him back. Not to mention he’s been ostracized his entire life.

(One big thing though, that I’m going to reference frequently, is Azriel’s constant chase of “happiness.” Kind of like my friends with ADHD. We squeeze all the serotonin we can get out of one thing and then fall into a listless, depressed haze until we find another. I honestly think Azriel does the same thing with people--he latches onto them and lets his mood swings rely on how much attention they do or do not pay him, and whether it is positive or negative.)

So I’m going to go through his relationships with pivotal characters and try to explain what I think is really going on with Azriel.

Regarding Mor:

He was obsessed with her for most of his life. He was incredibly possessive of her and fell instantly in love upon seeing her. Do I think it was love? No. But does Azriel think it was love? Yes, and that is so important. It shows how desperate he was for human connection.

This “love” spiraled into centuries-long obsession that we’ve all seen play out throughout the series. But why is it obsession, and not love? Well, I’m going to go ahead and say that Azriel doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been shown genuine love and so he doesn’t know how to show it to others in the way he intends. He’s basically a baby.

But right after he falls head over heels, Mor sleeps with Cassian, and then Cassian plays the role of the buffer between the two of them all the way up until the events of ACOSF. This is where I think Azriel’s anger comes into play. He can’t get to Mor. His best friend, his brother, is blocking him from her. He can’t touch her, love her, feel her, and he’s so desperate to. But he literally has no way to communicate it because he doesn’t know how, and so he responds in the one way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. And intense protectiveness that eventually begins to translate as possessiveness.

Again, he lets his happiness rely on Mor because he can’t make himself happy, and so his lack of emotional maturity ends up revealing him as desperate and unable to communicate his feelings of inadequacy and frustration. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, not at all. But I think this could be a decent explanation.

Regarding Cassian and Rhysand:

I mean... I kind of hate the way these two have treated Azriel. They all have their fair share of trauma, but Cassian and Rhys also bullied him and ostracized him, and then basically said, “Oh, we like you now.” Which completely leaves Azriel in the dark as to where he stands with them, and strips him of awareness regarding how his friendships with them will operate.

And then he becomes the head of espionage for the Night Court, which involves lots and lots of torture. What kind of message does that send? You’ve seen dirty things, Az, so you don’t mind doing the rest of the dirty things for us, right? That’s the only real message I can get from this. Which then plants the message in Azriel’s head of: Not only do I do dirty things, I myself am a dirty, disgusting thing. Thus, furthering his already deep-seated sense of self-loathing.

Plus, the IC generally operates with a pack-like mindset. One person’s method of healing is everyone’s method of healing. It worked for one person, so it worked for everyone. It’s a very naive mindset, and very toxic as well, so it’s not surprising that literally everyone in the IC is colossally messed up despite preaching themselves as having overcome their demons.

So Azriel never really gets to understand himself and mature as a person. He’s stuck pretending to be perfectly fine underneath Rhysand’s oh-so-benevolent and compassionate hand. Rhysand and Cassian recognize Az as being a little... odd, by seeming to think things like “he’s the quiet one” and “he’s the serious, scary one.” But do they attempt to understand him? No. They leave him to his own devices and let him figure it out himself.

That’s the issue. He’s not ever going to figure it out himself, so long as he’s surrounded by the people who’ve been unwittingly suffocating him for most of his life.

Regarding Elain:

Azriel’s infatuation with Elain, in my opinion, comes as a direct result of his detachment from Mor. Just like one hyperfixation fades quickly from an all-consuming thing to a passing thought, Azriel has shifted from one obsession to the next, in order to keep his spirits on a high.

But I think his feelings for Elain reveal a lot of what Mor did not. Why does he view Elain as so holy compared to him? Why is he so hesitant to touch her? Why does he put her on such a pedestal? That’s his self-loathing coming through again. He hates himself so much that he has to place her above him.

He wants to touch her and love her, just as he did with Mor, but again he is unable. It's a repeating pattern that he can’t get himself out of.

Let’s also look at the way Elain and Azriel’s friendship/relationship began. He had to take care of her, and treat her with utmost respect. She looked at his scars or his siphons, both monstrous looking things, and called them beautiful. Let’s remember that he’s basically a child who’s rarely known genuine love. The minute he gets a glimpse of it, he’s going to grab it by the neck and crush it to his chest. Plus, the fact that she’s the last sister left unattached and he’s the last brother left unattached is probably even more convincing for him that he and Elain are meant for each other. When he’s denied this love that’s come nearly close enough to grab, he responds in the only way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. Just like he did with Mor.

But moving on, that glimpse of potential love comes from Elain. That’s why he’s able to let go of Mor; a relationship with Elain suddenly becomes possible. He’s terrified of ruining this potential love and is incredibly drawn to her all the same. Best of all? She wants him too.

BUT. Azriel knows how fragile Elain is, so he walks on glass around her, coddling her, putting her first like he’s put everyone else first since being a part of the IC. I think he wants to save her from becoming like him. He essentially plays the role of her white knight, entirely losing his sense of self-preservation (not that he ever had one), and thus loses any chance of letting Elain help him mature in return.

Regarding Gwyn:

Now, Gwyn is a different story.

We know Azriel likes her. Maybe not in a consciously romantic way, but he likes her. She makes him smile and laugh, and he finds her amusing. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

The big thing, I think, is that he doesn’t have to take care of her. At least, I think that’s what makes him so comfortable around her. With Gwyn, he can relax, and he doesn’t have to watch every move he makes. She treats him like a regular person and he treats her similarly.

Now, is it a bad thing that he doesn’t put her on a saint-like pedestal like he does Elain? No. Definitely not. I think this ordinary friendship signals a much healthier relationship than his festering obsession with Elain. Gwyn simply being his friend and not someone that he feels he has to be perfect for is a good foundation for Azriel growing as a person.

Gwynriel vs. Elriel (the necklace):

Honestly, I’m scared for whatever SJM decides to do, because Azriel has a shitload of trauma to move past and years worth of emotional growth needed before he can be a steady partner in a relationship. Both Gwyn and Elain’s character arcs are definitely not finished and so I think that no matter which way his narrative goes, it’s going to be disappointing in some aspect or another, unfortunately. I don’t think that either one of the females’ arcs really fit well with Azriel’s.

But I’m going to take a closer look at the necklace, because I think it’s a telling narrative point.

For Azriel, the necklace for Elain and Gwyn herself, are both “thing[s] of secret, lovely beauty” to him.

By describing the necklace for Elain as such (instead of Elain herself), Azriel unconsciously reveals his more idealistic view of Elain rather than his love for Elain herself. I kind of get the sense of Azriel giving offerings to a goddess, or something like that. He seems to be more preoccupied with appeasing Elain than actually loving her.

Now, this probably comes from, again, his self-loathing and his emotional immaturity. I’m just repeating myself at this point. He doesn’t know how to love himself and he doesn’t know how to love anyone else.

But then he describes Gwyn as such. Gwyn, the person. In my opinion, this demonstrates a potentially much healthier relationship than what he has with Elain. Azriel, instead of wanting to be perfect for Gwyn and wanting to appease her, is simply made happy by the thought of her. It is Gwyn whom he is taken with, not the idea of Gwyn loving him. And so that takes off so much pressure for him, and introduces the hope that he might be able to mature as a person in a friendship or romantic relationship with Gwyn.

Closing thoughts:

Azriel is a blundering, hormonal child desperate for love with no idea of how to get it, in a 500 year old Fae’s body. He’s also surrounded by people who refuse to address his clear issues... his future’s pretty dim, and I think he realizes it. Which is why whoever SJM chooses to be his romantic interest is going to be very important.

In short, I’m scared for what’s to come. But fingers crossed that his incredibly complex character is done justice.

[sylseal]

The Toxin (D&D Fiction, 3.5k words)

Shaking hands grip the wood of the staff, my mouth going dry as I stare into the endless flames in the hollowed-out eyes of the half-skull. I stab the blade-end further into the ground, grunting and gritting my teeth. I feel the flames inside me, like a new bonfire caught on kindling that’s always been there; kindling that’s just needed a spark. I think of my friends, my family. Of Isharna, of Rowan, of Nicky. Melora was supposed to watch over us, but we can’t expect gods to do all the work, right? I look up at the skull as it creaks, that upper jaw rearing back as if opening a nonexistent mouth, and I watch as green-gold flame spews from its-

“Emma!”

I jolted awake, sitting suddenly upright, eyes wide open. My hands were still shaking; I wasn’t in the old forest, about to burn it down as I had dreamed. Instead, I was lying in my bedroll, on a hill overlooking a camp made by the tribe, my tribe.

My family, in a lot of ways.

Sitting next to me, small hands reaching out as if to shake me awake, was Poppy, this little human boy no older than ten. Ruddy brown hair, always has a little dirt on his cheeks, bright green eyes. He was a cute kid, one of the ones that looked up to me, and usually, he had a smile on his face. But tonight, he wore this deadly-serious expression; something was terribly wrong. But, I knew that the less I panicked and showed deep concern, the less he’d panic. So, I beamed at him to cover up my whirlwind of emotions, still left over from my dream. I also took a second to take stock of the time, and I noticed that the sun wasn’t up yet. The moon was on its way down, though, which meant that it was probably sometime in the morning.

“Hey, Pop,” I managed through an exhausted, raspy voice, “What’s up? You’re up early.”

“I-it’s Sovel,” he stammered, “T-they went out hunting a-and ran into something poisonous! N-none of our antidotes are working!”

The color drained from my face immediately as all other thoughts came to a screaming standstill. In moments, I was up, donning the leathers and wolf pelt that denoted my station as our elder’s apprentice. Then, I grabbed my bag, which held all my spell components, my healer’s kit and my medicine kit in it. Finally, I took up my staff, which still had that same damned green-orange flame sitting in the upper-half-skull that was jammed into the top of the staff. I turned back to Poppy and nodded to him.

“Show me,” is all I said. Poppy nodded, and without another word, guided me down from the hill where my bedroll was towards the tribe’s encampment, and then through the maze of tents and campfires.

‘Hunting?’ I can’t help but think to myself on the way, ‘At midnight? What the hells for?’

My mind eventually came upon a possible answer: insomnia. The Earthclaw Tribe were used to adapting to changing environments, such is the nature of living within Melora’s domain, after all. But having to pick up and move entirely to a new forest was grueling and harsh on everyone in the tribe. It would have been natural that some - if not most - would have been unable to sleep from such stress. And, since the burning of our old home was my doing, this situation, technically, was my fault.

The burning was a necessary evil; an infection had taken hold of the forest which we had called home, and none of our magic nor our traditional remedies were able to cure it. Even our elder, my mentor and our head druid, Ebele, was utterly stumped. Desperate to save our home and our people, and to fulfill my role both as an aasimar of Melora and as the forest’s guardian, I sought out the aid of a witch deep in the woods, and I did so alone.

I found her home easily enough, it was a small hut lit by strange yellow torchlight that hung around the outside of the roof’s rim. Thankfully, she was home; after some conversation, and after I bribed her by doing manual labor for her, this witch and I came to the same conclusion: the only way the forest would heal is if it was burned to the ground, and the plague burned with it. Wildfires, the witch explained, were also part of nature’s plan, often times initiated to cure things just like this. The forest would grow back after, but the plague would die off in the cleansing flame.

She gave me this strange staff, with a half-skull for a top and a blade grown into the base. In the eyes of the skull, and along the blade, there swirled an otherworldly green-white flame, something the witch called wildfire. She explained that this magical flame spread easier and was stronger than ordinary fire. Armed with the wildfire and knowing what had to come next, I evacuated our tribe from the forest, and then went to the very heart of our home. And I burned it all, every inch.

It was a necessary evil, I kept telling myself. Yet, as I was following Poppy, regret swelled in my chest and my throat. Now, because we had left, I was responsible for Sovel getting hurt, too. How many more would suffer the consequences of my trust in this mysterious witch?

I was brought back to reality all of a sudden, as we arrived at the right tent; I recognized it as our medical space, where Ebele and I did most of our work. As Poppy and I entered the tent, I noticed several people, each one I recognized, all gathered around a single bedroll on the opposite side of the tent from us. Laying within it, sure enough, was the familiar figure of Sovel. They had a relatively short brown undercut, chocolate eyes, lighter skin, they were lithe and toned with a modest frame, and they had a tuft of hair over the center of their chest like some sort of crest. Their shirt was ruined, having been shredded open by some beast.

They looked agonized, clutching their left shoulder as a black wound, about an inch long and plain as day to see even in the low torchlight, throbbed and spread in dark veins through their arm. Sovel and I had often butted heads on any number of topics, and I was so used to them always being so strong, that seeing them so weak made me pause in fear and just a little horror. That was momentary, though. I couldn’t stand there, dumbfounded; I had to lead.

Everyone looked up at me as we entered; Ebele was out scouting ahead with my older sister Nicole, and wouldn’t be back for two days. That meant I was the only druid in the tribe, and the only authority on how the hells to fix this.

“Alright,” I breathed, swallowing, clearing my head, and focusing as I stepped forwards, “Everyone except Isabella clear the tent. I need privacy for this.” I turned towards Isabella, our botanist, as everyone else followed my command. Isabella was a middle-aged human woman, but you would never guess her age from looks alone; she’s tall and fitter than anyone else in the tribe, with dark hair pulled back into a single braid, and a gorgeous smile that would make even the gods envious of her beauty.

“I need five cloves of rootshirk,” I began to list for her, “three leaves of bloodvine, and four snips of waterskim. I know we were out of bloodvine when last we inventoried, have we been able to grab any since then?”

“Only enough for planting,” Isabella sighed, folding her arms, "but don’t worry, I’ll make it work. The rest, I’ve already got.”

“Good,” I turned back to Sovel, “that’s all. Please, be quick, I’m not sure how much time we’ve got.”  Isabella set her jaw and nodded at that, before vanishing into the night for now. I moved to Sovel’s side, first stabbing my staff into the ground a few feet away, and then I sank down to my knees. I placed my bag down and reached into it for my healer’s kit, first, then my medicine kit. Sovel glanced up at me; up until that point, they had been in such pain that they hadn’t even taken note of me. They were pale and sweating, probably running a fever, but as they looked my way, I put a hand to their forehead to be sure. Yup, feverish alright.

“Mmuh…?” They mumbled, blinking exhaustion out of their eyes and moving to bat my hand away with their good hand, “E-Emma? W-whe-?”

“I’m here to help you, dummy. Now give me a second, I need focus,” I said, my tone brooking no argument as I opened my healer’s kit and began to use Create Water, first to wet a folded cloth, then to fill a glass bottle that was part of the kit. I put the cloth against their forehead as I continued, “Dunno how much you remember, but apparently you went out hunting and got clipped by something toxic. I’m trying to rectify that.” That poison, though...it was worrying. Even though I had only ever lived in one forest, Ebele had demanded I learn as much as I could about the various poisons and animals of the world, because part of my duty as a druid was at least to know this stuff. Yet, as I sat there preparing and unpacking, I realized that that this poison, something so fast-acting and so visibly malevolent, was something I had never seen or heard of before.

I chose not to voice that realization, though. Sovel had enough to worry about right now. To their credit, when I gave them that initial order about silence, they grumbled but, for once, did not argue with me. They give me a dirty look as I put the cloth on their head, but then they actually felt it, and the relief it offered them, and that seemed to make them settle for the moment.

‘Good,’ I thought to myself, ‘I can’t fight the poison and Sovel’s bullshit at the same time.’

“Em,” Isabella regarded me, entering the tent with several tiny bags, which she handed to me. They were all marked with which herb they contained, too, so I didn’t have to waste time.

“Good, thank you,” I nodded to her. She took her leave, and I got to work, taking the herbs and starting to mash them together in a pestle and mortar, one specifically made for druids.

First, I would need a potion to fortify Sovel’s body, to give them a better chance of holding their own against the toxin. Then, I’d need a poultice, one that would actually do the job of healing the infection from the source. If Sovel’s body was fighting the poison from both sides, it would stand a far better chance of healing. I started work on the potion, first. In the meanwhile, though...I looked over and saw Sovel starting to drift into semi-unconsciousness. I couldn’t allow that; if they fell asleep, I knew I might not have been able to wake them back up.

“So, any idea what got you?” I ask, trying to at least have some conversation going. They blink themselves slowly back to awareness.

“Mnn…no? It was dark out…”

“And?” I snort, before rolling my eyes and huffing, “You’re a half-elf, you got darkvision, don’t you?” That line of questioning and sass did not get a reply. After a moment, I looked over and opened my mouth to say something, only to realize that they hadn’t fallen back asleep. They just didn’t want to respond to that particular comment; they looked ashamed, but it was hard to tell from how pale they had gotten.

“Okay, change of subject,” I remarked, switching gears to the other thing on my mind, “what kept you up?”

“You. The tribe. Everything that’s happened.” That one, they answered quickly.

“You mean with the forest? And the wildfire?”

“Yeah. Nicole, too. She’s been distant, and it’s got me worried about her.” Their elaboration got my head going. For an instant, my hands stopped mashing herbs as my own mind flashed with images of Nicky crying, sobbing into me, apologizing for the plague, apologizing for “bringing it on us.” I squeezed her tightly and told her that she didn’t need to apologize, that it wasn’t her fault, and that we were going to be okay. There was no way she possibly could have known the plague would come for us, too.

Then, my thoughts returned to the present. I took a deep breath, and let out a sigh before I continued mashing. By now, I saw that the mixture was turning red and was looking more and more like a fine paste, so I scooped up a small amount of the mix with a spoon and dumped it into the glass bottle from before. That done, I took a long stick from my medicine kit and began to stir the water in the bottle, watching it go from reddish-clear, to solid red...to dark red with golden streaks coursing through it. Smiling, I handed the potion to Sovel, who drank it, though not without giving me the stink eye first. Then, they actually tasted it, and made the same face anyone makes when they smell a skunk. I rolled my eyes and let out a huff of annoyance as I pouted.

“Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad ya big baby.” Even as I said that, I got to work on the poultice next, getting some bandages and lathering the crimson, sloppy mix onto a patch of cotton in thin, translucent layers until the top of the cotton was red with little flecks of gold in it.

“Shut up,” they growled, about to add some other remark before they threw their head back in agony and dropped the glass bottle on the soft bedroll. Their hand shot up to the wound as it flared up suddenly. The dark tendrils in their arm crept further along, like an animal digging its claws in deeper into its prey. I swore under my breath at that, and brushed a lock of orange hair out of my face as I finished work on the cotton. Time, it seemed, was not on our side.

Yet, just as I was about to apply the poultice, I felt something nasty in my gut, something troubling me. Poppy’s words, ‘none of our antidotes are working’ raced through my mind. In that moment, something deep inside my heart immediately knew that this was not going to work. The poultice would fail, and Sovel would be gone by the end of the night. Panic, and a familiar anxiety, began to settle over me, as my hands shook like tent tarps billowing from the wind. 

I almost lost myself then and there, but that same feeling that had told me the poultice wouldn’t work then turned, and I felt a swell of determination. I could not let Sovel die; I was an aasimar of melora, a daughter of mother nature herself. I would not let this thing kill my sibling. It was the same desperation that I felt in the forest when the plague came, and it led me to the same conclusion.

I knew, in that moment, what I had to do.

“Hey,” I asked Sovel as awareness returned to them, “you trust me, right?” They looked perplexed at that question.

“W-wha-? Yeah, of course I trust you, dummy. Why?”

“Good,” I nodded, and took a deep breath while holding the poultice-laden cotton in my left hand. My right hand reached up toward my staff, and from one of those eyeholes in the skull, I called down a little ball of wildfire into my palm. Taking it, I looked back to Sovel, who, while not nearly strong enough to move or try and defend themselves, watched with mild fear as I bathed the cotton in the flame, watching as it took easily, as if it were quite natural.  

Everyone in the tribe feared the flame, and how could I blame them? It had burned down their home, it had, in many ways, seemed to have overtaken my “normal” druidic magic, and many of us simply didn’t know if it originated someplace good or evil. It was unknown, it was terrifying. But, as it happened, I knew in that moment that it was also the only thing that had a chance at curing this infection, and I knew that I had to calm Sovel down in order for that to work. So, I narrowed my eyes at them, and said in no uncertain terms,

“Look, the poultice alone isn’t going to be enough, and I know the flame can heal when I will it to.” They still looked extremely wary, so I continued, “I have healed things with it before, you know I have; you’ve seen me practice things like Cure Wounds since the burning of the forest. You said you trust me, and I don’t plan on letting that trust be in vain.” I was wide-eyed and desperate, praying that this would work. “So...please, let me try this.”

Sovel sat there, staring me down for an uncomfortably long time, before, at last, nodding slowly. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and whispered a small ‘thank you’ before looking to the flaming poultice. It hadn’t burned any of the red paste, much to my relief and joy. I had willed this particular flame to heal, and though it was tough to control, like any flame, I knew that it was part of my power. That it would, ultimately, listen to me.

I let out a deep breath, little jets of wildfire emerging from the corners of my lips, before I set the cotton, still flaming, on Sovel’s wound. Sovel gasped and whimpered as I held the cotton there. Again, I let out a breath with little swirls of wildfire in it, and I focused. I could feel the flame somehow, feel it spreading into the wound, feel it cleansing it. My hands began to glow a little, and I watched as little traces of green-yellow-white snaked along the dark veins in Sovel’s arm, devouring them as if they were kindling. One by one, more and more of those were consumed by the healing fire, until at last...they were gone. As the last of those black veins were consumed by wildfire, the flames faded back, as if they had been merely flickering tricks of the light. Reaching for my healer’s kit, I grabbed a bandage roll and began to wrap it around Sovel’s arm to pin the poultice and cotton in place.

“Feeling better?” I asked as I continued wrapping, and Sovel came back to full wariness, color returning to their face. 

“I…” they blinked, “...I think so. How did you do that?”

“I told you,” I gave a smug grin and tied off the bandage. I ruffled their hair (causing them to let out a small huff and grumble of annoyance), before explaining, “it does what I will. Be it to harm…or to heal. Now, rest that arm, and keep that poultice on it, we have to make sure that poison doesn’t come back. You sure you don’t have any idea what did that?”

“No,” Sovel sat up, now a little more coherent, “honestly it was just a big shape, I couldn’t make out any clear details, almost like the damn thing was made of water, but completely clear and clean.” My stomach sank a little; any animal intelligent enough to use invisibility magic of all things would not be something we would want to mess around with.

“...Then I think once Ebele is back, it’ll be time to move on from this place. The least dangerous thing it could be is a Displacer Beast that’s developed venom, I’d rather not tangle with even that. In the meantime, I’ll start telling everyone no more going out at night. Let’s not have this happen again.” There was a look of defiance from Sovel for a moment, but then they stopped, probably considering what they just gone through. Then, they slowly nodded in agreement with me. Agreeing with me, this many times in one day? At this point, I wondered if they were going to break a record.

“...Yeah.” They let out a sigh, and I began cleaning up my tools and packing up to leave. “And…Emma?”

“Yeah?” I turned my head to face them, and, for once, saw a smile on their face. A true, genuine smile.

“Thanks, sis.” Those words on those lips, that smile on that face... My anxiety and my fears about finding a new home, for once, were thrust to the back of my mind, where I couldn’t see them.

Maybe, just maybe, I could do this. Maybe, just maybe, it was going to be okay.

[buckyownsmylife]

t r e a c h e r o u s - epilogue

The one where you are Sebastian’s girlfriend, but Chris can’t get enough of you.

Due to the age gap between you and Sebastian, your boyfriend has a hard time feeling sexually attracted to you. In order to save your relationship, he invites Chris to have sex with you while he watches, hoping that the voyeurism will awaken his arousal and jealousy. Soon, he’ll learn that inviting his best friend into his relationship may have just been the worst mistake he ever made, when Chris finds himself unable to let you go after his role is done.

for general warnings, author’s notes and disclaimer, please go to the fic’s masterlist

A/N: so many of you asked me to write about the confrontation between the reader and sebastian, and as a little gift for my first thousand followers, I decided to write this little epilogue explaining how I imagine it all went down. In my mind, the reader would simply disappear, leaving Sebastian confused and brokenhearted when he realized what had happened, as he had to watch her and Chris share everything he thought he would have with her without as much as an explanation. This is the story of what happens when they finally see each other again.

The flashes almost made me dizzy, but I kept on my perfectly rehearsed smile as I posed for the red carpet pictures they needed to get from me. In all honesty, I just wanted to go back home and be with my wife and family, but this was also part of the job, and I was used to it by now.

Didn’t mean it sucked any less, of course.

Suddenly, a loud commotion was heard as, like everyone who didn’t know what was going on, I turned to the side to find Chris and his family joining the event. Oh boy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my publicist pale, and the press getting ready to have a field day.

Five years had gone by where we managed to avoid each other. Very narrowly, sometimes, but still. Five years without having to talk to one another and address what had happened. It all went to shit tonight. 

My eyes met Y/N’s, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights - but only for a second. She quickly managed to hide her nervousness under a small smile, giving me a slight nod in recognition as she tried to contain the enthusiasm of her son, who was already trying to take off running.

“Please, honey, just stay still for a couple of minutes and then you can go play.” Damn, it’d been so long since I last heard her voice. I’d managed to spend all this time without listening to any singles or albums, not seeing any interviews or shows. She still sounded just as sweet, but I was surprised at the realization that hearing and seeing her did not hurt me at all.

Deciding to skip the interviews, I entered the building in search of a place where I could hide for a bit, at least until they had gotten to their own seats. Images of a seemingly distant past danced in front of me, but I honestly couldn’t care less. That was, of course, until a small knock interrupted my walk down memory lane and Y/N was standing in front of me, playing with her fingers in a clear sign of nervousness.

“Hi,” she greeted in a small voice, and I had to suppress a smile at the sight of just how uncomfortable she was.

“Hi, yourself.” A tense silence fell between us as she seemed to figure out what she wanted to say. I didn’t try to help her. I wasn’t the one who went looking for her, and I most definitely wasn’t the one with something to say.

“Huh… You look amazing,” she tried again, waving to my suit with a short nod of approval. I just had to chuckle.

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself. Time has treated you well.” That earned me a small smile, but her eyes were still sad. I was just about to excuse myself from being found in an empty room with my ex, when she seemingly found the courage to say what was on her mind.

“Look, Sebastian… I don’t deserve an apology and quite honestly, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I just need you to know that although I can’t regret what has happened - not when it got me to Chris and my kids - I do recognize that it was wrong of me to have done it that way. You deserved more. And I need you to know that I recognize that, and that there is not a single day of my life where I don’t feel guilty over what I’ve done.” 

Of all the times I’d daydreamed about this moment, not once I was able to create this precise turn of events. In most of the figments of my imagination, she was begging me to forgive her, sometimes even recognizing that she should have never left me. But this felt right, somehow. She was right in not asking for my forgiveness, because I don’t think I could ever give it to her. But it did help to know after all this time that she acknowledged the hurt that she left behind. It allowed me to look over the scars of my heart and see for the first time that they were completely healed.

“Thank you for telling me that. It feels good to finally hear it.” I buried my hands deep in my trousers’ pockets, and thought to myself that this was it, this was the last time I’d have to speak to her. And then it hit me. I couldn’t let her leave without admitting something, at least.

“I’m glad things turned out the way they did. I’m happy with my family, I can see that you’re happy with yours. As much as I tried, I wanted to feel something in our relationship, but I didn’t really love you. I thought I did, but I didn’t. And you deserve someone who does, just like I deserve someone who would never hurt me the way you did.” Y/N accepted my words with a final nod and a small smile, leaving me to live my life without the weight of what she had done hovering over me anymore.

[alice-angel12x]

Vil ending

Vil passed back and forth in front of Y/n's room, as he waited for the doctor to finish his autopsy, but when the doctor and Y/n's family emerged. Y/n's mother was in tears as her husband held her close with a sorrowful expression.

"Doctor, Is Y/n alright?" Vil asked quietly.

The Doctor looked over his shoulder and lead Vil to the other side of the waiting room."Y/n will make a complete recovery, but," The doctor paused," His wings had to be removed, they were badly infected and it left alone, Y/n would never heal."

Vil's heart dropped." Y/n's going to have a rough time coping with the changes," The Doctor frowned slightly.

"what do you mean?" Vil asked nervesly.

"Siren's take great pride in their wings and Iive for flight. So one can imagine the misery of living, but being unable to do what you were born to do," The Doctor explained.

"May I see them?" Vil asked quickly.

"Go right ahead, but be careful about the wing topic. For a siren, they are taking this situation very well," The Doctor whispered," They could just be putting up a front."

Vil nodded as he slowly approached the door, but hesitated as a powerful wave of guilt washed over him. Would Y/n even want to see him after what he did to them? Vil took a deep breath and slowly entered the room. Inside sat Y/n, who seemed to just be sitting and staring at the wall in front of them.

"H-hello, Schoenheit," Y/n stuttered.

"Hello Y/n, I'm glad you're getting better," Vil greeted slowly as he sat near the end of Y/n's bed.

"Y-yeah," Y/n nodded as they felt off, not feeling quite the same without the weight of their wings on their back.

As Vil sat next to Y/n, he could see the sad and empty stare in their eyes, and how pale they had become. An almost hollow and sad husk of the kind and bright Y/n he loved so much. The more Vil stared the more his heart twisted and noted with sorrow.

"I've come to apologize for what I had down to you. You shouldn't have seen such an ugly side of me, I shouldn't have let my jealousy dictate my action," Vil apologized.

"jealousy?" Y/n asked.

"For someone so observant your so oblivious," Vil scoffed," of Neige, of course. I could never beat him in anything, everyone favors him and sweep me aside. Even when we were young, I have been swept aside by the role of villain, while Neige got to be the hero and shined for all to see. Except you, you were my first fan, and the thought of you falling for him... Was frustrating."

" Why would I fall in love with Neige?" Y/n asked with a confused look.

" Isn't it obvious?! He also has feelings for you," Vil sighed in frustration, while Y/n look really surprised.

"How can you be this oblivious," Vil sighed.

"Well, Neige is kind to everyone, so I only ever saw him in a platonic light. Besides, I couldn't really see him like that. Though I will always be grateful for what Neige and his family did for my home and family," Y/n smiled," If it wasn't for their big charity to my home country, I wouldn't have the means to even come to this school."

"Y/n. What am I to you? And I want your honest and true thoughts," Vil said sternly.

"Well, I don't know. I look up to Vil, as a muse, and role model, I worry I'm simply mistaken love for admiration. Plus You have very high standards for a person to be worthy of you, so I'm quite sure I wouldn't make such a standard, especially now with my wings- '

Suddenly Y/n felt themselves being pulled forward quickly by their collar and felt a pair of lips meet theirs. They slowly realized that  Vil had just pulled them into a very passionate kiss.

"Stop saying such terrible things. if you really do trust my words, then I do think you are more than worthy to stand by my side. With or without your wings," Vil whispered in Y/n's ear. ___

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Fatherhood (Post-Eragon, Pre-Eldest Short)

(A/N: I posted about this a while ago but had to hold off on writing it due to my class load. It’s rough, and could probably use a few more scroll throughs and rewriting sections, but I’m just happy to have something to post right now. 

This occurs about two days after Eragon is released from the Varden hospital post-Farthen Dur. Everyone is just kind of recovering. Brom fills his role as everyone’s dad. The usual.)

~~~~

The sound of a dragon sleeping was surprisingly quiet. 

Brom knelt down beside Eragon’s cot, easing his knees to the floor in the darkness. Behind him, the tip of her tail laid protectively over her sleeping Rider’s shins, Saphira’s eyelids flickered with her dreams. The steady sound of her breathing was soothing, a natural lullaby that only Riders knew. 

Gently, carefully, the older Rider reached out a hand and stroked his son’s hair back from his forehead. When the boy didn’t stir, Brom continued, feeling a familiar ache well up in his chest. 

The day had been hard. Not even out of Tronjhiem’s hospital 48 hours, feeling refreshed and eager to help however he could, Eragon had been suddenly struck down not once, but twice by seizures. The pain that Brom had seen on the boy’s face had been extreme to say the least, and once again he found himself unable to help his son. Stuck, like all those times before, on the outside looking in as others cared for his boy. 

This time, though. This time would be different. He was here now, and even if Eragon was unaware, Brom would always be his father. He would always look out for him. He promised Selena he would, and damn it, he would keep that promise.

He ran a thumb over the boy’s brow. Eragon was too old to be tucked in and given a forehead kiss goodnight. Brom hadn’t been there for that time of his life, but tonight...this would have to do. For all the time he had missed.

Brom remained beside his son’s bed until his knees began to ache and stiffness crept into his joints. With one last check to ensure Eragon was still sleeping soundly and one more soft ruffle of his dark hair, the elder Rider pushed himself up. 

Walking through the deep tingles of his numb feet, Brom gave Saphira’s snout a tired pat goodnight. He squeezed past her to slip through the warehouse’s door into the Elven embassy’s common room.

Despite his best efforts, the door’s latch let out a faint click as it slid closed. He winced, immediately knowing that the common room’s occupant would hear the noise and–

“Wus’wrng?”

Brom sighed, but could not stop the somewhat helpless grin that tilted his lips as he turned to the couch. 

Arya was sat bolt upright, blanket fallen to the floor from where she had thrown it off. She blinked blearily, awake but not fully conscious, and sniffed the air as Brom approached in an instinctive attempt to confirm his identity. 

The elf was not exactly recovered from her recent stunt with the Star Sapphire and her attempt to heal Eragon directly afterwards. Even though she insisted on carrying out her duties as bodyguard to Eragon and Saphira in the days following the boy’s awakening, on more than one occasion Brom found himself throwing an arm around her shoulders. The move was always passed off as a gesture of support and friendship in the hectic days after the battle, but in reality it was Brom realizing at the last second that the woman had literally passed out on her feet and needed something to lean on physically. 

Vilks, the doctor that usually treated Arya in Glenwing’s absence, had simply said that her body was just now getting a moment to process the trauma and exertion of the past few months. She needed sleep, and lots of it, to recover.  

In her state, it wasn’t difficult for the elf to fall asleep. It was more difficult to get her to stay that way when she was constantly worried about Eragon and Saphira.

“Everything’s fine.” Brom soothed, hands out in a gesture of peace. “Go back to sleep.”

Arya rubbed at her eyes. “Eragon n’ Saphira?” Her words were slurred, but gradually taking on clearer form. Brom knew he would have to work quickly or else she’d be up all night again, exhausted yet pacing endless loops of the embassy compound as repentance for being unable to protect her charge. At least until she found a suitably soft patch of ground and passed out.

“They’re fine. I just checked on them.” Brom knelt down again, this time beside the couch. “You should sleep in your room, you know. Vilks wants you sleeping in an actual bed.”

The elf groggily waved him off. “Wanna be…” She yawned. “Wanna be close. ‘Case they need somethin’.” She gestured toward the warehouse door Brom had entered through, off balance and struggling to appear alert. 

The Rider again let that helpless grin grace his bearded face. He had learned decades ago that when the elf set herself a mission it was impossible to turn her away completely.  “Alright, fine. But lay back down. You need to sleep, kid.” He gave her shoulder a gentle push. 

Arya nodded, eyes already closed as she put her head down and curled around one of the couch pillows. Seconds later saw her breathing even out again, and with a tired, somewhat amused shake of his head Brom retrieved the fallen blanket and gently draped it over his former student. The elf squirmed slightly, curving her back more tightly against the backrest of the couch, and Brom tugged the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. Maybe there wasn’t an age limit on being tucked in after all. 

Padding down the hall, quite ready to return to his own bed, Brom stopped when he saw the golden light streaming from under another door not far from his. A shadow moved through the beam before disappearing, signaling a rather awake occupant.

Brom knocked softly and cracked the door. Just as he suspected, Murtagh was lounging on his still-made bed, a pile of books at his hip and one open in his hands. He looked up, startled at Brom’s sudden entrance. 

Murtagh opened his mouth, about to snap an honestly fair retort at the Rider for entering his room without permission, but Brom beat him to it. 

“Past three. Go to sleep.” Brom chided, before his eye caught on the book the young man was holding. A jolt of recognition followed by a hollow pang of loss stuttered his heart as he realized Murtagh was reading what had been his mother’s favorite. “Poetry can wait.”

Murtagh’s face flushed red, seeming embarrassed that Brom caught him reading romantic poetry of all things. “Oi, you aren’t my bloody parent!” He stuttered, snapping the book shut. “And I don’t remember saying you could come in!”

Brom’s lip twitched. A few years earlier and I might well have been your father. He bit his tongue though, and instead growled lowly, “First off, whelp, keep your voice down. Everyone else is trying to sleep.” 

Murtagh’s blush deepened as he realized his mistake, but the expression of affronted teen, defiant and offended in his embarrassment, did not leave his face.  

“And second, I’m damn well not your bastard of a father. Which is why I’m taking the time to do what he didn’t and picking up where that Tornac fellow left off raising your sorry ass.” Brom jabbed a finger at the watch on his wrist. “It’s three in the fucking morning. Turn off the light. Go to sleep. Now.”

The two stared each other down for a long stretch, the silence tense. Brom would never admit it, but he had begun to feel a certain protectiveness for Selena’s other son. Murtagh, likewise, had been more open to the elder Rider and his gruff gestures of acceptance. 

It bled through into their interactions in a myriad of ways, but most often it came out as Murtagh testing the limits of Brom’s boundaries, like a child testing their independence with small rebellions as they grew. 

Murtagh, Brom was learning, required special handling when these little rebellions cropped up. Unlike Arya, who responded best to a listening ear and the occasional sparring match to push lessons through with a more physical touch, or Eragon, who was best placated and taught with hours of answered questions and meandering hypotheticals, or even Saphira, the easiest of the lot through her ancestral knowledge and better understanding of emotions rather than explanations via mental links, Murtagh needed...leeway. Space. Options. The boy had spent tumultuous chunks of his life taught only by pain, shouting, and threats that they were now ingrained as immediately hostile in his mind. He needed guidance, yes, but not steel hard and sharp. 

Brom sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, making a point to not fully cross the threshold into Murtagh’s room. “Look, I just need you in fighting form. I’ve already got one exhausted elf falling asleep everywhere, I don’t need to add you to the list of couch sleepers.” He picked at a loose chip of paint he felt at the edge of his fingers. “...Besides Saphira, you’re the only one I can really count on right now to keep Eragon safe. And you know more about seizure first aid than the rest of us. So just…” Brom ran a hand over his face, feeling drained. Was this what it was like to raise kids? How had Garrow and Mirian done something like this every night? “Go to sleep. Please. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

Most of the angry red had drained from Murtagh’s face by the time Brom had finished. The young man dropped his gaze, running his fingers over the poetry book’s embossed cover. “...Fine. But don’t say I never listen to you.” Murtagh muttered. He started to stack the books from his bed onto the floor carefully, treating each with an unexpected reverence.

“Fine. Good night.” Brom paused, then nodded to the poetry book now perched on the bedside table. “Ediar. That’s a good collection. Try page ninety three, Lament of the Soldier’s Shadow, in the morning.”

Murtagh jerked his head up, utterly bewildered at the mention of his mother’s favorite poem, but the door had already clicked closed. 

Brom finally sank into his bed, feeling the heavy ache of delayed rest slowly seep from his bones. He clicked the light off and settled back, his thoughts wandering.

He wondered what Selena would think of him now. An old man doing his best to corral a fledgling dragon, his son by blood, and….

Brom suddenly sat up in the dark, amused and confused all at once.

When the hell did he end up becoming a dad to all these damn kids?

~~~

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow (con’t)

Frelia's pegasus knight unit was continuing to desperately defend against an overwhelmingly large enemy army.

Their entire unit had already been nearly wiped out, and the remaining soldiers were putting all of their strength into defending the bridges. If they fell here, then the enemy could invade in one fell swoop, and the people of Narube would likely be massacred without resistance.

"Those who can move, take the citizens south!" Syrene, the leader of the pegasus knight unit, shouted as loudly as she could while swinging around her lance and fending off the enemy's onslaughts.

However, she hardly had any knights left that could follow that order. Even if the knights managed to get the children atop the pegasi, their wings were damaged, and they couldn’t fly. Even the citizens who had panicked and cried at first had already lost the energy to do that any longer, and exhaustedly slipped into utter silence.

They’d made a major miscalculation. The Grado Army had lost the capital, yet still had a large number of soldiers left.

If the knights thought only about themselves, then they had the possibility to take advantage of their pegasi’s mobility and retreat, but they couldn’t abandon the people of Narube just to escape.

“We’re at our limit, Lady Syrene! We’ll buy you some time! Please do whatever it takes to get out of here!” A knight wearing armor covered in blood yelled at her.

But Syrene shook her head.

She had no intention of running away until the very end. The bodies of the Frelian soldiers who’d exhausted all of their strength lay around her. She was ready to die here in battle herself as well.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t live up to Prince Innes’ hopes for her. She remembered the day that she’d officially become the leader of the pegasus knights as if it was yesterday. The prince had personally given her a beautiful whip and said that the pegasus knight unit was the pride and joy of Frelia, and he wanted them to fight for their homeland so long as they drew breath.

His words filled her chest with deep emotions. She swore to herself that she would devote herself to Frelia… and Prince Innes and Princess Tana.

The plan was to unite her forces with the prince’s at Narube River and fight together at full strength under his orders. However, before that could happen, she would probably see her end. Regret burned in her heart.

Her younger sister was together with the prince. That was her only consolation. If her sister could protect the prince when she couldn’t… then that was all she could ask for.

“Lady Syrene, that’s…!” One of the knights shouted.

Was it more enemy reinforcements? Just how much leftover strength could the Grado Army have at this point? 

The moment Syrene was about to succumb to her despair, she looked at where her soldier was pointing, and instinctively breathed a sigh of belief.

A large army was nearing from the south. They were still a considerable distance away, so she couldn't clearly make out who they were, but the color of their armor was different from that of the Grado Army.

"Is that… the Renais Army…?" The moment Syrene whispered, a single pegasus knight appeared from the oncoming crowd, and flew straight in her direction. 

Syrene knew who it was before her eyes could even confirm the rider’s face, as she could distinguish the slight but distinct strong wing movements and neck shaking of individual pegasi.

She smiled without even thinking about it, and felt a weight be lifted off her shoulders that had been with her since the beginning of the war.

“Commander Syrene, are you alright?!” The knight riding the pegasus shouted, and swiftly threw a javelin at a Grado soldier coming at her while avoiding his own attack.

She effortlessly hit her target, showing her strength. ‘She’s gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time.’ Syrene thought.

“Vanessa, you’re here! Meaning…”

“Yes, Prince Innes and Princess Tana are with me! They are safe as well!”

“Thank goodness…” Relief warmed her heart. 

Vanessa continued in a commanding tone, “Please stand down, Commander! We’ll take it from here.”

“No, I...”

‘...am not severely injured,’ she started to say, but thought twice about it.

Both her and her unit were already at the limits of their stamina. Even if she continued to be stubborn and fight on the front line, she would do the exact opposite of help, and get in her allies’ way. It was wiser for her to retreat for the moment, recuperate, and then pick up her weapon again.

“Understood! I will stand down for now, and let your commander take over from here. Please tell them I said so.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“And Vanessa.”

Vanessa tried to guide her pegasus higher into the sky, but Syrene called out to her again.

Vanessa turned back around and no longer had her previous tense expression on her face, perhaps because she had finally relaxed. 

Syrene responded in a casual tone, “It looks like you’ve been playing a very big role as a soldier of Princess Eirika’s guard. I was really worried when I heard that you’d been betrayed in Carcino, but… I finally feel at ease.”

“Thank you Ma’am…!”

"Your spearmanship has improved greatly since we parted as well. And you've become a bit more beautiful too."

Vanessa’s eyes widened at suddenly being teased, and her cheeks turned red. “S-Sister…!”

No matter how good their relationship was as sisters, on the battlefield, they were commander and subordinate. To Vanessa, who was so serious it made her formal and strict, keeping that distinction was of vital importance. But right now, even she had forgotten herself.

Syrene laughed out loud and guided her pegasus to softly spread her wings.

Her pegasus had taken an enemy attack, which seriously injured her wing. She wanted her beloved pegasus to be healed as quickly as possible. To a pegasus knight, her pegasus was more than just a simple mount. They were invaluable partners whose fates were linked to each other.

“I’ll see you again later, Vanessa.” Syrene parted ways with her sister for the time being, and her pegasus flew off, leading her exhausted unit.

The Renais Army had crossed the bridge and was coming closer. Syrene stopped her pegasus and landed on the ground.

Everyone was injured and bleeding. Their uniforms had been beautiful and stunning when they left home, but now, they looked like they never could have been such dazzling garments. However, each and every one of their faces were lit up like the sun.

Syrene knelt down on one knee before Eirika and bowed her head. “Reporting, Princess Eirika of Renais! The Frelian Army was surprise attacked by the Grado Army, and we regrettably lost most of our soldiers. But only a few of the people of Narube have been killed since the beginning of the attack, and the rest are safe.”

“Good work. All of you please take whatever time you need to recuperate.” 

Eirika’s voice was soft and kind. Just her words alone healed Syrene of her exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Syrene?”

She recognized Prince Innes’ voice, and looked up.

He was standing next to Eirika. Among his dirt-covered army, he stood out as the one refined person. He of course should be tired since he had traveled on a long journey together with the soldiers, but he didn’t show it in the slightest. His clothing looked as if a tailor had just dressed him.

“Lord Innes… I am sorry. The Frelian Army is unable to merge with Renais’ Army. We’ve suffered too much damage, and…”

"Never mind that. None of you have anything you need to worry about. We’ll take it from here.”

His words were reassuring. ‘It appears that Vanessa is not the only one who’s grown up while we were apart.’ She felt that Prince Innes had also become even stronger since the last time they’d seen each other.

‘Perhaps…’ Syrene thought. ‘Vanessa has become more beautiful because of Prince Innes?’ It was difficult for her to imagine Vanessa falling in love with any ordinary man. If he wasn’t a partner that she could respect with all of her heart, then he likely wouldn’t be able to steal it. And If there was any man that Vanessa could respect, it was of course...

“Syrene, do you know any information about the enemy commander?”

Innes asked her in a harsh tone.

Syrene shook her head. “There is a fort on the other side of the river. The enemy commander is using it as a base. I heard that it appears to be Prince Lyon leading the army. I have not been able to confirm that myself, but that is what my subordinates reported.”

“Hmm… Do you know anything about Prince Lyon? ...No wait, nevermind.” In a move that was entirely unlike him, Innes hesitated and changed his words. “Asking won’t change anything. For now, Syrene, please get healed, and return quickly to the battlefront. We still need your power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

He seemed worried about Prince Lyon for some reason, but knowing that she and her soldiers were living up to the prince’s expectations made Syrene happy. The pegasus knights had survived their long, grueling fight, retreated for the time being, and were healed by Natasha and the other healers.

“Leave the front line to us. We’ll defend the northern bridge.” Ephraim said and charged his horse straight north. 

His loyal knights Forde and Kyle led his other soldiers and followed after him.

Eirika went with Seth and the others to save the citizens. The group totaled a few dozen men and women huddling together and shaking. Eirika talked to each of them individually to encourage them, helped the injured atop her horse, and led them to a safe place.

Eirika worked as hard as she could, trying not to think about anything she did not need to. But every so often, she would remember that wicked voice. Whenever she thought about Lyon and the pain the Demon King had caused him, she couldn’t stand the feeling she felt. 

‘I ate his heart.’ Or so the Demon King said. If she accepted his words literally, then Lyon’s heart was already gone, and his body entirely controlled by the Demon King. She did not want to believe that such a terrifying thing could be reality.

It had been for only just a moment, but she'd heard Lyon scream. “Run away…” He’d pleaded with all his might. “I’ll destroy you…” There was no way that could have been the Demon King’s voice.

Lyon’s heart had yet to be completely consumed. He'd nearly suppressed the Demon King’s consciousness, and was continuing to just barely manage to fight. He was struggling as hard as he could to remain in control. And that was why they had to press forward. They had to defeat the Demon King and restore his heart.

But on the other hand of that thought, the Demon King's last words weighed heavily on her heart. Ephraim told her not to worry about them, yet she couldn't help but think about them.

Kill Prince Ephraim, and claim Princess Eirika. The Demon King said that was Lyon's desire. A kind man like Lyon shouldn't have such a twisted and ambitious desire… or so she wanted to think, but her heart was no longer sure.

As Lyon was a sickly person, Ephraim had always been the object of his admiration. In situations like when Ephraim was praised by Duessel, or he won a match against a senior knight, Lyon would cheerfully say "You really are amazing, Ephraim!" Those were words of wonder and amazement.

At the time, Eirika didn't think much of it, and just took his words at face value. ...There hadn’t been any warped feelings hiding underneath that adoration, right? He thought Ephraim was amazing… and wanted to be Ephraim… but he couldn’t. Those feelings of inferiority hadn’t turned into jealousy, had they?

“Lady Eirika, we have finished leading the people to safety.” Seth reported.

The pegasus knights had also finished receiving their treatment, and were awaiting Eirika’s orders. Now was not the time to be guessing what was within Lyon’s heart. She had orders to give as her army’s commander.

“Let’s go! We will take the fort across the river and capture Prince Lyon!” Eirika hesitated for a moment, then added, “You must not kill him! We still have a lot of questions for him.”

Syrene and her pegasus knights immediately accepted the order and all flew up into the sky at once. The pegasi had all been healed alongside their riders, and their energy was restored. They flapped their white wings at full strength.

Seth looked up at the pegasus knights and said, “Lady Eirika, I understand how you feel, but Prince Lyon is already…”

“...I know.” She cut off the rest of his sentence, not wanting to hear it.

He looked straight at her. "Our enemy introduced himself as the Demon King. We still do not know whether he truly is or not, but if he is, then this is very serious. Even if we fight him at full strength, we still might not win.”

“...You're right.”

“It’s a shame that his heart is in chaos on the outside, but…”

“I know. I’ll be fine, Seth. I’m prepared to fight him.” Eirika nodded with conviction.

She couldn’t make Seth worry, and so she spoke those words to him immediately. In truth, she still didn’t know. Would she be able to turn her sword against him?

Eirika maneuvered her horse to the front line, where Ephraim's group was fighting. She shook off her hesitation and gradually picked up speed.

A harsh battle was unfolding on the northern bridge. Grado dragon knights attacked from the sky, making the fight difficult for Ephraim and his soldiers, but the pegasus knight unit rushed to their side, and started to change their situation bit by bit.

Pegasi were of a smaller build than dragons, but were utterly fearless. They flew bravely at the enemies' chests, and threw them into confusion. Once the dragon unit's movements had broken out into a panic, Innes and Neimi shot arrows straight at them. The arrows flew through the dragon's wings. Their cries pierced the sky, and their riders lost their balance and fell into the river.

Once Eirika's army finally captured the bridge, they used that momentum to continue moving east. They could now see the fort the enemy was using as their base.

"He's in there, right?!" Ephraim asked when Eirika rode up next to him.

Eirika noticed that her brother refused to refer to Lyon by name.

Perhaps Ephraim felt just as lost as Eirika, and that was why he was purposely avoiding referring to Lyon by name. If he said it aloud, it might dull his resolve to fight, no matter what else he did.

The enemy was waiting for them outside of the fort. Eirika's army shifted into a fan formation and surrounded the Demon King.

He had a cruel smile on his face, and waited calmly for them. He no longer seemed to have any interest in pretending to be human. His facial features were clearly Lyon's, but his expressions did not feel human at all.

'That's not Lyon… such a wicked, cold stare could never be Lyon's.' Eirika told herself. But she still could not rid herself of her hesitation, rather, she tried to find if Lyon was left anywhere in his face.

"...So you intend to challenge me?" The Demon King asked. 

The chilling sound of his voice made Eirika's horse tremble so hard she could not calm her.

"You are all so lucky to not yet know my true terror…”

"Get out of Lyon's body!!" Ephraim roared.

Eirika jumped. His voice was filled with an intense anger that she had never once heard come from him in her entire life.

Ephraim did not fear the Demon King, although perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was so infuriated by someone hurting Lyon that he forgot how afraid he was. 

Ephraim's powerful voice boosted the morale of Eirika's army, but the Demon King met Ephraim's anger by laughing at him.

"It's not healthy to make your blood boil, prince of Renais. Don't you get it? Prince Lyon and everything about him is no more. I ate him. This body is no longer his.”

"Damn you…!" Ephraim raised his lance, and his soldiers each readied their own weapons. The archers and mages behind them also prepared themselves to support them.

But the Demon King’s spell was faster. Its waves rippled through the air, and a split second after, a horse collapsed.

Eirika looked over at them and felt fear send a chill down her spine. The neck of the fallen horse was turning in unnatural directions as if a huge, invisible hand was twisting it.

“Nosferatu…?!” Lute gasped. As someone so confident, it was entirely unlike her, but even she was panicking. “Please be careful! That is an extremely powerful dark magic. If you take a direct hit, then…!”

The army’s movements fell into chaos. The terrified horses burst out into a full gallop and tried to shake off their riders. Only Seth, Forde, and a few others managed to keep control of their horses, while the other knights all clung desperately to their horses’ necks.

The Demon King cast another spell. Another horse fell down. 

The army was in a panic trying to rush outside of the spell’s range, but among them, Eirika was doing the opposite, and pushing ahead. 

Seth and Ephraim noticed her and rushed over to her, flustered. They stood behind her, ready to protect her, as she faced the Demon King.

His expression changed, sharp eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Eirika tightened her grip around her horse's reins. Her horse stopped shaking, the strength of her resolve seeming to communicate with her mount.

"Can you hear me, Lyon?" Eirika said and stared straight into the Demon King's eyes. 

"It's useless!!" Ephraim shouted and tried to stop her, but she paid him no mind and continued.

"You're in there, aren't you, Lyon? Please do not abandon hope. We will defeat the Demon King and save you… so please, don't give in…"

The Demon King's expression shook ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and glared at Eirika. "Pitiful girl… You still believe that there is any of Lyon's heart within this body? How fascinating. Then come here. I will tear you apart limb from limb with these very hands…"

"Get away from him, Eirika!" Ephraim shouted and kicked his horse's side. Seth followed after him a second later.

Ephraim thrust his lance with a sharp battle cry. The Demon King narrowly dodged a fatal blow, but blood sprayed out from his shoulder. Seth followed up without a moment's delay, thrusting his own lance. 

The Demon King flailed his arm around wildly, but there was no power in his movements.

"Support Ephraim! Archers, step forward!" Innes ordered, and swiftly shot an arrow of his own. 

His silver arrow pierced deep into the Demon King's chest.

'Stop!' Eirika tried to scream. 'If you kill him, then Lyon's heart will die, too!!'

The Demon King staggered, but his eyes did not lose the intensity within them. "This little is too much…? The human body is so frail." He muttered in annoyance and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Blood flowed from the wound. 

He glared at Eirika with eyes burning like a blazing fire. "I have learned the extent of your power. In this case… I will hasten my resurrection. I will abandon this frail body and return to my true flesh. That is the day when this continent will once again be shrouded in darkness. There is no longer a single place any of you can run to!” He said in a tone not unlike that of one giving a curse, and disappeared.

Ephraim yelled at him, “You’re running away?! Do you really think I’ll let you desecrate Lyon’s body ever again…?!”

Ephraim ordered the soldiers to search the area and turned back towards Eirika. “Are you alright, Eirika?”

“Yes…”

"Don't do anything reckless. You know he's not Lyon. The Lyon we were friends with is already…"

"Brother, I want to believe him. The Demon King says what he does, but Lyon's heart is still alive… he's suffering and waiting for us to save him. I can feel it." Ephraim furrowed his brow. His blue eyes clouded over with hesitation.

He was still suffering, too. Just like she was.

He sighed deeply. "...I understand. Right now, finding him comes first. Eirika, you rest for a bit."

"No, I'm going to search too…"

"Your face is terribly pale. You've pushed yourself past your limit. L'Arachel, could you please take care of her?"

L'Arachel was standing near him, so he called her over. 

Eirika went into a tent with L'Arachel, deciding that she would take a short rest.

ー

[goldlightsaber]

No Country for Old Men

No Country for Old Men doesn't really need my praise, given that it won the Academy Award for Best Picture and Best Supporting Actor and several other awards. But I'm here to give it anyway! It is truly a work of art. Over a decade old and it has stood the test of time as a gripping thriller. Warning: this review is a bit all over the place, but I covered the bits I liked best!

The Big Bad

Javier Bardem. Where do I begin with him? I could watch this man clean up gunshot wounds in a cheap motel room for hours. It was so fascinating to see him work -- even if a lot of that work was brutal, cold-blooded, psychopathic murder. Watching him was like watching a true crime documentary. He felt real and chilled me to the core.

I commend the script for all its cleverness, but especially the intentionality behind Anton Chigurh's dialogue. I have never seen more unusual, rhythmic dialogue. What stuck in my head was his relentless way of asking questions. "Where does he work?" he asks the trailer park management lady. She tells him she can't tell him. Again, he asks, "Where does he work?" She tells him again, more firmly, that she can't reveal the information. In the same monotone, he asks for a third time, "Where does he work?" He puts on no charm. He does not bribe or threaten. He asks questions straight. He disguises himself as --but does not claim to be-- something he's not. He pretends to be a cop; a man stranded on the road; a hotel guess. People believe what he only appears to be. They make something of him, something recognizable, so that they know how to interact with him. Except slowly, through dialogue, he reveals to them his true, sadistic nature. And no one wants to believe it. Often the people he speaks with are dumbfounded, stammering out "Sir?" and "I don't understand." It doesn't dawn on them until its too late that he is someone they should run from. It's ironic, really. The goodwill and trust of other people is his bread and butter -- it's what allows him to extract information without force (at least at first) and to obtain all the resources he needs. There's a Southern hospitality theme that runs throughout. Many of the Texans he runs into offer him help -- little do they know that, with Anton Chigurh, it will likely cost them their lives. Everyone is a means to an end unless they are the end -- the person he means to kill.

Don't even get me started on his weapon of choice. It looks like he's carrying around an oxygen tank. It even gives him a misleading look of frailty -- like he might be using it to survive despite it not being attached to his person. If he was carrying around a gun, people might run in the other direction. But, seeing a captive bolt stunner, people are often just confused (I had to look up what it was called) -- and that's part of his genius too.

Yet he's tone deaf. He is easily irritated by small talk, seeming not to understand its point (award for most extreme introvert like, ever?). He nearly killed a gas station worker seemingly because of the small talk. A hint at his disturbed, unusual mind. As I mentioned earlier, he always cuts to the chase -- no fluff. He will get what he needs now, or else. Unless you're lucky and the coin toss flips in your favor. Or there are too many witnesses nearby. But rest assured -- there is no escaping this man. As Woody Harrelson's character, Wills, asks Llewelyn: "You've seen him, and you're not dead?"

Subverting Expectations

With a crime movie, you hope the good guy lives and the cops catch the killers, or that at least one of the two things happen. Nope! Not that simple with a Coen brothers film. Llewelyn is a law-breaking and a "street smart" guy but has a golden heart. He's empathetic (like when the "agua" man hung over his conscience) and only shoots people when he needs to -- Anton Chigurh is his foil, in that sense. Even though his resourcefulness and quick thinking gets him out of trouble for the majority of the film, he is suddenly killed by the Mexican cartel. We don't see it happen, we only see the drug dealers fleeing the scene and the aftermath. It comes minutes after a flirty motel patron tells Llewelyn that, whatever is coming, Llewelyn will never see it coming. And he doesn't. And neither does the audience, for that matter. With Llewelyn seemingly gearing up to fight Chigurh, I expected the two of them to have a showdown over the money. Llewelyn's death was sudden and abrupt. He didn't go out with guns blazing. He didn't get to showcase his strength. For all the times he has healed from injuries, Llewelyn--likable, honorable--still dies.

The sheriff retires -- he doesn't manage to track down Chigurh or anyone else for that matter. To him, Chigurh is a "ghost." The sheriff, at the end of the movie, describes himself as "ummatched," and that is underwhelming too. You fully expect -- or I did, based on previous crime thriller movies-- for some sort of justice to be served, for someone to be caught and locked away, but Chigurh is alive and free at the end of the movie and so are all the anonymous players of the drug cartels working these deals. There was no justice. Not for Llewelyn, not for his wife, not for all the collateral damage.

A Brilliant Script

Speaking of Llewelyn's wife! I loved her last show of defiance in the face of Chigurh. She was shocked but not surprised. Surely, his appearance scared her, but she knew death was coming for her -- and she didn't give Chigurh the liberty of making her death her responsibility. He was fully accountable -- and she made that clear. Was it a foolish choice? I don't know. It did leave me thinking for a while -- what would I do in the situation? The coin toss is the greatest mercy Chigurh is capable of bestowing on anyone. He is a Harvey Dent without a grudge. She chooses not to participate in the game and he kills her. I asked myself: were I in that situation, would I have chosen not to play? There were two options: she plays and has a 50% chance of living. She doesn't play, and she will, for certain, die. She chooses the latter. Is that bravery? I think so. It's certainly strength of character. She is principled in a wholly other way than Chigurh. I feel that I would have wanted to "call it" -- give myself a chance at living. But even that phrasing is misleading. No matter the "choice," Chigurh is the real judge, jury and executioner. And he chooses to kill. Always.

When he exits Carla Jean's house, I found myself wondering what had happened. In the first few seconds of the scene, it isn't yet clear whether he killed her. What follows is one of the more brilliant, subtle moments of the film: Chigurh checks the bottoms of his shoes. We know from an earlier scene that he takes care to keep them clean from the carnage of his crimes, and so, we also know he was checking to see if Carla Jean's blood had spilt on them. He murdered her.

The Ending

I have not yet uncovered the symbolic significance of the car crash, but I can try to take a guess. The car crash brutally injures Chigurh, breaking his arm and God knows what else. It is a random accident, not someone intentionally trying to kill him. Two boys who were riding their bikes behind him approaching Chigurh, who is sitting on the sidewalk, seriously injured. The boys offer him help only out of goodwill. But then he offers them money for one of their shirts, which they initially reject until he insists they take it. Is the symbolism in that? Of yet-uncorrupted youth starkly contrasted with his total evil? In offering them a large sum of money, is he corrupting them to think of life transactionally? As he walks away, the boys argue about splitting the money and he is no longer their concern -- greed is on their mind but only because he brought up money in the first place. (I feel like I cheated on this one because I read somewhere how the movie is about the rising forces of evil in the world that are hard to defeat -- hence the sheriff is unable to defeat them). Will this start them down the path of chasing money and power? Who knows. Maybe.

Overall: a movie I couldn't look away from except to run to the bathroom. I could watch hours of Javier Bardem in this role just sitting. Or eating. But preferably treating his own wounds.

Watch if: you're a fan of Ozark (TV show); or Fargo (movie or TV show).

[blorbosexterminator]

Thanks @spiny-norman for tagging me! I definitely think it's time for me to try and put an overview of my thoughts coherently in one place, instead of the cluster I've left my blog in lmfao.

For lack of better words, here's a review of s5

I'll start with the positives too! The things I truly enjoyed:

The action was really thrilling and well-done.

It was funny. That is a very important aspect to me lmfao. I was truly worried the season was going to be too edgy for its own good and sacrifice its trademark humor. Tamayo was easily a highlight of this season. I loved that man from the moment he showed up in season 3, and he only got better this season. Alicia was also one of my favorite things. She's just so hilarious, I'm rooting for her to betray everyone and fuck them up.

In la banda itself, Tokyo and Denver completely stole the show, with magnificent acting from both Jaime and Ursula and genuinely good writing for them this season (something I can't say for the other characters), and the way they stayed true to themselves and yet evolved in such an organic way will always stay with me.

Tokyo deserves a whole point on her own even though I haven't shut up about her for nearly a week now lmfao. I'm still amazed at the perfect way her arc was handled, I could have never imagined or wanted anything different for her. It was a hugely bold move to place this in the finale of the first volume because I have no idea how they'll top it with anything now. Ursula obviously stole the scene, but everyone's acting in that scene punched me in the gut repeatedly. Very few characters' deaths in all media really affected me generally speaking, but I just know Tokyo's is here to stay with me.

Now, for everything else. This is already long but it's about to get longer lmfao.

First, I genuinely disliked how the show handled its political aspect this season. It was never perfect at it tbh, with a lot of misplaced allegories, but it was fine. The reason it was fine is because, other than a few weird moments, the show stayed realistic. It was was character-driven, and most of the time, the characters didn't mold themselves to be activists. This seasons' progressive tone was very out of place. I know a lot of people took pleasure in Bogota's speech while he beat Gandia, but it took me out of the mood. It was out of character and very ill-fitting to Gandia. I disliked Martin's speech nearly as much. Again, it was very out of character and ill-fitting. The really fun and realistic thing about the previous seasons was that just because a character was a minority or in some unfortunate group for one reason or the other, it didn't change anything. It didn't make them better people. Martin was still an egotistical, narcissistic, power-hungry, misogynistic, macho piece of shit. The fact that he was gay changed nothing, it didn't make him kinder to fellow oppressed people, not once did he act or gave any indication that he thought of himself as a victim in that sense. They were very unnecessary scenes.

Speaking of the characters, outside of Tokyo and Denver, I didn't feel 'anyone'. All actors did more than an amazing job, Rodrigo and Alvaro were top notches. But it just, the story had suddenly changed from a character-driven story to a plot-driven one and the show didn't handle that change well. Raquel, Martin, Andres, and Sergio were just there. I'll come back to Andres later because he's a special case lmfao. But those three, with how huge their roles are supposedly now, literally were just there. Raquel was just going around shooting things and sometimes giving some order or the other. Martin is pretty much the same. And the only useful thing Sergio did was pull the kid out of Alicia.

Now, I get that Alex Pina said this volume will all be boom boom, and in the next volume we'll get more of the character-focused scenes, but I'm not disappointed because the scenes were few. No, I'm disappointed because they were out of character. Martin was very, very not Martin. He was just some guy lmfao. It's not that I just wanted him to be more of an asshole, which I did because he is an asshole (bless the Monica and Arturo scene tho) but also he was just very soulless. Very unrecognizable. The moment he showed up, took Raquel's order to stop the melting without even one objection or even asking her to explain lmfao, (even fucking Tokyo was like ????? and not Martin!!!), I knew that he's not himself this season. And I was right, this Martin didn't give a single shit about the gold, had no passion, no fire, no soul. It's not like he doesn't resemble 'Palermo' (whatever the fuck that means), he doesn't even resemble himself in the s3 and 4 flashbacks. This isn't healing or redemption. This is a complete personality change overnight. And it just made him a boring character ngl, he's just not entertaining or complex or intriguing anymore. He's literally just some guy with some cringy out-of-character moments that made me go ???? Not even asking about plan Roma and having no problem with not melting the gold, telling Bogota 'revenge is egotistical and bad uwu', his whole speech of being the shit of society or whatever were all highlights of how the show just threw his previous characterizations in the trash lmfo. I genuinely hope it was just because this volume needed to move without any obstacles from the characters and he'll go back more to who he is in volume 2, but I doubt it tbh.

The flashbacks. First, they were funny, and that is their only saving grace. Andres going 'LOBSTERS' in the middle of telling his kid that he ruined his life was top-notch. Other than that, they were terrible, terrible shitty writing. The show didn't connect them in any way to Andres' flashbacks in s3 and 4 and at the same time didn't connect them to bank heist (outside of the parallels of the water, diving, and gold in both heists). They were very disconnected from everything else, and even though I'm certain they'll have more meaning next volume, it doesn't erase the fact that they had none this volume and didn't establish any stones for connections. @spiny-norman Tatana isn't even my type lmfao so I got nothing from this.

Lastly, the relationship dynamics were so.....not there. We got about nothing other than the Tokyo stuff. No hermanos, no Martin and Sergio, no Sergio and Raquel, no flashbacks from the panning in the monastery, no Tokyo and Martin being a pain in each other's asses, no Martin/Andres and the plan, no Martin and Raquel beyond co-leading. If we had time for that stupid, stupid love triangle, then we could have had some meaningful interactions between the actual important relationships in the show. Monver defending each other and their relationship to other people was very <3 though.

The plan has no meaning. Sure, I enjoyed the action. But this bank plan itself was devoid of the soul it had since it first appeared. The bank plan was something like an individual character in previous seasons lmfao. It was the one true love story of Andres and Martin. I think the show could have balanced some of that with the action and thrill.

Again, I know it's all about the action. But the show had a true shining chance to have some iconic scenes between Raquel and the police now that Sergio was unable to participate, and we had absolutely nothing. No negotiation, no clever back and forth between her and the people she worked with for decades, just nothing. I loved seeing her in action, but the boom boom omg badass queen woman warrior with a gun thing gets boring. This fits Tokyo. Raquel's truest moments of really being a boss were supposed to be between her and the police. Just again, all characters were just doing the same thing. They were no longer brilliant, varied individuals each shinning through their own strengths that were already established. I only hope we'll get more of that in volume two.

I think this captures most of my thoughts about the volume. Sorry for long it is lmfao.

[ijustwant2write]

Rest Beside Me-Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader

(GIF credit @whenimaunicorn)

Requested by @theprincessandtheprince: 'Can you do one where a sick Hvitserk is nursed back to health by Y/N who falls in love with him?

Characters: Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader, Aslaug x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Mention of illness, mention of death, sexual tension and lots of fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Guess who was able to get the supplies for a lower price, again this week, may I add." I smirked as I approached my father.

We were still stood in the middle of the market, unphased by the usual crowds. He rolled his eyes with a smile, sighing before he spoke.

"I lose the bet again then I see."

"Yes you do. That means I get to choose a piece of jewellery today."

"A piece of jewellery? That's what you want?"

Father and I always made this a game. It made gathering supplies more interesting. He was the towns leading healer, he had studied illnesses for a majority of his life, and had discovered new cures. Father had met the love of his life (my mother) when he cured her back to health, and of course, I came along a year later. But there was nothing that could have been done to save her during childbirth, something he never forgave himself for; that was what he was looking into now, something to ease the pain of birth and to save the mother's. Though it was harder than anything else he ever faced.

Most of our bets never had a prize at the end. Sometimes it had been some sort of treat for each other, our favourite food, but I had my eye on a necklace, and I had never wanted anything else in my life. I would never ask my father if I doubted he could afford it.

"It's just so beautiful father, a simple necklace. If we don't have the money, then I understand." I sadly smiled.

He held out his arm, grinning as I looped mine through."Come on, show me this dazzling necklace."

Once father had bought it, we returned home. I couldn't stop touching it, or gazing at it in the mirror. It was strange how a piece of metal could make me feel so happy. I helped him put away the supplies we bought, making a list of what we had so we wouldn't forget what we had.

"Have you delivered the vials of medicine to the patients I listed?" father asked.

"Yes, they all seem to be recovering well. They said their thanks and mentioned that they were mentioning us in their prayers to the God's." I replied, sitting down in a chair beside the fire.

He sat opposite me, clasping his hands together and resting then on top of his stomach. It was times like these that made him look older, and I couldn't help but think about when I would have to start looking after him.

"(Y/N), I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

He chuckled."There is no need to worry. It's just that I need to go away for a while."

"Go away? Where? Why?"

"An old friend of mine is also a healer. They have a difficult case on their hands and need my expertise. It isn't far away, but I shall have to stay there for a few days."

"But, what about the people here?"

"I have spoken to Queen Aslaug, she has given me permission as we are allies with the people I am helping. And I said that you would take over my duties."

My eyes almost popped out of my head, and I leaned forward in my chair."What?! I've never done this by myself!"

"You are more than capable. You make your own antidotes, you know what herbs you need to use for certain illnesses, and you have a mind heart. Everyone says so."

"What if I do something wrong?"

"You'll have all of your books I made you write, they're exact copies of mine. You can always use them as a referral."

"I don't know father, it's a lot to process. When are you leaving?"

He hesitated, casting his eyes down."Tomorrow morning."

"You leave in the morning?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" I raised my voice, becoming more worried.

"Calm down (Y/N), please." he also leaned forward, reaching for my hand, and I gripped onto it."You know I would never put you in a position where you were uncomfortable, scared, or humiliated. I've chosen to put you in charge because you can do this!"

I said nothing.

"Believe me when I say that everyone will be in capable hands with you around. Even Queen Aslaug was confident about you."

"She was?"

"Yes! There are the other local healers to assist you, should you need it. But I am sure that you will do great just by yourself."

"Why couldn't you tell me a week ago at least? I could have got my head together, I could have reviewed everything I learnt."

"Because if I told you then, all you would do is worry and keep yourself up late at night thinking about everything that could go wrong. Telling you the night before I leave means you just have to get on with it. Believe me, you're going to surprise yourself with just how amazing you are."

Father was right. I couldn't sleep much that night. I thought about how much I would miss him as well as the heavy duty he had practically dropped on me. Although I knew he did it on purpose (and for that I aas slightly angry with him), I realised that it was also a test. He wouldn't be the healer forever, the role had to be passed down to someone.

In the morning, I tried to seem happy as he left. Father sadly smiled, knowing how upset I was. We embraced for a long time, and he chuckled when he tried to pull away. When I finally let him go, I watched him mount his horse, waving one last time before he rode away. I didn't move until he was out of my sight completely. Sighing as I turned around to head inside, two shield maidens suddenly showed up.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N), Queen Aslaug has requested your help." one of them announced.

"Why? What's wrong?" I asked.

"She believes that Prince Hvitserk has fallen ill."

"Let me gather my things."

As they guided me to Hvitserk's home, I thought about how quickly my first appointment happened. Father had literally just left, and someone was already in need of my help. However, this was the Prince that was ill. What if I was unable to heal him? What if I gave him the wrong treatment and made him worse? I almost wanted to slap myself for thinking such stupid things. This was what father had told me not to do, I was worthy of this role, and I was going to look after the people!

"Queen Aslaug, we have brought her." the shield maiden said, and they parted, revealing me.

I bowed my head as I curtsied."Queen Aslaug. What can I do to help?"

"Thank you for coming. I know this is a lot to ask of you as this is the first time you have worked without your father. But my son is stubborn, he will not let anyone see him."

"What are his symptoms?"

"He is extremely pale, he feels like he is on fire, constantly sweating, and he has no strength in him. What's wrong with him?"

"From what you said, it could just an extreme case of a cold. The winter has been harsh on us, so it wouldn't surprise me. But I shall go inside and confirm that."

"I warn you, he will not be easy to speak to. He does not like to be seen as weak."

"Don't worry, I will get through to him. I've dealt with men like him before."

I walked inside, already hearing his heavy breathing. As I walked through the home, I couldn't help but be in awe of how big it was. I had always lived in a small home, I still loved it dearly, but all of this space for one person? It didn't seem fair. Continuing to his room, I knocked on the wall beside the curtain that separated it from the rest of the house. There was a grumble from inside, but I walked through anyway.

"Prince Hvitserk," I bowed just as I had to his mother,"my name is (Y/N), I'm here to check on you. Your mother says you are not well."

He was bundled up in multiple furs, hunched up into a ball. His glare was harsh as he looked me up and down.

"I don't need a healer. I am fine." he moaned.

I took a few steps forward, seeing how shiny his forehead was with sweat."I shall be the judge of that. You do not look like your usual self."

A smug grin formed on his face."So, you watch me then?"

He was cocky, and at any other time, I would be disgusted, but this showed that there was still some spark left in him.

"If I say yes, will you let me help you?"

He nodded."You know, I have seen you around too."

"You have?" I wasn't really interested in the conversation, but it made him distracted from what I was doing.

I grabbed my water skin, pouring it onto a rag. There was a smile on his face as I placed a cold rag on his forehead.

"Yes, I have. It doesn't surprise me that someone as beautiful as the goddess Freya is also as nurturing."

I scoffed at him, though there was humour behind it."You really must be unwell if you're having thoughts such as that."

I looked through my bag, picking out certain herbs to mix together. It was simple to say that he had a cold, it was a bad one, but easy to cure.

"Where is your father? You're normally trailing behind him."

"I'm sorry, would you have preferred to gaze upon his beauty?"

He laughed but it caused him to start coughing. I quickly poured water into a nearby cup, gently grabbing the back of his head and tilting it upwards. His lips met the cup, and I slowly tipped it, letting him drink.

"He has gone away for a few days, and I'm in charge now." I explained as I laid him down again.

"Well, aren't I lucky?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile, crushing up the herbs whilst still perched on the edge of his bed. Mixing it in his drink, I turned around to face him.

"You are not seriously ill, it's a common cold, the weather has made it slightly worse. But you are in need of medicine. This is going to taste disgusting, but trust me, it's going to help you get better sooner."

He sat up in bed, grimacing as he looked into the cup, but drank it anyway. I refrained from laughing when his face scrunched up, spluttering as he tried to get rid of the taste.

"I'll make some more medicine, and I'll deliver them to you, they should last you three more days, and if you need more, I'll return." I explained, standing up and packing up my belongings.

"No."

"No?"

"You'll deliver them everyday and tend to me."

"And why would I do that? I have other people to see."

"Then see me last."

"Hvitserk, you don't need me here-"

"I command it."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then you are going against your prince's desires."

"I shall speak with your mother about this. My Prince."

I hastily left, surprised to see Aslaug still outside. She instantly looked at me, almost charging towards me.

"So? How is he?"

"He will be fine my Queen. I have provided him with medicine for now, but I shall need to return tomorrow with more."

She squinted her eyes at me."Why do you seem unsure about something?"

"The Prince, he...he requested that I come here frequently and...tend to him."

"Then you shall do as he asks."

I kept my mouth shut. I did want to stay alive.

"If he feels that he needs help to get better, you will visit him every day."

"He said I could come after I made my rounds with other patients."

"That seems smart. See to it that he gets back to his usual self quickly."

I don't think that will be a problem.

"Thank you (Y/N), you will be rewarded greatly. And your father will hear of this, he will be very proud."

The next day, I made my way to all the patients, having to explain every time where my father was. No one complained, and this boosted my confidence. I held onto that new feeling as I arrived at Hvitserk's house, knocking before entering, calling out as to not startle him. He was sat up in bed this time, already looking better, he wasn't as pale.

"Prince Hvitserk, how are you feeling?" I asked as I walked towards him.

"A little better. But I am tired of being stuck in bed." he huffed.

"I hope you have not left that bed since yesterday?"

"If you have told me to remain in bed, then I shall do so." he smirked again."It's a shame there is no one here to share it."

"Well no one should be sharing a bed with you if you're ill." I retorted.

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Did you take anymore medicine?"

"Yes."

"Was it still horrible?"

"It is the foulest thing I have ever tasted."

It was my turn to laugh."That means it's good medicine."

"I would rather be drinking ale."

I pulled up a chair, sitting down as I made his medicine again."I'm sure you would. Just do as I say and you'll be back at with your friends, drinking the night away."

"Do you drink?"

"Yes. Sometimes too much as my father says."

"How come I have never come across you at feasts or celebrations?"

"I am there. I just never seem to pass you."

"How could I miss such a pretty face?"

"You do like to compliment, don't you?"

"Only when I mean it."

I glanced up at him, but quickly cast my eyes back down to the ingredients when he looked at me.

"I miss training too. I haven't held a sword in days." he mumbled.

"Are there any upcoming raids?"

"Not so far. But I can't wait for the next one."

"Why do you like it so much?"

I held out the cup of medicine to him, and for a moment his face dropped. He kept looking into it, swirling around the liquid as he spoke.

"The thrill of it all. We are viking, it's our purpose in life. I get to earn my way into Valhalla whilst exploring new places that no one else may have seen yet. I can face a thousand men in battle, but I can't defeat a stupid cold."

"If you take your medicine, you will." I urged.

He closed his eyes as he downed it all, still hating the taste. I took the cup from him, gently placing the back of my hand on his forehead. I could feel his blue eyes staring at me, even if I wasn't looking at him. Hvitserk was a charmer, he knew his way around women. And he was a Prince, it was much easier for him to get them to fall at his feet.

"Well, you're not as hot anymore." I commented as I pulled away.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Such a humble man." I muttered, but his laugh told me that he heard it.

As instructed, I had to visit everyday, and despite Hvitserk still being under the weather, his confidence hadn't faltered. However, the cockiness had worn off, his comments were much sweeter now. Perhaps I was giving him too much medicine, maybe it was making him slightly delusional. I used to dread going to see him, wishing that it was any other patient that had requested such a thing. However, as soon as he showed me his true self, I was beginning to like him, and it didn’t feel like such a chore; I even found myself refraining from making his medicine until I arrived, meaning I would have to stay for longer. As I had also been there longer into the night, he had hired a guard to wait outside and walk me home safely.

“You seem sad today. Tell me what is wrong?” Hvitserk asked. 

He was fully sat up with his legs crossed and only needed one fur to keep him warm now. It felt horrible to say, but it was almost sad that he was getting better, I wouldn’t have an excuse to seem him.

“Don’t worry. It’s none of your concern.” I gently said, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. He leaned closer to me.

“You hardly have any time to socialise anymore, you said so yourself. I bet you haven’t been able to get anything off your mind recently.” 

We held eye contact for a few more seconds than I would have liked, and I didn’t even break it as I spoke.“I’ve heard gossip amongst the people. About us.”

“And what do they say?”

“I don’t think they believe that I’m caring for you. They think I’m looking after you in a different way.”

He didn’t seem offended by it.“And why should you care?”

“Hvitserk, I’m well known throughout the town, I’m the healer’s daughter! If they think I’m sleeping around whilst my father is away-”

“You don’t need to panic.” he laid his hand on top of mine.

“I’m a woman, of course I need to worry about something like this.”

“No, you don’t.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, my tone much more snappy.“What do you mean?”

“You’re so interesting (Y/N). You have all of this knowledge inside that pretty, little head, and somehow you still have room for kindness and patience. It baffled me how you brushed me off that first time we met, because I thought you would feel sorry for me. You’ve not just cured me from an illness, you’ve shown me what a bastard I’ve been. And for some reason, you made me want to be caring, yet there is only one person I want to protect.”

Unknowingly, our faces had inched closer and closer. Our eyes were still connected, except for the flickering looks to each others lips. It was all too tempting and teasing.

“And...who might that be?”

“I think you know who.” 

His free hand wrapped around the back of my neck, finally pushing our lips together. I instantly leaned into it, not even thinking as we kissed. It was hungry, both of us wanted control over the other, but no one was winning. I was the one to break it, suddenly feeling shy under his stare.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” I breathed out.

His smile dropped.“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick, so now I am going to become ill.”

He let out a relieved sigh.“Well, perhaps it is time I return the favour.”

“I did think you would be saying that under different circumstances.”

“We may not be doing what you expected, but you can still lay in my bed with me.”

I kicked off my shoes, jumping on top of him.“Are you feeling better?”

His hands grabbed onto my thighs that were straddling his waist.“I feel like a brand new man.”

“Good, cause I don’t give this treatment to my other patients.”

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

What are ur tilda hcs?

Okay im finally gonna answer this!! Thank you so much for asking!!! I love receiving asks and I love sharing my headcanons. Sorry again it's so late ❤❤❤

This isn't gonna be nearly as well worded and eloquent as I originally planned. The first time I wrote it it basically became a drabble about her life. And then I lost that whole draft. Lmao

I just don't have it in me to recreate that whole thing again but I still wanna share my headcanons about her because I do have a lot!

I also wanna say this is in no way to like... excuse her behavior or try and redeem her. She was a terrible person. But people aren't born terrible. And I like taking 2 dimensional fictional women and making them make sense. So this isn't to excuse but instead to explain? I guess?

cw for all the shit you expect with the minyards by now, but specifically drug addiction and statutory rape. Also this is LONG so its going under a cut.

So first of all, I imagine her and Luther as being half siblings. Their father was a preacher or something- someone with a big role in their church's community and a big reputation of being a reliable, wise, holy man.

When Luther was maybe around 3 years old, there was this teenage girl in the congregation who would often come to Mr. Hemmick for advice, guidance, comfort, etc. She didn't quite fit in in school, wasn't great at academics and struggled to keep up with her siblings achievements, and was overall going through a lot of the turmoil thats unfortunately common for teenagers.

So she, like many people in the congregation, went to Mr Hemmick for guidance and ended up seeing a lot of him. She felt listened to and believed in with him. She felt like he treated her as more mature than the way her family treated her. She trusted him. He abused that.

If you asked her at the time, she would have said it was consensual between them. But she was 16. And when she became pregnant, he turned on her REAL fast lemme tell you. He made her promise not to tell anyone that he was the father, and he only told his wife. And of course, when he told his wife, he talked at length about how this 16 year old girl tempted him to sin; how he regretted it and only hoped she could learn to truly find God.

So he took the child in upon being born as a way to "attone" for what he'd done, but the whole community (not knowing he was the father) just saw it as an act of good will. And of course he'd tout off a lot in his sermons about how he'd be able to give the baby a much better, holier lifestyle than a teenager who turned her back on god by having sex.

So he and his wife end up raising Tilda from birth, but they make sure she knows from the beginning the circumstances of her birth. They drill it into her that her mother was a dirty sinner and that she herself is tainted as a result. She is raised always feeling like she needs to be twice as good to even be considered half as good as her brother in her parents eyes.

Naturally, she stops trying pretty early. In middle school, I imaging her being one of those bullies. The really nasty ones who get violent at their victims for even looking at them wrong. Idk about anyone else, but in my schools growing up the fights between the girls were always way bloodier than the ones between the guys. And I imagine those as the types of fights she got in- especially when one of her victims decides to stand up for themselves by throwing her own baggage back in her face.

By high school, she was thoroughly committed to the role of problem child. She would do everything she could to upset her family and get herself into shit. She'd do drugs, skip classes, show up to school drunk, stay out late, etc. In addition to all this, she would purposefully find whatever guy seemed like the most trouble and take him home. Whether this was the school drug dealer, a boy who got expelled for some rough shit, or college boys who caught her eye at parties.

So she's basically dug this hole for herself where she's committed to actually being the child of sin that her family has always seen her as anyway. The few people who tried to reach out to her wouldn't get far. She would push and push at them to see how far she could stretch their patience (to see how long it took them to give up on her like everyone else).

She even had one teacher who never did give up on her. But she outright told Tilda that she can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. Those words would ring in Tildas ears for years to come, even if she never found it in herself to put the concept into action.

So eventually she'd graduate- just barely because she rarely put in effort in school- and she'd be left to suddenly have to find a place in the world when she previously never even thought she'd have a future. She started batting heads with her family even more (which no one thought was possible at that point) but it became less antagonistic on her end. She was still a shit stirrer, don't get me wrong. But she was getting tired. The fights were less about her being intentionally aggrevating and aggressive and more about her continuously being unable to live up to their expectations.

Luther already had a promising job as a cop at this point, meanwhile she was still living at home and bouncing between jobs that barely kept her afloat and boyfriends that barely made her feel worth something. She'd gotten into drugs in high school, and the habit only got worse now that she was out. It was the only thing that made her feel something other than misery or numbness. She could lose herself in the drugs and the boyfriends and the late nights out. She would come home to see her parents less and less and would speak to them only when absolutely necessary.

Eventually Mr. Hemmick died fairly young (heart attack or something equally as tragic. Whatever I dont care about him enough to pick the details) and his wife followed soon after by suicide. The house was left to Luther, who moved back in immediately and said there'd be changes in the household. He basically told Tilda to quit the drugs and go back to church if she wanted to stay in the house. He also had other rules like keeping a job, dumping her current boyfriend, giving her a curfew, etc.

So she left. She took her shitty beat up car an ex had fixed up for her and headed to California. A friend from high school lived out that way, so that's where she headed.

During this period in her life the drugs got a lot worse. This is also when she realized that she had become addicted. Mainly this is because, even after being away from her family and having freedom, she was still miserable. She didn't know how to get through a day sober. The constant variation between numbness and misery was too much to bare, but she wasn't ready to help herself. She wasn't ready to commit to her own healing and health.

She was in and out of therapy and rehab as quickly as she'd change jobs and partners. She wouldn't commit, and as soon as she had an out she'd take it. Had to miss an appointment for scheduling? Didn't make it back to the shelter in time to claim her bed for the night? Forgot to call back one of the few people who tried to reach out? No going back.

This is my main thing with Tilda. She was a shitty person who had a shitty life. But she never found the strength and commitment in herself to put in the work to be better. She instead let herself fall further and further down the hole because it was easier than pulling herself out. Because part of her still believed deep down that she had succeeded in living up to her birthright- that she wasn't deserving of ever healing or being better.

It was in one of these rehab facilities that she met the twins' father (and this part is absolutely inspired by Luke and Joey from the haunting of hill house). He was a guy with a similar past to hers- always sure he was meant to be bad so he committed to the role and never learned to commit to anything else. The difference between them, though, was that he was ready to get better.

They became fast friends and leaned on one another a bit while in rehab. She didn't see him as anything other than a friend, but he unfortunately became set on this idea that they would heal and move forward together. She knew he had feelings for her and enabled him (she didn't love him back but had never actually felt cared for like this before). He believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself, which was a lot. Unfortunately for him, he also ended up being more committed to her healing than she was. When she eventually started spiraling again, all other feelings for him were overshadowed by the part of her that just saw an opportunity.

She took advantage of him. She slept with him, took his money while he was sleeping, and bailed to get high and never see him again. Now I'm not gonna say she was just a devil who entered this poor man's life. He saw her more as a potential for an ideal life than a person. He was more in love with the dream he had of them getting better and starting a life together than he was actually in love with her and who she was as a person. Bad match all around.

So she never saw or heard from him again. When she found out she was pregnant, she went home to Luther and his wife and son. She didn't tell him right away that she was pregnant. Instead, she pretended she was just finally ready to commit to God and turn her life around. She played the part alright for a while, went to church with them and got sober and everything, but tried to leave and move into a women's shelter when she started showing. Luther found out and brought her home.

At first he was actually super supportive- mainly because he just genuinely thought she wanted to find God and stop "living in sin". But when she finally told him she didn't plan to keep the child, he turned on her.

We know the story from there. Personally I think the night that she stole the money and ran as her point of no return. Years down the line, when she knew she was being a terrible mother and person, she'd remember that night. And she'd think to herself how this is who she was always meant to be. How she doesnt deserve to be any better than how she is. And she'd dig the hole deeper.

-----

So yeah thats my take on Tilda Minyard. Sorry it was so long. I like the idea of giving depth and complexity to female characters- even the bad guys and the ones I don't like. I have a similar lengthy life concept for Mary Hatford as well, but it isn’t nearly as long. If anyone is curious lol

Thanks again for asking!

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

[rashenditrash]

Had a not great day today, so here's some sad Kadolin which I wrote to help me feel stuff.

So I've done something like this before when I wrote "An Expert in Just About Everything" - that is reworking a scene from the books with different characters.  ROW SPOILERS AHEAD.

This time around, as soon as I read Chapter 12 of of Rhythm of War, I knew I wanted to do a rewrite of the scene with the roles reversed.  While I love Kadolin's dynamic, I'm personally not a huge fan of writing Shallan off because I also love her individually, and her and Adolin's relationship.  With that in mind, the premise of the following scene is that Shallan is deep undercover, and Adolin believes (incorrectly) that she is dead.  I think this could make for some very interesting conversations down the road.  In my mind, it would be less about the typical drama, and more about "okay, how do we make this work".  Maybe if writing this inspires me I'll continue the narrative.

For maximum effect, I'd recommend reading Chapter 12 of Rhythm of War first (and maybe Chapter 21), and hopefully you can pick up on the parallels.  

Anyways, here it goes ROW SPOILERS AHEAD:

She's gone.  Adolin felt dim, unreal, like he was hovering between realms.  Is this how you feel? he wondered to Maya.  Unfortunately, Maya could not answer for him, and Adolin just felt lost.  Adolin stiffly moved towards his rooms, the rooms he used to share with his wife, and turned and closed the door with a firm push.  

Only then did he break.  He didn't make it to the chair or the bed.  He sank down with his back to the wall beside the door.  He tried to unbutton his well tailored jacket - storms why did he always need clothing that fit so snug?  His fingers fumbled at the ornate buttons, but found no purchase.  He tried to gasp, his chest and abdomen straining against his suddenly restrictive clothing.  His entire body seemed to tremble as agonyspren twisted in an out, twisted faces carved from stone, mocking him in his loneliness.  

Come on.  You've known loss before.  You got through losing your mother.  You can do this.  Adolin sobbed, and grabbed a scarf to muffle the sound.  Why couldn't he pull himself together, like he had back then?  The answer was obvious.  When his mother had died, and his father had abandoned them for drink.  There was no choice but to keep things together for Renarin's sake.  He had been the only one looking out for his brilliant little brother.  Now, Renarin was well and living his own life, and Adolin was just . . .

Alone.

He'd always hated that word.  All his life Adolin strove to surround himself in people - it didn't matter of they were common soldiers, lordly courtiers, or girlfriends, so long as they were there, with him, taking up space beside him.  But to seek the comfort of company now felt wrong, like a betrayal to the person whose absence he wanted to fill more than anything.   

A knock came at his door.  Adolin bit down hard on his scarf.  Please just go away.  The knock became more insistent.  Adolin tried to catch his breath, and glanced at a nearby mirror.  Come on, he told himself, Present yourself.  He sniffed three times and fanned his face, banishing the tears from his eyes.  He ran his hand through his hair a couple of times, until it settled into its familiar pattern of calculated dishevelment.  As he stood, he straightened his shirt and jacket, each motion of tidying his appearance soothing him a little more.  You can get through this.

The knocking continued.  "Coming," Adolin said, unable to keep his unsteadiness from his voice.  

Kaladin pushed his way in, Syl at his shoulder.  He wore civilian's garb, plain and unassuming, which only made his hardened bearing and physique stand out more.  Kaladin was like a constant, and unmovable anchor in the chaos of a high storm.    

They stood in silence, for a moment, taking each other in.  Adolin flashed a hesitant smile.  You know this is going to be hard for him too.  You can't let your dark moments undo his progress.  

"Maya... I wasn't quite sure what she wanted, but she seemed to want us to come here... um..." Syl appeared uncharacteristically bashful, and Adolin got the impression she'd be blushing if she wasn't monochromatic.  "And we're here now... so... bye!  I'll let you two talk"

As Syl departed, Kaladin cocked his head to the side.  "I... I heard.  I'm sorry Adolin."

"I'll... I'll be all right Bridgeboy.  Really.  I just need some time.  No need to fret."

Kaladin nodded, solemn.  "Right."  He closed the door behind him, and slid down to the floor.  Patting the ground beside him, he motioned for Adolin to sit down.  "No reason for you to take your time alone though right?"

"I..."

"If you need to be alone that's fine, just tell me.  It's not a big deal.  But for now I'll just sit here okay?  Until you tell me otherwise."  

Storms, when had Kaladin of all people become emotionally intelligent?   Adolin hesitated, then loosened his jacket and sunk down to the ground beside Kaladin.  As he leaned back, his arm brushed up against Kaladin's.  He felt he could almost absorb some strength from the man's frame, like a Radiant consuming Stormlight.  

He was in mourning - he should be taking time alone to work through his emotions.  To pay respects to... to her...  But of course, alone was the last thing Adolin wanted to be.  

Adolin grimaced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror again.  Granted, he was at a terrible angle, but he hadn't done nearly as good a job of clearing the redness from his eyes as he thought he had.  "Storms, I look awful.  What a mess."  

Kaladin grunted, making his disagreement immediately evident in a way only he could.  "As an expert in the subject,  I can confirm looking awful isn't half has bad as it's made out to be, not that you would know."

"Come now, you know you're a catch.  You have that whole aloof, stoic, hero thing going for you."

  "You're the expert."  Kaladin's eyes darted up and down Adolin's figure with a surgeon's precision.  "Here, let's get you changed into something more comfortable.  You need to be able to breath easy, and that ridiculous outfit isn't helping you at the moment.  I'll get you some water."  Kaladin stood slowly, and helped Adolin up.  "Don't worry about how it looks, just throw on whatever will make you feel the best.

Adolin extracted his hand from Kaladin's grip, and moved over to his armoire behind the dressing screen and started shifting out of his formal attire.  Normally, Adolin was able to quickly choose an outfit by instinct, but this time he found himself hesitating.  Eventually, he settled on a pair of comfortable training trousers, meant to facilitate movement, and one of the men's shirts that Veil used to wear.  The garment, tailored to Shallan's proportions, wouldn't quite close properly, so Adolin just pulled it around himself, smelling the shirt, and imagining his wife was wrapping her arms around him again.  

He let out a sob as he sank to the ground.  Kaladin was there in an instant, placing a hand against Adolin's chest, then his neck, and leaning in to support him as they sat down.  After the sobs died down a bit, Kaladin held up a glass of water, forcing Adolin to drink.  Adolin drank, and breathed in the smell of Kaladin.  He smelt... clean, but practical?  Like freshly laundered kitchen linens.  Slowly, the sobs subsided as Adolin took comfort in the strong frame of his friend.  

"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I shouldn't put this on you.  How are you doing, Kaladin?  Storms, she was your friend too, I..."

"Sush, stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to 'help' me to avoid thinking about how you are doing.  You can't be a light to everyone if your own sphere is going dim, Adolin.  It's okay to lean on me.  My father always said, in an emergency a surgeon has to look after himself first - its only after your own person is secure that you can ensure you are capable of competently helping others.  We'll have plenty of time to talk about me later.  For now, what do you need Adolin?"

I need you.  The thought, unbidden, seemed to escape from a locked chest in Adolin's mind.  Stop it, you are just scared of being alone.  Yes, he found Kaladin's presence comforting, and he certainly needed support in the moment.  That was all he was responding too, nothing more.  What kind of man would be thinking of someone else, like that, so soon after losing the person he was supposed to turn to?  He wanted to tell himself it was just a thing of a moment, a figment of his loneliness and need for comfort.  

You know that's not true.  This isn't new, and you know it.  Listen to who you are ignoring, even when its yourself.

"It's okay, just breathe.  Drink some water and breathe okay.  We don't have to talk."  Kaladin's hand traced along Adolin's spine, brushing each vertebrae.  Adolin focused on the rhythm of Kaladin's touch, and on his breathing.  Up and down, in and out.  He felt himself slipping into the trance-like state of mind Zahel had taught him to utilize when preparing for combat.  Slowly he began to feel the emotions start to subside.  They didn't leave, but the wave passed.  He entered a calm in the storm.

"You're one hell of a surgeon, Bridgeboy."

Kaladin's hand stopped.  "I do what I can," he said carefully, "But Adolin, you're the one who heals people.  I'm just returning a favor, long overdue."

Adolin smiled, feeling a moment of genuine warmth in his chest.  "Thank-you."