#and this was the only line that really made sense for hector

[blackjackkent]

Poor Hector is not at all feeling optimistic at present, and I don't really blame him. The zaith'isk ordeal really did a number on him and he's completely unsure what the right and wrong actions are here, or who is a friend and who is an enemy.

The deep recesses of the monastery here appear to have been dug out of a sort of cave or canyon area. (Odd choice for a monastery devoted to the god of dawn.) It's full of bats and (I assume) bat dung and just generally very ominous-feeling.

And there he is, the man himself:

Sir, your office looks fuckin' awful.

Honestly surprised he didn't oust Therezzyn out of her office rather than take this super cracked-up area.

"Ahhh...our esteemed guest," he says as Hector approaches. The door behind them clangs shut with a heavy, uncomfortably final sort of noise. "Please approach. We have much to discuss."

The gith inquisitor has a surprisingly gentle voice and looks them over appraisingly as they move into the room.

"My ardents spoke of one of our kin that escaped a crashing ghaik slave-vessel."

"Ch'r'ai," Lae'zel says reverently. "Vlaakith's justice in flesh."

The man's sharp features twist in a slow smile. "You have accomplished much, child. I am pleased to finally meet you." His gaze shifts to Hector, and the warmth falls away, replaced by a piercing intensity. "I hear there is so much goblin blood on your hands that it soaks their children's nightmares."

It is not a description that brings Hector any pleasure. He frowns, flinches back slightly, and the inquisitor smirks tightly, knowingly. "To business. I suspect you plucked something precious from the ghaik ship. Something that belongs to us." The smile fades, replaced by a firm authority that expects no disobedience. "The weapon. Give it to me."

"Don't do it..." wails the dream guardian in Hector's mind. "The weapon is how I protect you!"

"Do it," Lae'zel insists in counterpoint. "Do not disobey the inquisitor."

Hector hesitates, puts his hand on the artifact in his pack...then pauses, and tries a different kind of truth. "I can't," he says honestly. "It protects me."

He has gone along with everything thus far because he hopes... desperately... that Lae'zel could be right. That the gith purify their infected. That those who have already responded otherwise were part of some conspiracy. That this man is their ally.

And if all those things are true, telling him of the artifact's power over their safety is not only valid but necessary.

And if they aren't...

The inquisitor's expression goes hard. "Indeed? And what does it protect you from?"

"The voice of the Absolute," Hector says. Honest. Steady. Direct...

And his worst fears are confirmed. All around him, the guards in the room draw their crossbows and sight down on the group, and W'wargaz draws the enormous greatsword from his back with a single, lithe movement.

"If you hear that voice at all, you are infected," the inquisitor snarls. Any pretense of welcome or good humor has vanished. "And it is my people who need protecting from you! Hta'zith!"

Shit.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 8

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Sky didn’t have much of a temper.

Even if she was frustrated or annoyed, she rarely got angry or lost her patience. 

It wasn't that she didn't have emotions. She did. She felt things deeply, passionately. However, she also believed that there was no point in wasting energy on getting angry. It didn't solve anything. It only made things worse. 

So Sky had learned a very, very long time ago…that there was no need to start screaming, because her stutter didn’t allow her that anyway…and that maybe…maybe it was easier for her to just let go off her anger about being unfairly treated. 

Getting angry wouldn’t help her. 

That day however…it burst out of her. Burst out of her like somebody had lanced an abscess. 

Her family could say whatever they wanted about her. But they were not going to say a single word about Azriel 

It was Winter Solstice.

Azriel and her had spent the last month or so enjoying winter season in Velaris…even once trying to ice skate on their lake, which only ended with him kissing her skinned knees, because she was definitely not a natural at it.

They had bought Winter Solstice gifts, and baked cookies…had decorated their house with pine garlands and velvet ribbons…

She had knitted them socks and they had made rabbit stews out of rabbits Azriel had hunted in the forest behind their house. (It was…she had never really seen him as a warrior, even when he wore these black leathers and the blue stone that glinted off him…but she could see him as a hunter, when he came home with a couple of rabbits, ready for dinner. It had also resulted in a new fur lined blanket for her, all ready on the couch. 

She had never outright asked…but he seemd to like it when she was cuddled beneath it, like it seemed to soothe some kind of instinct for him. Maybe the fact that it was the animal he had hunted?)   

Sky and Azriel had both made the decision to spend the days with their respective families and have their own Solstice celebrations the next day…that would pretty much sonsits out of a lazy day in bed and nothing else. 

It sounded amazing. Just what they wanted. 

And it had made sense to celebrate like that. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to keep him from his family after all, even if the thought of not spending Solstice with her mate had hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Azriel had been up ridiculous easily in the morning for a snowball fight that was apparently tradition…but not before he had spent a good half hour making her scream his name with his mouth between her thighs…

Afterwards, she had gotten dressed and left the shadows to amuse Hector for the day… and Sky had left to help her mother with dinner preparations.

A nice, quiet family dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

That’s what it was supposed to be. They didn’t even get that far.

It all went to shit before dinner was even in the oven. 

From the moment she entered her parents house it was a barrage of barbed comments. About her appearance, her stutter, her lack of an boyfriend…her lack of a proper job. (Sellyn Drake was hers. Sellyn Drake was nothing they got to gossip about.) 

Sky had bitten her tongue. She had ignored the comments, tried to enjoy herself. But Claire never knew when enough was enough.

Her sister kept at it. Kept needling, jabbing at Sky until the little bubbles of anger popped to the surface and boiled into something…bigger.

“I…I met my m…mate,” Sky finally said flatly, after anther jab at her lack of a boyfriend. 

Take that Claire. Not just a fiance. A mate. 

Finally in just one thing Sky had been faster than her sister. 

A mate. That mystical rare mating bond had been a gift from the other for her and not for Claire. 

It caught Claire off guard. She stopped pacing, and turned to look at her sister, brow raised. The look said ‘Oh is that so?’ as if it was the kind of nonsense she had come to expect from her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clearly not believing a word Sky said. 

But Sky wasn’t going to let this go. “His n..name is Azriel,” Sky said with a smile. “We are ver…very hap…happy.” 

They were. They were so happy. So delightfully happy. (So delightfully happy that Sky had been wondering if maybe…maybe the should start trying. High Fae fertility was hit or miss anyway…why shouldn’t they simply start trying and see where it would take them. And if it took two decades, then it took two decades. If it only took a year or three…well, then they were lucky.)  

Claire narrowed her eyes. She was about to say something mean, Sky could see it in the way her lip curled up.

“He…He's a g…good male,” she said firmly, cutting Claire off before she got the chance to spew out anything else.

Claire laughed. It was a harsh, biting sound.

"A good male? Really, Sky?" she sneered. "You actually fell for that line?"

It wasn’t a line. It was the truth. 

Azriel was a good male. Patient and intense and loving. He had never raised a single finger against her.Azriel would never hurt her intentionally. 

 Claire just wanted to belittle Sky in front of their whole family.

"You must be even more naive than you seem if you believe that," she said, almost pityingly. "You really think he wants you? That he actually cares about you? Nobody could want you. I bet he just pities you."

It should have hurt her, she realised. It would have. Even just months ago, it would have hurt her. 

But right now…right now it didn’t really. 

She was supposed to believe that Azriel didn’t want her? The same male that had spent the better part of an hour on his knees in front of her that very morning, eating her out like a starved male? She was supposed that her mate, who’s arousal shot across the bond like an inferno any time she slipped off her clothes, didn’t want her? That the same male that stared at her like she was a goddess, that spent hours worshipping her body with his hands…that she had nearly made come simply by touching his wings a few days ago didn’t want her? 

Still…Claire's words had their effect. She felt a small stab of doubt in her heart, and she hated it. She hated that her sister could still hurt her like this, still make her feel like that insecure little girl who stuttered and couldn't get a single word right.

“He…He l…loves me and I…I love him,” Sky said calmly.

That was clear in every single one of his actions, in every single word. 

“Where did you even meet him?” Sky’s mother demanded. “And what kind of name is Azriel?”

“In…In a bar. Wh…When we went out for Cl..Claire’s Hen Do.  And I im…imagine it’s an Il…illyrian name.”

Everything ground to a halt.

“He’s Illyrian?!” Her mother demanded sharply. “What’s wrong with you, Skylar!”

Sky flinched at her tone. It was harsh, angry. It was the same tone she'd always used when Sky was younger and got anything wrong or stepped out of line.

"Yes, he's Il…Illlyrian," she said, meeting her mother's gaze levelly. "What's…what’s wrong with that?" she asked. 

She knew that her family wasn’t the…most open about Lesser Faes, but…but that hatred in her mother’s voice….she hadn’t expected that. 

“Everything,” Admon gave back with a snort. “You seriously let that barbarian fuck you? I am surprised you actually survived that and he didn’t just rip you apart.”

Every bit of colour leeched out of her face, except her ruddy red cheeks at these crude words. 

This was Admon. Once upon a time, she had wanted to marry him. To have his children. To spent her life with him. 

And…and this was what he told her to her face. 

“I can’t believe that you even let a creature like him touch you,” her mother breathed staring at her with utter disgust.

“He’...He’s not a cre…creature,” Sky bit out. Azriel was her mate. 

“Is it true by the way?” Her brother wondered. “That Illyrian’s have a cat’s prick?”

"Orin!" her mother exclaimed, aghast. "Don't be vulgar! I don't want to know."

Orin shrugged, a smirk dancing across his face. "What? I’m just curious. I am sure Skylar knows. She must please him somehow when she’s still alive to enjoy their…couplings.”

Sky felt ill. She didn't know what to say, what to say in defense of the man she loved. She couldn't get a word out.

“Did you…did you let it touch you?” Her father demanded finally, his voice icy.

It. Not even him. It. Like Azriel was a thing. 

Sky felt her heart drop to the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Her father's face grew stony, and he took a step closer to her.

“How dare you?” he hissed. "How could you let a monster touch you like that?"

"He's not a monster!" Sky protested, her voice rising. "He's…He’s k…kind and gen…gentle, and-"

“And I am sure, he keeps you stuffed with his cat prick to keep you satisfied,” Claire drawled.

And Sky was done.

Somehow that was the last straw. 

Somehow that made something inside her break, irreparable. 

It snipped away every thread that ever kept her close to the family that she had been born into. 

“At least I didn’t need to take my sister’s sl…sloppy s…seconds,” Sky said, her voice flat, meeting her gaze full on.“And yes, Azriel more than keeps me s…satisfied.”

Silence descended over the room, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Sky felt the tension in the air grow heavier with each passing second.

"You…you didn’t just say that,” Claire said coldly. "You take that back, Sky.

Sky raised her chin defiantly. "No.” she said simply. “I'm…I’m not taking back the truth," she said, her voice ringing with unexpected steel.

"You do not speak to me like that," Claire hissed. "You have no right—"

Something inside Sky snapped. Years of frustration, years of feeling invisible and ignored, years of enduring Claire's taunts and jibes all bubbled to the surface.

"I…I have ev…every right," she shot back, her heart pounding in her chest. “Not so fun when you are on the re…receiving end, is it?”

“Either you end your…dalliance with…that creature, or you are no daughter of mine,” her father snapped.

He talked to her like she was nothing. Like she was worth less than dirt beneath his boots. 

And somehow that made it even easier. 

“You want me to turn away my mate…for what? This?” She asked him, cocking her head to the side. .

"For the sake of our family’s reputation," her father said. "You are an embarrassment to us all by associating with that…lesser fae barbarian.”

Barbarian. Lesser Fae. Thing. Creature. Monster.

All of that said about the male she loved. About her mate. 

“He’s Illyrian,” Sky said, her voice icy. 

“Oh come off it,” “Orin snapped. “He’s lesser fae. The only thing they are good for is being fodder for the armies during war times. Other than that, they are worthless.”

Fodder. 

“We have Lesser Fae ancestry ourself,” Sky responded icily. “Our great grandmother was a River Nymph.”

"That was a long time ago," her father interrupted sharply. "It was one ancestor generations ago. And besides, her blood was not that strong to begin with."

Sky thought back to the eyes that looked back from her mirror each day. Blue and beautiful. The one trace of her that got passed down to her.

"Maybe it was her blood that made you think that opening your legs for that creature was in any way appropriate," her mother hissed. 

And suddenly it was so easy. 

“Azriel is my mate,” she hissed. “I will al…always chose him over you. You can spew what..whatever insult you want about him or his pe…peoople. He’s still a bet…better male than any of you could ever hope to be, has treated me better than any of you. I’ll gladly no longer be your daughter.”

She felt the sting of tears running down her cheeks, but she didn't try to wipe them away. She just stared back at her family, daring them to say more. There was a short moment of silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

She should have expected it. Her mother had always been quick to slap her if she did anything anything that she didn’t like.

Just this time…her hand didn’t make contact.

Sky stared at the tendril of shadows that jerked her mother’s hand back, having suddenly appeared. 

*You. Will. Not. Lay. A. Finger. On. Her,* the shadows hissed menacingly.

Sky stared at the shadows, her eyes widening in shock. They were angry. No. Furious. Utterly and completely furious. Her mother seemed equally taken aback, her hand still outstretched in the air where the shadows had stopped her.

Orin looked like he was about to piss himself, and her father…her father stared at the shadows, his face ashen.

“Come here,” Sky said quietly.

The shadows left her mother to come swarming to her, brushing over her cheek in greeting before wrapping themselves around her neck in a clearly possessive move.

Sky felt the familiar warmth of the shadows sink into her, a small bit of comfort in this awful situation. She turned to her family, her jaw set.

"I’m…I’m never coming back," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. And with that, she turned and walked away, She had only taken a handful of steps when she stopped and turned back, one last thing needing to be said, before she closed the door on this chapter of her life forever.

"I never want to see any of you again," she said, her voice shaking only slightly. "And when we have children, don’t you dare come and ask to have anything to do with them. You don’t deserve to even breath the same air as my mate."

With that, she turned and walked away, her head held high. 

***

Whatever went on between sky and her family…it wasn’t good. He could feel that in the bond slumbering underneath his breast bone.

He rubbed it absentmindly, staring in the flickering flame of the Birchin.

He had won that Snowball fight. Once more. One more victory to add to it.  Not that he particularly cared right now.

*Is she alright?* he asked the shadows.

The shadows were…quiet. And that spoke volumes. Something wasn't right. Azriel's heart pounded against his chest, his instincts urging him to act. He had to make sure Sky was alright. He couldn't stand to think about her being in any sort of trouble.

*Physicallly unharmed,* the shadows promised. *Her family is horrible,* they told him distastefully. 

Azriel's heart clenched at the shadow’s words. While it was a small relief that Sky wasn't physically hurt…her family being horrible made him want to grimace. 

“Alright, I had it!” Cassian snapped at that moment. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

Azriel turned to his brother, seeing Cassian watch Rhys and himself with an expression of…something. Exasperation maybe.

"What do you mean?" Azriel asked, his voice even, feigning ignorance. He was really not in the mood to get into that either. But apparently he wasn’t going to get that small bit of mercy. 

"Don’t play dumb with me, brother," Cassian said, rolling his eyes. "You are both moody and more distant than usual. What the heck happened?"

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Azriel said flatly. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Rhys?” Cassian demanded with a sigh. 

“You want to explain or shall I?” Rhys addressed him and Azriel just looked at him flatly.

“You gave the orders, High Lord.”

If Azriel had been in a better mood, he would have smirked. But right now, he just wanted this whole conversation to be over so he could check on Sky. The thought of her made his chest ache. He longed to see her, to hold her, to make sure she's alright. But he knew that Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t let him go without an explanation.

“Azriel and I…had a disagreement about Elain.” Azriel just stared at Rhys blankly. Seriously, that was the best Rhys could come up with? That’s what he wanted to go with?!

"A disagreement?" Cassian asked, brows raised. "What kind of disagreement? A 'we came to an agreement' kind of disagreement, or a 'we punched each other in the face' disagreement?"

“A ‘Rhys sticks his nose into things that are none of his business’ disagreement,” Azriel gave back drily.

“Excuse me, you were going to kiss ELain while her mate was under the same roof two years ago. Did you ever even consider the political ramifications of that?” Rhys snapped. “For gods sake, Azriel!”

Azriel's jaw clenched at Rhys's words, his temper flaring even as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. "You think I didn't consider the consequences? Of course, I did," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "But feelings aren't logical, Rhys. We don't choose who we fall for, and it's not as simple as calculating political ramifications."

“I told Azriel to keep away from Elain. She fell for Lucien. He’s still moping about it and giving me the fault,” Rhys said flatly. “Out of pure interest, how much longer do you want to keep up with that, Az?”

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that burst out od his mouth at that.

“You didn’t just fucking tell me to keep away from her. You told me and I quote ‘If you need to fuck somebody go to a pleasure hall and pay for it’,” Azriel repeated viciously.

"And I stand by that," Rhys snapped. "The last thing we need is for you to pine over someone who has made it clear where she stands. Elain has her mate, and she doesn't return your feelings. She’s married for gods’ sake!”

“Whoa!” Cassian cut them off. “What the fuck, Rhys?!”

"What?" Rhys demanded, glaring at Cassian.

Cassian gave him an incredulous look. "You told Azriel to go to a pleasure hall? Seriously?"

"I was trying to be helpful," Rhys said, his jaw clenching.

"Helpful?" Cassian asked incrediously. "Helpful would have been to be a little more understanding towards your brother's feelings. He does have them, you know,” Cassian said sarcastically. 

"I know that," Rhys snapped. "But he needs to move on. It's not healthy to keep pining after someone who doesn't return his feelings."

“Where was this opinion for the 500 years of me pining after Mor?” Azriel snapped. 

Rhys's expression darkened. "Don't do that, Azriel. Don't bring Mor into this. She's not relevant to this discussion."

”Not relevant?” Azriel gave back with a laugh. “I think she’s very relevant. You don’t trust me to act like an adult about my feelings. You ordered me to behave like I am some kind of rabid dog. More than once, more than twice. Constantly. Like I would ever do anything to put Mor and Emerie’s relationship into jeopardy. Don’t worry, High Lord. I’ll behave. I’ll leave Mor and Elain alone. .”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "This is not about Mor, Azriel. This is about keeping the peace within our Inner Circle. Elain has her own life and her own happiness to think about. Interfering could only bring pain, not just for you, but for everyone involved. That’s why I ordered you to keep your distance. Not because I don’t trust your feelings or your actions, but because sometimes even the best intentions can have unintended consequences."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't give me any of your high and mighty bullshit, Rhysand. You don’t think I am good enough for Mor, and you certainly don't think I am good enough for Elain. But don’t worry, I'll keep my distance, as ordered. I wouldn't want to risk upsetting your perfect little court or ruining your plans for peace. Just tell me who else is off limits, so I know who else I'm not good enough for. Maybe Gwyn? Because remember, ‘don’t you dare to pressure her’?"

Rhys sighed, his gaze softening slightly. "Azriel, it's not about who you're 'good enough' for and who you aren't. It's about respecting people's choices and boundaries. Elain has made her choice in Lucien, and I just want to protect her and the peace we've worked so hard to maintain. And no, nobody else is off limits. You're free to…'seek your entertainment' as you please."

His entertainment. 

Right. 

Azriel snorted, the sound full of derision. “It warms my heart that you give me that permission,” Azriel said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rhys rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by Azriel's reaction. "I'm not trying to 'give you permission,' Azriel," he said firmly. "I'm just trying to make sure you understand why I'm asking you to behave. I care about you and our inner circle. You're my brother, but I also care about Elain and her happiness. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

“Have I done anything, anything at all that put her happiness in jeopardy?” Azriel asked, his voices harsh. “I kept away as you ordered. I fucking saved Lucien’s life, so she could be happy.”

"You haven't done anything wrong," Rhys acknowledged, his tone softening. "You've been a better friend to Elain than anyone could have asked. You saved Luicen because you are a good person, not just for Elain's sake. But I still think it’s best if you keep your distance. Not just for her, but for yourself too. Dwelling on feelings that can’t be returned will only bring you pain."

“For cauldron’s sake, Rhys,” Cassian said with a sigh.

Rhys turned his attention to him, the exasperation clear in his eyes. "What, Cassian?" he asked, his tone weary.

Cassian rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. "You’re so hell bent on keeping the peace you forget that the people in your court have feelings too," he said. "Azriel isn’t some emotionless soldier doing your bidding. He has feelings and desires, just like everyone else. And sometimes it’s not as simple as just moving on."

"I know that," Rhys said, running a hand through his hair. "But sometimes we have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. As a High Lord, I have to think about the impact my actions could have on others. I'm not trying to shut down Azriel's feelings. I'm just trying to protect him from potential pain.”

“Yeah you did a shitty job at that,” Cassian said drily. “You could have told Mor hundred of years ago to have a conversation with him. You didn’t. But Azriel is supposed to tread carefully not to make her or Emerie uncomfortable. Azriel is supposed to behave?”

Rhys's eyes flashed in anger. "I know I've made mistakes, Cassian. I should have handled things differently with Mor and Azriel. But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make the best decisions for everyone involved right now."

“You don’t even fucking realise how much of a self important hypocritical asshole you are, do you?” Azriel asked flatly. “It’s okay for you to pursue an engaged female that’s engaged to another High Lord, damn the consequences. But the rest of us…we are told to behave.”

Rhys bristled at Azriel’s words, his own temper threatening to flare. "That's different, Azriel," he said, his voice sharp. "That’s different and you know it. You would understand if you had a…” he hesitated.

"If I had a what?" Azriel prompted sharply.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching around his mug. "A mate."

“Rhys,” Cassian said carefully.

"What?" Rhys snapped, his temper still simmering just below the surface. “He doesn’t have a mate, he doesn’t fucking understand it.”

Aaaaaand…. Azriel was done.

So fucking done. 

“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood up.

“Home,” Azriel said flatly. “You have my gifts, hand them out. Wish Feyre a Happy Birthday, will you? I’ll be back to do your bidding in about 3 days, High Lord.” 

“I highly doubt that your mother will enjoy your impromptu appearance at Rosehall,” Rhys said. Azriel’s hand twitched towards Truthteller. “Let’s just…”

“Rhysand!” Cassian snapped.

“What?” Rhys asked. 

“I have talked to my mother once since the Sealing of Velaris was lifted,” Azriel said tightly. “One conversation where she told me that she found a new family and that I should keep away from her. So no, Rhys. I am not going to Rosehall.”

Rhys looked utterly shell-shocked by Azriel’s revelation. "Azriel, I..." he started, but Azriel simply shook his head.

"Don't," he said. "Just don't." He didn’t wnat to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about that. His mother could do whatever she wanted. he would leave her alone, just as requested. But he was not going to talk about it. 

“Then I am coming with you. You are not spending Winter Solstice alone brooding at the House of Wind,” Cassian said quickly, standing. 

“I am not going to the House of Wind either.” Azriel answered flatly. “I am going home to my house and I won’t be alone either.”

"What do you mean you won't be alone?" Rhys asked sharply.

Azriel just snorted, “My mate will be there,” he said simply. “She’s better company than any of you.”

“Your...your mate?” Rhys repeated, his eyes widening.

Cassian gaped at Azriel. "Your mate? Why didn’t you tell us? Who is she?"

“Why should I tell you? ” Azriel gave back his voice icy. “I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

[beevean]

Lenore: [Carmilla] showed me her maps. I made her angry, I think. She showed me maps of the world. Hector: I know, I know. A giant human pen from here to Braila. I've had the lectures. Lenore: Not anymore. Hector: She's been scheming. Lenore: And she showed me maps of the world, Hector. Hector: The world. Lenore: The pen was about securing our survival and safety for centuries to come. It was an insane idea, but we could stretch and make it work. But now she sees weakness everywhere. And we were a strong and stable community in a world that lost many of its vampire leaders at Braila. Hector: So what you're saying is if it's there, she's going to drink it. Lenore: She said she had one plan: to annex land from here to the sea. She promised me that was her plan, and then she was left alone, and then I made her angry and she showed me her maps. I think she lied to me. Hector: Just the way Dracula lied to me.

So this is another way S4 forcibly pushes a connection between Hector and Lenore for the sake of making us sympathize with her.

Lenore is panicking about Carmilla's new plan. I would say that she is worried about the kingdom's stability, or Carmilla's sanity, but as usual, she can't help showing her true self because she introduced this information by whining about herself: "But soon I'll have nothing to do. Nothing to offer. There's no diplomacy involved in making humans stand in line to be bled."

But for now this isn't really the point: the point is that Lenore, in her circular reasoning, somehow went from "we left her alone, and she started scheming beyond her original plan" to "she was lying to me, and only revealed the truth when I made her angry: if I didn't, she would have kept the lie". Now, this doesn't make sense in any way: why would Carmilla lie to one of her closest allies? Even if Lenore is useless, she is still an ally and a friend, and it would be both disadvantageous and impractical to keep her in the dark. The framing is very much that Carmilla went mad and got hungrier for power and her plan morphed in those six weeks between S3 and S4, and she just happened to choose that moment to rant.

(hilariously, the dialogue is extremely contrived too: Lenore just says "Please, would Dracula have kept [Hector] around in his own castle if he were that dangerous?" and that spurns Carmilla to completely forget about the issue of Hector behaving suspiciously and talk about the castle she didn't get, which wasn't even remotely Lenore's point. yeah no she didn't reveal the plan out of anger, but out of writing convenience lmao)

Now, I could concede this as the character being wrong. Lenore is allowed to be wrong, and the bias she's expressing make sense: the situation is making her feel insecure, unneeded and perhaps unwanted. Remember: this is the same scene where she appreciates Hector for not making her feel bad about raping him into slavery "wanting to listen to her", unlike everyone else in the castle. She is lost and confused and can't trust Carmilla anymore, and as I pointed out she is incredibly self-centered, so fine, I buy that she interprets her behavior as malice against her.

But the framing is not that. Because then Hector remembers he is a human being with a brain and says the only meaningful response to Lenore's rant.

lmao i can't take that frame seriously it's literally surprisedpikachuface.jpg

And this is bullshit.

The two situations are not comparable from this angle. Carmilla is being set to be Dracula 2.0, that much is true: an insane old woman who has lost her way, consumed by pain and hatred, and is no longer thinking about the consequences of her plan, risking the safety of her underlings. But that's the extent of it. Carmilla actually cares about her sisters, in her own way, even if she makes fun of Lenore for her love for animals. Lenore perceived Carmilla as getting angry at her, but in reality she simply got worked up, and had nothing against her if not her incompetence in making Hector work, which got resolved anyway.

We don't know how the other three got roped into her council, but there is zero indication that Carmilla ever used bold-faced lies like when Dracula promised Hector that they'd work to cull mankind when in reality he wanted to exterminate everyone, something he even admitted to do because "he's easy to lie to". He did not change his plan between his hiring of Hector and his death! He deliberately lied to him from the get-go!

Hector and Lenore have the similar situation of being considered the weaklings of the group for their softness. They could bond over that. But Hector's situation was still far worse: he got taken advantage of precisely because of his softness and his pathological need to be loved, something Lenore cannot share because, even with her soft façade, she is too cunning to be tricked, lives her comfortable life as one of the queens, and she was considered integral to the group until now. Hector was betrayed by Dracula, only the first of many instances: he got convinced that Dracula planned to kill him too, and we don't know if he would have done it, but the story seems to believe so. And that's not mentioning how this betrayal was the catalyst for all the hell Hector went through, which incidentally included Lenore. We see with our own eyes that Hector's reaction to being powerless is fawning and clinging, while Lenore's reaction to feeling powerless is exerting her power over creatures beneath her.

Tell me how can Lenore compare to Hector, just because her bestie is only now starting to go crazy - which, as I pointed out earlier, only concerns Lenore because boohoo she feels useless and not out of moral convictions like when Hector shouted that he didn't want to paddle in the blood of innocents?

You don't get to pull the 🥺 face on me, Lenore. You don't get to create a "you're just like me fr fr" moment by twisting the narrative to look more of a woobie than you are. Especially not right after you shushed Hector down when he dared to complain about being raped. You are not the victim here, you can't fathom the heartbreak Hector went through because of Dracula, Carmilla and you, and the relationship between you two is built on nothing but lies, both of your telling and of the disingenuous story itself which at this point is a bigger liar than all three of those characters.

And yes, this is a lie from the story, because this feels like a deliberate retcon! Lenore in S3 was a complacent cog in the machine. She agreed to help Carmilla, she admits in that scene in S4 that she saw the original plan as a way to secure stability which is what she cares about the most, and all of her gaslighting, manipulations and sexual abuse were for the sole purpose of turning Hector into the perfect tool to proceed with that plan (the pet part was just a nice bonus). There is the theory that she didn't like the plan much based on one frame where she frowns, but as usual, other expressions of hers betray her:

She seems quite happy with it! She just apparently didn't like Carmilla's "self-replicating food" joke, for reasons I don't understand - she too treats Hector like an animal, so I don't see why she'd be miffed at the dehumanization. Or maybe it's just her being not very amused at Carmilla's sense of humor in general. the joke was pretty stupid, tbh - all organic food is "self-replicating", your evil speeches need some serious work girl

The point is, she was not tricked into it like Hector! Unlike him who apparently didn't think much about the aftermath, she was fully aware of what it entailed! Carmilla just expanded her view later on! But of course, if we now say that Carmilla lied to Lenore and the story doesn't stop to remind us of what happened one season prior, Lenore suddenly becomes innocent, because see? She's better than mean Carmilla! She only raped Hector for his own good, but she didn't mean to harm mankind! It's literally the same logic that neutered the ring: everything must be sanitized to paint Lenore as this innocent, tragic figure.

Again, what irritates me is that the parallels are there. Carmilla is going insane like Dracula, yes, and she is endangering the kingdom. Lenore feels the black sheep of the group like Hector was (although he never realized it, even though Isaac always talked to him like he itched to call him the R-slur). They have traits in common! Use them! But no, this plotline is nothing more than the writers yelling "PLEASE FEEL SOWWY FOR THE WIDDLE RAPIST SHE DID NOTHING WRONG IN HER LIFE LOOK AT HER CUTE FACE 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 CARMILLA IS THE TRUE MEANIE HATE THAT BITCH NOT OUR LENORE WHO IS JUST A POOR GIRL AND NOBODY LOVES HER 🥺"

[fansids]

Since I've seen some express similar sentiments, what about the new Troy and Cyclops Sagas doesn't resonate with you?

First and foremeost I genuinely think they sound bad. I would be lying if I didn't say that part of the reason is simply because they don't sound like the original. But honestly that's only a small part of it. I was used to and preferred the demo for Done For for a bit, but now I like the finished one better. There are parts I think sound fine, but everything together does not sound good.

There are like a few main things I don't like about the new versions as a whole but a lot of it is just small things that I felt added up and made the Sagas overall worse. It's really hard to describe what I'm talking about since I'm not a music person but I hope this all makes sense.

Now, I don't know anything about mixing or editing music but one of the main things I noticed is that it often felt like the characters were singing next to the music rather than with it. Like they felt almost disconnected? It throws me off. The overall sound of the songs felt lighter. It's especially bad in The Horse and the Infant. It sounds like more emphasis was put on the singers.

It sounds like a live recording rather than a studio recording. That and I swear the songs are slightly slower which makes everything's timing feel off and it drives me nuts.

In the Cyclops Saga the bass was so...light? ...quiet? Idk how to describe it. Like in the original, you could feel that shit in your eardrums. It really felt like a heartbeat speeding up and slowing down with the tension of each line. I'm not feeling that anymore.

The way they changed how they sang/said some of the lines sounded fine in some places but really weird in others. The way Jorge says "I was lying and you fell for my bluff" makes me cringe. One of my favorite lines is "This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector," and the way Zeus says it in the new one sounds so weird. It feels less like a reveal that this kid is the child of a great enemy of Greece and more like 'oh yeah, btw this is Hector's kid.'

Speaking of, the voices for Zeus and the Cyclops were a lot less impactful. They were so deep and powerful in the original, it feels a lot weaker now. Like Zeus sounds fine in Thunder Bringer so I don't know why he doesn't here. In fact, the music as a whole doesn't sound as weirdly disconnected once we get to the Ocean saga. With those two I can't hear the rumble in their voices anymore. The Cyclops especially, which I felt took away from his threatening presence. Even his roars sound less intense.

Also, nitpicking a bit but, I don't like how Zeus sings with others when explaining why Odysseus can't let the infant live. It makes Odysseus sound less alone in his decision making. Instead of Zeus bluntly laying out why the infant can't live, it feels like he's being pressured by multiple people. I liked the feeling that it was only the two of them in that room in the original.

Athena's voice also felt off. I think she was singing lighter? She sounds less upset in My Goodbye. She sounded like she was just singing her lines and wasn't all that into it. Idk, but it was distracting.

Actually that might also be the problem parts of the Sagas in general. At points it sounded like they were singing just to get it over with and were less into it than the original.

And then there's the exact opposite problem in opposite parts where it felt like they were overacting or focusing on the wrong parts of the singing. The harmonizing in Survive really threw me off. It's fine in Full Speed Ahead when they're all working together to row home, but in a battle scene it feels weird. Them sounding similar in the original made sense to me because they're soldiers repeating orders in a battle.

Nitpicking again, but I don't like at all how the lotus eaters sound. They sound less creepy, and it sounds like they're are less of them. Like I can more easily pick out each individual lotus eater's voice instead of feeling that there just a giant crowd of them surrounding them.

I listened to the new versions it a few times and I could not get with it. I genuinely feel like I would've been less inclined towards Epic the Musical if the songs originally sounded like this. The first time I listened to it, I took like over an hour to get to the Cyclops Saga (they had both come out by the time I'd heard of them) because I just loved the Troy Saga that much. Hell, when Polites got hit I had to stop what I was doing and sit down to listen to the rest of the Cyclops Saga. There were parts that I'd listen to over and over and over again because they just sounded that good. I absolutely loved listening to Zeus and Athena in the original. I don't get that feeling anymore.

If you presented me both versions, I would've assumed the newer one was the first version and the older one was the polished product.

[mannatea]

Part 23!

I think this is just another example of "The Black Fang could have been sooooo cool and interesting but there wasn't time to show much of it."

On one hand, that's what fanfiction is for. On the other hand, my interest wasn't piqued enough to care to the degree required of me to write fanfiction.

But there's definitely something really cool here about the original Fang members. Sonia said she replaced a lot of them but the idea that Lloyd and Linus surrounded themselves with the original members (and that this enabled (?) helped (?) Sonia to replace the core members with Nergal's fellas) is pretty interesting.

RIP to Nino but it is what it is.

Bro...what are you doing here.

THESE BE BABE HOURS. HELLO VAIDA MY LOVE

You know, this game has a LOT—and I mean A LOT—of "retainer serves character rather than their nation/faction" in it. Vaida and Murdock serve the prince rather than the king. Kent serves Lyn rather than Hausen or Caelin. Ursula serves Sonia rather than the Black Fang. Etc etc. It's an interesting theme. Anyway, too bad Vaida's faith is misplaced, here.

Though misplaced is perhaps the wrong word. I think if things were different for Zephiel, he would not have turned out so bad (yet another foil for Nino and another tally on the nature vs nurture board). I know the ending is a bit vague about what happens to Vaida after the game ends, but the idea that something bad might have happened there is...ugh. I hate it but man, it's juicy.

Anyway...

Godiwishthatwereme.jpg

I was able to drag extra losers into this battle so I got another support for these two for my uhh log. Yeah. I used to always wish I could get a completed support log in this game. That'd be so cool.

Anyway, Lowen's super down on himself, which I think helps set him apart from the other cavaliers. Sain is beyond self assured, and Kent and Isadora are overall very competent, so Marcus being overly strict (but Lowen believing this is righteously so) is pretty good food (no pun intended lmao).

Rebecca's insane but I like that she tries to lift Lowen up by saying nice things about him ("You are so commanding in the saddle" MA'AM PLEASE) and gives him encouragement that he is perhaps otherwise lacking.

I will talk about this in a hot second, I promise.

This feels like a typo/error where they meant to put Lyn in here to say this line LMAO.

An ever-fixed mark...

UHHH anyway, I want to mock Athos for the whole "I could have helped you but didn't/made you figure it out for yourself" trope (because typically I hate it THE MOST), but this is an example of the writers actually forcing it to make at least some narrative sense (and also being VERY aware of it, by having Hector call it out).

Bramimond as a concept is pretty interesting; their presence and in fact entire being/lack of self tells us a lot about the power to be found in "dark magic"—and the cost associated with that, too. The "mirror" component is pretty cool, and also I think it was smart to add this in, if only to paint the original eight "heroes" as people who had to make big sacrifices for the world they wanted to save. Don't get me wrong; it's cool that Mark is here to help lead the FE7 forces to victory and all, but there are always sacrifices to be made when the stakes are high—and just as our heroes sacrifice things, so too did those who came before them.

It ties in particularly well with Hector wielding Armads despite knowing that doing so will seal his fate to die in battle, someday.

Anyway, Athos "testing" the cast, not for his own sake, but to prove to Bramimond that they weren't in it just for power (because, see, they have plenty of their own--they just need a LITTLE help) makes the whole thing a lot more palatable to me. And having a former hero in charge of this works pretty well, since they've seen it all at this point (and they know/understand the stakes).

The only part about it that I find annoying is basically the same bullshit i see a lot of with the "wise old man doesn't communicate" trope: I feel like Athos could have been a bit more forthcoming with information in Nabata, especially considering HOW HIGH THE STAKES ARE. Maybe Bramimond is beyond giving a fuck right now, existing more as a mirror than as a real person since they lost themselves in the darksauce, but Athos still seems to care...and it's irritating how they addressed this one component of his "figure it out yourselves" mantra without addressing, you know, the bigger part of it: the fact that he knows time is not on their side and instead of communicating more to them or helping more to begin with, he was like...yeah we have time for them to fuck around in Bern and then prove themselves to Bramimond.

I think it's especially frustrating because Nergal shows up at full power RIGHT AFTER THIS, and while that's kind of a classic move too, it's just...bro if you'd have warped us closer than Pherae in the first place, we could have been done with this already LOL!

The army wasn't dilly-dallying or anything at any point (things like an audience with the queen take time, you know) but stuff like that makes it feel like there's almost a disconnect between the characters and the stakes...if that makes sense?

Like good, I'm glad you addressed the whole "why didn't you just warp us here in the first place" thing, but also...maybe you could have used your scrying to help out more in the first place. Or warped us closer to the manse to appeal to the queen, saving us weeks of travel. Or even just explain to Hector and Lyn and Eliwood that time is truly of the essence.

The whole "withholding information only to reveal it later" thing is so...ugh. There are times where it works pretty well (the whole thing with Uther, iirc) and times where it just feels like the information is being timegated for the sake of making the story last longer.

I feel like if Athos said they had to pass the test on their own because he can't convince Bramimond himself, then I feel like at least then we (the audience) would assume that the cast were all trying their hardest, and it wasn't enough.

But seeing Athos warp in here like "lol :) sorry but you had to do this on your own, my bad for not really telling you it was a test" is just RAGE INDUCING in that it FEELS like we could have been fine...but aren't because Athos withheld information.

Which I don't think was the intent, to be clear.

Oh, Ninian. :( She's doing her best.

The thing is... WHY NOT. WHY NOT. WHY WOULDN'T NERGAL JUST KILL THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN HOPE TO FIGHT HIM.

The only reason it makes sense is that he might be afraid of Athos to some degree, and not wish to engage him, but he absolutely should have killed at least Eliwood here.

Don't get me wrong, we know things go to shit soon. But like, Athos doesn't really need to say this; it just makes the story feel weaker. I don't think this is that bad of an issue; it could be inferred that Nergal just wished to flee/escape with Ninian and was therefore not focused enough on killing Eliwood to actually kill him, but then...why not just say that? Or even, "his goal is bigger than us" or "we are nothing compared to his goal."

Especially with Ninian in his possession, there's little the main group can do to stop him, so it's not hard to imagine Nergal might not have given them much thought.

It's time for sadness soon. Yay.

[khawthorneofficial]

Troy's Son Excerpt

I snuck through the dank hallways of the palace, my path lit up by a glowing torch. Neither the king nor Hermione seemed to be at home right now, but I had better sense than to report back to Orestes empty handed. At the end of the corridor, there was a door- not ornate like it led into Neoptolemus’ throne room, but suitable perhaps for a bedroom. I made up my mind to look inside. Perhaps if I could catch the son of Achilles sleeping, I could notify Orestes, and the other king could come and run him through while he lay in his bed. 

Naturally, the door was locked when I tried the handle. I stood there, thinking. I couldn’t very well go barelling in, that would surely alert the king to my presence if he was in there. That was when the door open, and I found myself staring face to face with a woman I felt like I knew. 

She was of a decent middling age, not young, but not old. She had light brown skin and deep dark eyes like mine, and fine black curls that hung to her waist. Even with the pained look on her face and the worry lines creasing the corners of her eyes, a face worn from years in captivity, and dressed in the drab gray garments of a slave, I couldn’t shake the thought that she’d once been beautiful- she still was. Even as a slave, she had an aura of power around her- she’d been a prince’s wife, likely a prisoner of some war Neoptolemus had fought in the eastern lands, close to where I’d been raised. I also couldn’t help but think nI might know her somehow.

“Who are you?” she asked cautiously. “Not a member of this court.” I pressed my lips together, trying to think of the right thing to say. 

“A visitor from the east,” I said simply. “Raised as a warrior among the Scythians. I am called Astyanax.” The next thing I wasn’t expecting. The brown-skinned women threw herself at me, weeping like a waterfall. 

“Astyanax,” she cried. “My son, you have returned to me!” 

“Mother?” I gasped. I didn’t doubt it for a second. After all, she looked just like me, and the familiarity was there. 

~

“You’re really my mother?” I asked the woman as we sat on the floor and she wept and caressed my face. She nodded. “Who exactly are you?” I asked. “Who am I?” My mother steeled herself. 

“I am Andromache, born princess of Thebe and later that of Troy. Wife of Hector, the crown prince.” I sucked in air. I hadn’t heard much tale of the Trojan War in the Scythian lands, but since coming to Greece, I’d learned much, especially since I was currently allied to the son of the Achaean army’s greatest general. I knew, of course, who prince Hector was. He’d been killed by Achilles, the father of Neoptolemus, and... I clenched my jaw. 

“Prince Hector was my father? When I was dining with Orestes of Mycenae, he told me that after Achilles killed him, he was killed by his brother Paris and Neoptolemus, his son, came to fight in his stead. The boy was only ten, but he fought like a beast. He killed King Priam, took Hector’s wife as his slave, and hurled her baby son from the burning walls to kill him, all so he couldn’t come back later and avenge his father and city.” 

“That is true,” Andromache said. “And we all thought he succeeded.” 

“He didn’t,” I breathed. “I survived. I was found by an Amazon ally and taken to be raised by a tribe of Scythians.”

“Well, I thank the gods you’ve come back to me at last,” my mother said, kissing me on both cheeks. 

“Thank the gods indeed,” I said, but my hand was already drifting to the sword at my belt. “Orestes employed me to help him kill the man who stole his fiancée, but fuck him. Now that I know the truth, I’ll run the bastard through myself.”

[scifrey]

Hold Tight (6/6)

Status: Complete. Unbeta’d, we die like Hob doesn’t.

Series: The Hob Adherent series.

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Also includes some erotic content. Please curate your internet experience accordingly.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Past Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past), Hector Hall/Lyta Hall (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Lyta Trevor-Hall, Daniel Hall, Rose Walker, Jed Walker 

Summary:

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he’s so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle’s boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone’s therapist, and honestly, he ain’t mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

READ ON AO3 or below:

Chapter Six

A year and a bit later, as the Endless and Immortals reckon "later"…

Rose Walker's debut book tour takes her to London, which means, of course, Hob has to throw her a little party at the New Inn to celebrate. Hob invites his Elizabethan Manor compatriots, Rose’s UK publishing team, and those few distant relatives to the Kincaid side of the family Harri could abuse her position at BBC Historics to track down for Rose and Jed.

Hob had also invited the Walker's granduncles, grandaunts, and grandparent, but asked them to come after dark, when all the normal humans had come and gone.

Lyta and Daniel Hall, enticed with promises of meeting the extended family and a free trip to England, have joined them. Which means the party has become a lax outdoor affair in the private back garden of the Inn, with lots of sandwiches and lemonade, and far too many gift-wrapped toys for young Daniel to gleefully tear open from pride of place on his chequered picnic blanket.

Filled with fizzy pride as he watches Rose and Jed begin to open up to her mother's long-lost family, Hob takes advantage of the guest of honour's distraction to herd Morph into the shaded corner of the garden furthest from the back door. He'd hidden a kraft-paper envelope in the brambles here earlier, and now he risks blackberry thorn scratches to retrieve it for Morph.

"Happy anniversary, duck," Hob says, handing the envelope over.

"Happy anniversary," Morph replies with a sly smile. "Though I believe you are early by two days. It is only the fifth."

"Yes and no," Hob says. "I wanted to give this to you now, because we'll be travelling on the seventh."

"Oh, we will, will we?" Morph challenges playfully, one eyebrow raised in question. "And where will we be travelling, Hob Gadling?"

"Open the envelope and see, Morph Gadling," Hob teases back.

Morph breaks the wax seal that Hob had used in a fit of nostalgia, and slides a packet of glossy photographs and creamy thick paper into his hand.

“What is this?”

"I… bought some land," Hob says, as he helps Morph make sense of the wad of papers. "Well. Re-bought, really." 

He pulls out and then drops an aerial photo onto the top of the pile. It's painted-over with red surveyor's lines, which sketch out the boundaries of a piece of wild woodland, a meadowed slope, and two stone-bounded little fields. If you look closely enough, and maybe turn the picture a little, you can see that what originally appears to be an organic cluster of ancient fruit trees resolves itself into man-made lines of a severely overgrown orchard. And just up the slope from that, the grey-green lumps of tumbled slate walls outline a centuries old foundation for a little four-room cottage.

Hob pulls the deed out of the pile next. It's computer-generated but with Hob's tell-tale signature and handwriting proclaiming the parcel to be henceforth known as New Glade Estate. 

Hob is many things, but a poet is not one of them.

That's his husband's job.

"Hob," Morph says, swallowing hard. "What is this?"

"Ours," Hob says, with a gallic shrug and a tug of his earlobe. "I thought… I built it once. I could build it again. Only this time there will be the two of us. We can do it together. Make it our own little haven away from the city. Give Matthew a rookery. Add a guest bedroom for Daniel, for when he’s old enough to come visit for the summers. Install real plumbing and a drawing room. I could reclaim the orchard from the forest, add in some garden beds, and… well, what do you think?"

Morph looks up at his husband and grins. It is a delighted, carefree expression that Hob has had the privilege to witness on his husband's face more and more since the honeymoon. It never fails to fill Hob with gratitude and relief.

"I think it is a splendid idea," Morph says.

"Thank fuck," Hob says, heaving a sign of relief. "Because I've already spent a tidy fortune to have the land surveyed, and the old forest road cleared and re-gravelled, and the first draft of the blueprints drawn up. Obviously they're not final until you've worked your creative magic on them, but I—"

Morph silences Hob with a kiss, which is par for the course.

What isn't par is the hissed little " Ew, don't do that in front of me," that someone says directly into Hob's ear.

"Gah!" Hob yelps, jerking away from the painted lips beside his face so fast that he nearly topples into the hedgerow.

One red-taloned hand grabs him by the shirtfront and keeps him upright, though.

"Thanks Desire," Hob gulps, heart racing from the surprise as he gets his feet back under him. "I would have preferred it if you didn't scare the shit out of me first, though."

"Oh but I couldn't help it, Handsome Hobsie," Desire purrs. "You're just so pretty when you're flushed and panting."

"Desire," Morph growls warningly. 

"Oh, untwist your panties, Mope," Desire says, waving off his ire. "I'm just having fun. Speaking of fun, swell party, little brother."

"Thanks," Hob says. "Though, I think you're a bit early. I said after dark."

Desires waves that away too, as if Hob's request to keep the Endless and Mortal sides of the Rose and Jed's family nominally separate for the first meeting was just silly nonsense. "I am their grandparent, I deserve first dibs."

"Demand and deserve are two entirely separate things," Morph shoots back. "Will you not give Rose the courtesy to—"

"And who are you to speak of my granddaughter as if you were the protector of her heart—"

"The only one among our family who cared for it," Morph hisses back.

"Hey now," Hob says. "Come on now, we're going to draw a crowd. Let's not throw vitriol around quite so freely.”

"Only because you saw Rose Walker as your duty," Desire shoots back, utterly ignoring Hob's plea for peace. "She would have meant nothing to you had she not threatened the Dreaming."

"As she meant nothing to you until you could weaponize her?"

"Oof, enough guys, c’mon—"

Anger flashes in Desire's honey-gold eyes, strong and sudden enough that it startles both the immortal humans. "Unlike you, Moron Morphy, I am here to accept my responsibilities, not run from them."

"Whoa now," Hob says, putting a steadying hand on Morphs' chest, which was starting to puff up like an angry pigeon. "Where is this coming from?"

"You left us!" Desire accuses, and Hob whips around to check the rest of the partygoers, but it seems like either they're very politely ignoring the shouting, or are magically oblivious to the mounting domestic squabble happening in the back corner of the garden. Well, that's one blessing, at least.

"Yes?" Morph says, tilting his head corvid-like, clearly confused about why that fact should upset Desire two years after the fact.

"You left! Just like Despair, when she died. Just like Delight, transmuting into Delirium. Just like Destruction! Death doesn't like me, Destiny is too busy for me, and now, now you're just … gone!" Desire shouts.

For a moment it seems like that’s where it will end, but then, out of nowhere, Desire’s whole face crumples. Tears as red as blood well in their eyes, rolling down their gaunt cheeks, and they suck on huge gouts of air. They seem as surprised as Hob is to find themselves crying. "Why does everyone leave me?"

Oh, Hob thinks. Oh, poor creature. This has been a long time coming. 

He wraps gentle arms around Desire's shoulders and pulls them into his chest for a tight, grounding hug.

This family really, genuinely, honestly needs some hardcore therapy.

"My leaving was… was not about you," Morph struggles to say, meeting Hob's gaze over Desire's head and very clearly at an utter loss at what to do or say.

"Of course it wasn't," Desire sniffles. "You didn't even consider me. You always thought me lesser. But I am your sibling! I am just as important as you! I am just as powerful as you! And you… you cut me out of your realm, of yourself. But Desires and Dreams, we are so closely intertwined. I was your favourite. You doted on me and I…” 

Morph tips forward, the creeping horror brought on by Desire's unexpected but nonetheless heartbreaking confession moving him to wrap himself around Desire's other side, sandwiching the Endless in the middle of a comforting Immortal group hug. Hob is so, so grateful that Harri has subjected Morph to enough of them over the last year that Morph feels comfortable initiating one.

Hob is reminded sharply of Morph's own tears, not so long ago, when recounting how cruel he felt his sister Death's attempts to understand his own mental anguish had been. One glance at his husband makes it clear that Morph is likely thinking about the same.

"Oh, my sibling," Morph croons into Desire’s ear, petting their destroyed pompadour back off their sweaty forehead. "I am sorry I made you feel lesser. I am sorry I did not treat you with the respect and care you deserved."

Hardcore, super epic, weapons-grade therapy, Hob thinks morosely. As Vassal I can ask favours of my lieges in return. This is gonna be my first one: Group. Fucking. Therapy.

"I'm sorry too," Desire hiccups, like the words are being torn from their guts by a hot poker. "I made a mistake with Killalla, and I admit to it now. It was cruel and malicious of me, but I truly did not understand the consequences of the game. I was young, Dream. I was a child. Her desire was but a toy. Anyone's desire, not just hers and yours. I did not comprehend, then, that desire denied becomes despair. I did not realize that in breaking your toy you would refuse to accept any other I handed you."

"Killalla was not a toy," Morpheus growls.

"I know that! I know that now, " Desire amends, frustrated. They push back from Hob's chest, jaw set with determination to be understood. "But I was young. I was stupid! I was little more than the sum of my Function. You remember what that was like, what it meant to be consumed only by what you were, and not who you are."

Morph hesitates, and then just nods, slowly and sagely, and only once.

"I tried to make it up to you, but you spurned desire. You spurned love. You spurned happiness. You hurt Nuala, and Calliope, and Hob." Desire cuts a hand at Hob, who blinks in stunned confusion. "Over and over again, you spat on my gift! On me!"

"Morpheus never spurned me," Hob protests. "I mean, I never made a move on him. And he barely liked me until the last few decades, right?" He turns to Morpheus, who looks equal parts guilty and hurt. "Wait, right?"

"Oh, Hobsie, you're an idiot," Desire sniffles, wiping their face clean and laughing at him all at once. "I was in that tavern too, that day. In my way. I felt the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him. If you'd both been human, you'd have fucked in the alley behind the White Horse within the hour!"

"You what?" Hob asks, feeling a bit like he's been struck between the eyes with a wet fish. He turns his dazed attention to his husband. "You wanted me, even then?"

"Physically," Morpheus says. "I see no point in denying it. I found you attractive, in your brutish, smelly, hairy way."

"Oh, gee, thanks," Hob gulps out, wondering if a time will ever come when he isn't going to have his whole understanding of the universe tipped on its head every time he hangs out with a different celestial or infernal or Endless being.

"Animal lust," Morpheus dismisses. "Easily ignored."

"Wow, babe, that makes it so much better when you put it like that."

"Except it wasn't easily ignored," Desire says, hands flying through the air as they describe patterns that Hob could never hope to comprehend. "I could see it all, laid out clear as a star-chart. Robert Gadling, human and so curious, so hopeful, so full of sunlight—streaked in his hair, kissed on his skin, streaming from his soul—"

"Hey now, I'm right here," Hob mutters, feeling his ears burning.

"And you, big brother, too stupid to know a good thing when you saw it. I could see how this would end. Here. Like this. And Death agreed with me. So we—" They snap their fingers. "Destiny took me through his garden, you know, while you and Death were visiting humanity, we walked the labyrinth and he told me of the possibilities. Of what would happen to Dream of the Endless, if Hob Gadling died with a mugger’s sword in his gut on the road to Essex."

Hob's stomach roils. Is that the death that had been meant for him?

"Or, if Hob had been granted his wish, but you two dunderheads hadn't acted on your mutual desire. If Hob remained only your friend, met and desired and resisted every hundred years. It was… it is not a good ending, Dream. It's not a good ending for… for a lot of people," Desire finishes on a contrite whisper. "Instead of leaving, you died. You died stupidly. So Hob was my peace offering. But still you turned away from your desire for him, and from me."

"Wait, you giftwrapped me for him?" Hob asks, his blood running cold all of a sudden. 

"I was, what, a kitten you picked out of a litter and put a bow on? Did I have any say in this? Did you make me fall for him? I… mean, I—"

"Oh, for god's sake," Desire snipes. "I can't make people love where they don't already feel attraction, any more than Death can take you before your time. All that lust you suffered all those years, banked or otherwise, that was all you, Hobsie Baby. Everything you feel now, that's you.”

"That's a… that's a relief," Hob admits.

“All I did was make sure you two simpletons actually did something about it.”

“How?” Morph asks, an adorable look of confusion wrinkling his forehead.

Desires snorts, throwing back their shoulders and preening at their own cleverness. “Did you really think all those flowers spontaneously blossoming all around you without your conscious directive was an accidental side effect of you realizing you were catching feelings?”

The shock, understanding, frustration, anger, and then acceptance that chase each other across Morph’s face is both amusing and worrying. Hob wonders if he’s going to have to literally get in between them to prevent an all out hair-pulling, claw-raking cat fight. Morph’s expression, however, settles on tender gratitude.

"Then I thank you, my sibling," Morph says, voice a strained rumble. He reaches blindly for Hob's hand, and Hob obliges. He squeezes three times— I love you. Morph squeezes three times in return. "I should hate to begrudge or resent my greatest joy because of your interference, sibling."

"No, no, of course not," Desire hastens to reassure them. "I didn't want that. I've never wanted that. All I wanted is for you to respect me, to respect what I do, to accept the gift of my function the way you forced me to accept yours. You shut yourself away from desire forever and you left me alone to dream about a day when you'd just pay attention to me again.” They huff. “And of course, you took the easy out. Now you’ve left and I'll never—you'll never—"

"Hold up," Hob entreats again. "You're forgetting that Dream of the Endless isn't gone, though. He's right there."

He gestures across the yard to where baby Daniel is gleefully banging together two wooden blocks, to the accompaniment of Harri and Lyta singing a little ditty about a family of sharks. 

"Erasti, what are you…?"

"Look, for my first quest as Vassal, Destiny told me to fix the bonds of family." Hob confesses.  “I haven’t said anything before because I didn’t want to jinx it.”

Morph looks thoughtful. Desire just nods, not entirely sure where Hob is going with this.

"Well, you're part of this family, Desire. You deserve to have a bond not only with the Walkers, but with the Halls, too. Daniel is Rose's godson, which makes him your honorary great-grandchild, as well as your new little brother.” Hob grins, feeling very clever indeed. “In which case, Desire of the Endless, I bet you that you are going to be the best older sibling an Endless could ever want."

So it’s a bit dirty, to challenge Desire to a wager, but Hob thinks it’s totally fair to pull out all his big guns if he’s going to have to keep playing shrink. Forget ‘vassal’, call me Hob Gadling, Family Therapist of the Endless.

Desire's eyes grow wide with understanding, and they whip around turn to stare hungrily at the toddler.

"Dream will need your help, sibling," Morph adds persuasively. "And your support, if he's to avoid our errors, and become a good balance between who he is as a person and the sum of his Function. You must, ah, set him up for success."

"That is true," Desire says, their swaggering self-confidence surging back. “And I will be very good at it.”

The shark song complete, Morph takes the opportunity to break out of whatever protective bubble Desire had cast over the three of them. He sweeps over to the picnic blanket and scoop Daniel into his arms. This causes the little boy to accidentally drop his blocks. Which, in turn, causes Daniel to burst into sudden, red-faced tears.

"Wait, little Prince," Morph sputters. "I did not mean to—"

“You really do have to ruin everything you touch, don’t you Morphy?” Desire teases, sashaying over to pluck Daniel out of Morph's arms. Desire plops inelegantly onto the blanket between Lyta and Harri, legs splayed and baby cuddled close before Lyta can even react.

“Excuse me!” Lyta gasps, “Who are–”

“It’s okay,” Hob says hastily, rushing over to reassure. “It’s okay. They’re one of us. One of them.”

Lyda stops mid-lunge and settles back, sparing a glance at Hob.

He's fine, Hob mouths to her, and she takes him at his word.

Daniel immediately stops crying. His eyes spark emerald in the way that Hob has come to learn means that Dream is closer to the surface of his Waking mind than usual. Clearly Desire catches the spark of Dream surfacing to peer through Daniel's eyes, too, because their chin starts to wobble.

"Oh," Desire says, heartsblood red tears springing up along their bottom lids, absolutely verklempt. "Hello, little Dream." Daniel places his chubby palms gently, solemnly on Desire's cheekbones. Desire sucks in a shaky, hopeful breath. "My name is Desire, and I am your older sibling. Don't tell any of the others, but you, little creature…" They nuzzle their red-red-red lips against his sweet plump cheek and whisper: "You are going to be my favourite."

The End

PREVIOUS | WHOLE SERIES | VIEW FANART | MY OTHER FANFIC | MY BOOKS

[streets-in-paradise]

So would you approach a sequel to Troy Centred on the Odyssey ?

The problem as I see it is the tonal whiplash because Troy was almost completely realistic with it never really hunting that the gods were real …..so wouldn’t it be too jarring to suddenly reveal there were monsters all along?

If the studio would have wanted to do one, I think it would have made sense anyways because, and here is the thing:

Troy is realistical in the sense of us not seeing the gods and focusing in the human pov, but the existence of gods and mythical creatures is never denied.

In the only scene Thetis has, her appearance is dubious enough for us to think she can be a goddess. The point of the scene is introducing a phropecy to Achilles. If this would be entirely realistical and his mom was some random woman … Why would Achilles have blind faith in the phropecy claiming that if he dies in Troy, he will get eternal glory?

This IS a mythical element. Achilles knows for sure this is true because his mother is a goddess, even if the movie doesn't tells us for certain that she is.

Later in the film, he tells to Briseis that he knows the gods better than the priests because he has seen them. The implicancy is that, as the only demigod in town, only Achilles has had personal encounters with the gods. It is also heavily implied that everything happening to him in the war is a curse of Apollo for desecrating his statue and sacking his temple. In a deleted line from the script, when Patroclus tells to Achilles that he doesn't want to go home he reminds him that Poseidon may sink their ships for abandoning the greeks and they could die in the sea anyways but without any honor.

Despite Hector questions his faith in ways an ancient man wouldn't, the most far he goes is saying " the gods won't fight this war for us", but never " the gods don't exist". He still believes in them, but considers things from a practical perspective as a militar leader that can't be waiting for miracles. In the bad advice Priam receives from a priest and keeps following, bringing Troy closer and closer to doom, you can feel the will of the group of gods who are enemies of the city.

Although they are not phisically there on screen, the movie do lets you feel their invisible presence through human action.

The greek gods in Troy are a bit like the Valar in LOTR. You don't see them participate of the war, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. For so, I believe doing a sea fantasy film based on the odyssey incluiding all the magical dangers wouldn't have necesarily contradicted what Troy established.

Look at the 300 sequel having a sea monster during one of the ship battle scenes despite the original 300 was focused on portraying a real historical event.

It could have worked for Troy and its Odyssey sequel, if we would have had one.

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

Love is Enough: Patroclus in “The Song of Achilles”

Note on the text: I used The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller as published in 2012 by HarperCollins

Madeline Miller has crafted a near masterpiece here. Not quite as good as Circe but how many books are. And at the center of this one is another great protagonist, Patroclus, who learns how to truly tap into his potential and become the best version of himself.

When we first meet Patroclus he is just a little kid craving for his father’s love and attention. His mom has passed away and it is clear that he is nothing but a “disappointment [to his dad]: small, slight. I was not fast. I was not strong. I could not sing” (1). He knows deep in his bones that he is unloved and unwanted: a failure. This not only affects him psychologically, but stunts his growth as a human being. Love is the most important thing for a child to experience. More than anything else he needs to know that he is loved and accepted if he is to become who he is meant to be. That is why Patroclus isn’t able to grow while living with his father, but Achilles is. It’s obvious from the beginning that King Minoetius despises Patroclus while King Peleus loves Achilles.

When he goes to live with King Peleus, Patroclus is something of a disappointment, and runs a real risk of being just another royal brat who never met his potential. In fact he is being sent away because he brought shame on his family name, but the moment King Peleus sees him he tells Patroclus that he is welcome to stay and that he may “still make a good man” someday (29). It’s Peleus’ belief in Patroclus that starts Patroclus on the path to becoming the hero that Briseis will later say is worth 10 of Achilles. Achilles also loves Patroclus and even from the very beginning treats Patroclus with a respect that his father never gave him. When he and Patroclus are learning to play the lyre, instead of simply mocking Patroclus he encourages him to keep practicing. Similarly, when Chiron decides to take on Achilles as a pupil, he also teaches Patroclus everything he knows about medicine so that he can become the best doctor the world had ever seen. The love and acceptance that Patroclus experiences here is what allows him to evolve into the man that he later becomes.

In some sense you could say that Patroclus becomes doubly great. Not only because what he himself accomplishes as a doctor and a soldier (he kills the renowned Trojan warrior Sarpedon) but because of the way that he influences and changes Achilles.

Achilles has been told all of his life that he is destined to become a great warrior, a hero. Odysseus himself says that Achilles is “a weapon, a killer. . . . The best that the gods have ever made” (207). Achilles believes that with such conviction that it has blunted his ability to really empathize with other people. He thinks he’s above it all. That’s why he tells Patroclus again and again, when he begs Achilles not to kill Hector because the prophecy says that Achilles will die next, “why should I kill him? He’s done nothing to me” (171). It is the statement of an innocently arrogant person who has never experienced any major pain and believes that he is above it all. He’s struggled to really empathize with others which is why he’s willing to let all the Greek suffer and die while he looks on from the sidelines when King Agamemnon insults him by taking away all of his war prizes. The degree to which Achilles is able to have any kind of compassion is directly a result of his relationship with Patroclus. There is a scene where Achilles approaches Patroclus in the aftermath of a battle. Now just prior to that battle, Patroclus chided Achilles for being an unfeeling, ruthless killing machine. This time however when he approaches Patroclus it is to tell him that he

left one son alive. . . . The eighth son. So that the line would not die’

Strange that such kindness felt like grace. Yet what other warrior would have done as much?. . . . The surviving son would have children, he would give them his family name, and tell their story. They would be preserved, in memory of not in life (254).

Patroclus is the one who is able to give this “Tin Man”, this unfeeling war machine, a heart, and the value of that is so high that Achilles later admits that he would give up everything to have Patroclus with him again. More than that, he agrees with Briseis when she says that she hopes Hector kills him. Without Patroclus and his love, life, for Achilles, isn’t worth living.

The beautiful thing about this book is how it really is all about love. We all need love, in all its forms, to become the best version of ourselves. Patroclus was only able to become the best version of himself because of the love of people like Peleus, Briseis, Chiron, and Achilles. Even Achilles was only able to be the hero that he was because of the love of people like Peleus and Patroclus. Love is so important. It is the soil in which we grow, and what plant doesn’t need the right kind of soil to flourish. Love really is the answer.

[blackjackkent]

A few random words to pick from (picked with a word generator). Characters/pairings of your choice!

Noble

Sacrifice

Illusion

Seaspray

Shiver

(Drop a word in my inbox and I’ll write three sentences of a fic based on it)

Niiiice. :D We'll do a different character for each cos why not. XD

-----

Noble - Jaheira

Jhessem, it seemed, pictured the nobility of Tethyr as storybook figures, gold-robed and gold-crowned, something to be aspired to by a child from the dirty streets of Baldur's Gate. She begged Jaheira for stories of the place where she was born, and imagined herself returning to resume the family line amid the tall buildings of the nation's capital. Jaheira never knew for sure how to answer her, for her memories of those people held no glory at all; they were dim, shrouded by the smoke of a burning city and the sound of screams.

Sacrifice - Rakha

Sceleritas, when he made his ill-omened appearances, always seemed to describe her murders as gifts - sacrifices to appease the monster in her head, or some force beyond it. It was one of the things Rakha hated about him. There was nothing sacred in the blood on her hands; it was only the stains left by a raging animal beyond control or salvation.

Illusion - Karlach

Surely it had to be her imagination, when she thought she could look up and see Hector watching her longingly from across the camp - just her mind playing tricks on her, making her see what she wanted to see instead of what was really there. She'd learned a long time ago to mistrust hope, and the vainest hope of all was that, after everything, that monk with the soft voice and gorgeous grey eyes might ever feel for her what she was starting to feel for him. But her hopes were stubborn things forged in the fires of hell, and this one lingered, a warm touch at the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Seaspray - Wyll

He liked to sit beneath the bridge to Wyrm's Rock and fish off the sea passage, smelling the salt spray and watching the ships drift past. He never caught anything, but that wasn't the point. He liked to hear the sailors shouting from the decks, and the cries of merchants from the South Span, the breathing lungs and beating heart of the city his father had raised him to protect.

Shiver - Minsc

He did not remember being a statue, nor did he fear what had happened to him; Minsc was a creature of the current moment, always looking forward, not back. If anything of the experience lingered, it was a memory of terrible itching as the curse finally broke and the stone stiffness sloughed away from his skin. It meant nothing, certainly, that some nights he would wake shivering violently with a sense of bone-deep cold and the feeling that he could not move his legs.

[morvantmortuary]

okay so my buddy @somethingthatsaysbubbles has been nice enough to tag me in six sentence sundays twice now and I keep! forgetting!! so this is me doing two to make up for it lmao

both under the cut so I don’t crowd dashes bc lmao of course I wasn’t just going to post six sentences, are you kidding me?

and bc of some very slight nsft in the last one

no-pressure tagging some friends in the meantime! @rosemaremembrance @maximoffwxnda @bigtiddythanos @illegalcerebral @lightinthedarkuniverse/ @jmathesonandsiblings @pondering-and-wondering @lorna-d-m @scuttle-buttle @eldritchcircus @somethingthatsaysbubbles @ebiemidnightlibrarian @norabrice1701 and anyone else feeling up to it!

I. conversations at the cemetery line -

Leon chuckled. “Well, who else is there, champ? Your brother,” he said quietly. “We all heard he’s a scrapper, when he needs to be. But it’s been a while, and his daddy ain’t around to beg anyone to go easy on him anymore.”

“First of all, Hex is my cousin, and second of all, he can hold his own just fine,” Maxi snapped, his eyes red as a fresh wound.

“Sure, sure. But can the Belle of the Ball?” Leon asked, tilting his head with a smile showing too-long teeth. “Word is she’s up giving pretty boy a run for his money still. That would mean she’s fair game, too.”

“Ask your employers,” Maxi said flatly. “She ruined their whole party, you were there.”

“You Lifers, you really let being born into this make you think you know shit about shit.” Leon closed the distance between them so they were eye to eye, what little gray there was seeming to drain from his irises and pupil to leave only a ghastly white. “Did you really think you all could get out of this unscathed, boy?” His voice changed drastically, like gravel had scraped his vocal chords. “Show them up in their own house and go home to laugh about it?”

“Who’s laughin’?” Maxi said, his voice lowering to near a growl of his own.

“You’re gonna get yourselves killed, kid. Did you really think They’ll stop at just you? You think they won’t come for that little friend of yours once they chew through your family line? That they won’t come for everyone who ever laid eyes on you, and everyone you ever called a friend? They make ghost towns. I’ve seen ‘em do it.”

II. an indecent proposal --

Silence stretched like skin over an abscess, tight and uncomfortable. Maxi and Rora met each other’s eyes, before he and Hector seemed to have a long, oddly tense shared stare. Finally, when something between them was wordlessly settled, they both looked back to Rora.

Rora paused, her glass halfway to her mouth again. “…What. Why’re y’all lookin’ at me.” She looked between the two of them, irritated now. “Why am I the one makin’ the call?”

“It was your suggestion,” Maxi drawled, with not a small bit of snark. “Figured it’s only fair.”

“Plus you’re the one who knew what moon we needed,” Hex added. “And all that stuff.”

“Because it’s common sense, if you thought about it for even a half a second,” Rora sighed, putting her glass down to pinch the bridge of her nose. “And if either of you ever bothered to study—“

“I didn’t!” Hector said, throwing his hands in the air. “I didn’t, we both know I didn’t, why do you keep talking to me like I’m suddenly gonna wake up and want to memorize all the esoteric bullshit our dads never made me learn!”

“Because if you want the title at all, and don’t want to be an embarrassment to the entire lineage,” Rora turned to Hector, sounding like she was revving up on an ongoing argument. “You need to know your shit outside just ‘Ghost go poof’.”

“You know what, puta,” Hector turned, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You always wanna talk shit about the Veil, but you’re just mad you could never—“

“Oh puh-lease, Hector, tell me what I don’t know about the goddamn Veil, since I’m the one that’s actually been there—“

“Jesus Christ, not this again,” Maxi sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y’all, leave it alone, c’mon.“

“Butt out, Maxi, you abdicated.” Rora glared at her brother.

“Yeah, no one asked,” Hector agreed over Rora’s shoulder.

Maxi’s hands fell to the kitchen table, eyes dark. “That don’t mean I can’t fuse both y’all’s lips closed right now—“

You weren’t sure if it was the tequila that made you knock twice on the table, or made you ask, loudly: “Are you guys fucking me tonight or what?”

--

and now I’m just gonna leave these here :3 thanks for thinking of me, linds!

[beevean]

I remembered a post I stumbled upon a while ago. It was a gifset of that moment in NFCV where Carmilla strokes Hector's hair and says "You are mine now, Forgemaster. You have nothing else but me."

But what really made my neurons go into overdrive was the way the person tagged the post.

"I am not yours. I am not anyone's. - Hector & Carmilla"

Would you believe that this one singular line made my brain fire up like fireworks? This is a brilliant way to convey the parallels between the two characters! Well. The potential parallels, since Carmilla is hardly relevant after S2 :^)

It made me think of how the story would have gone if they kept Carmilla as Hector's antagonist and Lenore and the other two were never introduced. (when you think about it, Lenore's main purpose in S3 was effectively hijacking Carmilla's place: while I prefer her concept, narratively speaking she shouldn't exist. I'm not even being mean when I say it. In a hypothetical rewrite, I'd fuse the two characters)

I found some Hectilla fics, mostly written pre-S3 when fans still believed she'd have a bigger role. Needless to say, they're mostly BDSM porn built on a generic dommy mommy/subby puppy dynamic: while Hector's attraction to Carmilla can be explained with anything from "she's hot and charming" to "she's the only one who makes sense in the court and the only one who cares about my work", no such depth is given to Carmilla. She likes Hector because... he's pathetic and breedable.

So, I propose another angle.

If the ideal Lenector that only exists in my head is built on lies, treachery, and shared misery with a hint of growing mutual empathy that nevertheless never allows them to overcome their resentment... the ideal Hectilla is built on fear. They are both afraid of each other, but need each other for their needs. They are also both afraid of the world, it's just that they react to that fear in different ways: Carmilla by attacking first, Hector by hiding and fawning.

And making Carmilla a creature of fear would make her so, so much more interesting, and allow her to be a real visceral victim of trauma and not just a flat radfem stereotype. A lot of what I say here is inspired by this brilliant post by @chumpovodir!

Carmilla sees every man as a potential threat. An old man turned her and kept her as a pet, showed her that "vampiric love" that she has internalized but despises when it comes from men, and other men attacked her kingdom to destroy everything she built, and other men wanted her to die because, well, the nerve of that woman, thinking she could be in charge. She finds Dracula disgusting for being, in her eyes, like that old man who ruined her life, an insane destructive leech good for nothing. She loathes power-hungry men, violent men, men who think they're in charge and can toy her as they please.

Hector is the opposite of that. He doesn't crave any power: he wants to be left in peace. He craves, as it becomes immediately clear to her, acceptance. He's easily swayed with a few nice words, and even when Dracula dies, he holds no malice in his heart.

He's young. He's cute. He's a useful idiot.

The broken little girl in her still sees him a threat, because one day, he might grow up and become a real man, with their fangs and claws and thirst for power.

But - and this is the important part - the threat is now curbable. Hector placed himself in her hands, and she has the power to do with him as she pleases.

Carmilla has put herself in the position of that old man enslaving a cute girl for his sick desires. However, she thinks she's justified. It's not cruelty: it's preemptive self-defense. She can make this dirty almost-man into a docile puppy who will never hurt her, and work for her, and give her pleasure, never pain.

He can be a prized possession, because he is smart and knowledgeable and has blasphemous powers and shares the same goal of turning humans into livestock. This man deserves to live, for now. As long as he never thinks of harming her. As long as he remains a puppy forever. As long as he's hers, because only she deserves to have stuff and other people.

Carmilla takes pride in not belonging to anyone, let alone a man, but she doesn't see the irony in forcing Hector to the same fate that traumatized her. She doesn't see herself in him, because she did nothing to deserve pain, but he does, for the sin of being born the same gender as all the people who hurt her.

Perhaps she refuses to see herself in him, because the thought disgusts her too much.

But what about Hector?

Well, at first he'd cling onto Carmilla, because what else is he supposed to do? Sure, she tricked him and beat him to a pulp to assert dominance, but she still needs him, and her plans still make sense to him, and part of him still wants to hope that when she praised his skills, she meant it, even if in a selfish way. For a while, she becomes his world - a cruel world, but a stable one.

But then... it will become his turn to claim that he's not hers, he's not anyone's.

Perhaps he'll use his parents as reference. He used to be afraid of them, and resentful for making him believe he should have never been born, and eventually he killed them in retailation. Carmilla, too, terrifies him, but because she swings from saccharine praise to violent rage. So there's hope to get the former, if he plays nice. And if he gets the latters, that means he deserved it, right? And besides, she finds him useful, right? Isn't that, too, appreciation? That is why, at first, he accepts his position.

When she put that collar on him, wasn't that her way of showing love? He understands that. He is still, at his core, that abused kid who looks up to authority figures who see him as dirt.

But she also hates him for something he had no control over, just like his parents. She fears him for no rational reason, and that fear clouds all judgment. She could turn on him at any moment. She's no better than Dracula in this regard. Carmilla is far less rational than she pretends to be, and eventually, as he's forced to be with her, he'll see that behind the mask of a confident predator, hides the heart of a frightful bird with a broken wing.

He'd see himself in her, and he wouldn't like it. He doesn't want to be feared at all, let alone for something he can't do anything about, and he doesn't want to belong to such a volatile person. That could set him to the thought path that'll lead him to desire freedom: most importantly, freedom from his traumatic past.

Perhaps, at some point, Hector would even hate Carmilla for what she does to him, fantasize about killing her and all. Then he'll realize that hatred, too, poisoned Carmilla to the point that she almost became pitiable. And hatred also poisoned Dracula to the point of making him irrational. He must avoid falling into the same trap.

Ideally, if Carmilla is doomed to become prey of her fear and hatred, Hector should find the strength to break free of his own, and learn to face the world.

i hate doing the showrunners' work for free :(

[seraphtrevs]

was the canon ending of lacho - nacho dying by his own hand in the middle of nowhere and lalo's only mention of him being a one liner - your worst outcome for lacho? or do you think it could've been worse?

This might be controversial, but I don't think that the ending we got was all that bad for Lacho. It didn't retcon or negate their season 5 story line. It didn't give Lalo a secret wife/girlfriend. It didn't have Nacho suddenly become a raging homophobe. I made a Lacho Power Point presentation a while back about how their fates are eerie echoes of each other, so even if we didn't get them together on screen again, we got a link between them. Maybe it would have been nice to hear Lalo say something about him, but who on the show would he ever share his true feelings with it? Having Lalo react to learning of his death would have been interesting, excpet Lalo never found out that he died.

I can't really think of an ending for them that I would have liked without completely changing the plot of BCS and ignoring BrBa canon. They were doomed from the start (which is part of the reason I love them, because I love star-crossed relationships).

Because there was no way Lalo would have forgiven Nacho in canon. I love to imagine different scenarios in the context of fic, but specifically in canon, it would not work. Maybe if it was just him being a spy, Lalo could look past it, but Nacho made an attempt to assassinate Hector and ended up crippling him in the process. That secret was bound to come out sooner or later (and honestly, just having Lalo never find out would be pretty unsatisfying). There's just no way for it to make any sense for Lalo to find that out and decide to forgive Nacho anyway within such a short span of episodes.

And if Lalo doesn't forgive Nacho, his only other option is to kill him, which means Nacho's only option is to try to defend himself. One (or both) of them killing the other is a really bad Lacho ending for me, even if it meant that the Lalo/Nacho plot was more prominent in the story and we got another few scenes of them. It would feel completely pointless, particularly since the beef that set them against each other in the first place was the one between Hector and Gus, using Lalo and Nacho as their pawns. It wouldn't feel cathartic at all, the way it felt for Will and Hannibal or Louis and Lestat, for example.

An ending where they put their differences aside to team up against their common enemy, Gus, would have been really fun to see...in an alternate reality where BCS is an action/adventure show instead of a tragedy and also isn't a prequel with certain elements of canon that cannot be altered. As a premise for a fic, it's fantastic. But BCS is a prequel, and we already know that Gus makes it. Lalo and Nacho teaming up, only to be killed by Gus, is a bad Lacho ending, especially since there was not room for a slowburn plot about their relationship. Them hating each other and then immediately dying before their relationship was given time to evolve would not have been satisfying.

Basically, any ending that would have been "good" for Lacho would have been bad for the show. Maybe if the show had ten seasons, Nacho and Lalo's relationship could have been a more central plot point. But it was six seasons instead, and as much as I would love more BCS and more Lacho, I know in my heart that ten seasons would have ruined it. Making it longer would have involved making it more episodic, like shows like Star Trek or Buffy, which isn't the right format for the story they were telling - the fall of Jimmy McGill, with all of the other plots being tools to tell that story.

So I think all of the best case scenarios for Lacho are the sole domain of fic, which is fine! I've always considered canon as just one way to experience characters, with reading/writing fic being just as enjoyable

[scleramotif]

My name is Patrick Bateman. I live in the American Gardens Building on West 81st Street on the 11th floor. This is my confession. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the s hower I use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an after shave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead– murdered by Paul Allen. Paul has been building a meth empire for over a year now, and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 26th birthday, he asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded. I... I always thought Paul was a very moral man, and I was particularly vulnerable at the time – something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Paul took me in on a ride-along and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin, so I agreed. Paul had a partner, a businessman named Gustavo Fring. Paul sold me into servitude to this man. And when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Paul and Fring had a falling-out. Things escalated. Fring was able to arrange – uh, I guess... I guess you call it a "hit" – on Paul, and failed, but Paul was seriously injured. And I wound up paying his medical bills, which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Paul was bent on revenge. Working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring. The bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Paul had risen to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA. To keep me in line, he took my children. For three months, he kept them. My wife had no idea of my criminal activities, and was horrified to learn what I had done. I was in hell. I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Paul will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. All I could think to do was to make this video and hope that the world will finally see this man for what he really is. There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (27/51)

Chapter 27: Meat

Hunter was ensnared by a conflicting tangle of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to parse. His resentment towards humans and his bitterness over being punished were overshadowed by the fact that he had almost killed someone. He was remorseful, but also confused. Hector should have been furious at him for nearly drowning him in the fountain when he couldn’t swim, but he had only shown clemency. Hunter failed to understand his behavior, especially when he had been so quick to defend his girlfriend in a hot-headed, obstinate confrontation. Above all, he was corroded with guilt, not just because of Hector but because of how he treated that tiny human girl. He knew he had acted unfairly and impulsively. She didn’t deserve to be the target of his wrath. She was innocent; she couldn’t help being human, any more than he could. 

His emotions were further complicated by his hunger. He woke up ravenous, and as he passed by the human dorm, he imagined ripping off the roof and stuffing fistfuls of humans in his mouth. He wondered what they would feel like if he swallowed them alive, fighting for their lives as they were forced down his throat into his belly—probably amazing. He had to physically stop himself from bending over to seize a biker as she pedaled past his shoe. He needed to eat. 

Since Hunter was on edge from being around other people, and his senses were further sharpened by his hunger-fueled predatory instincts, he was hyper-aware of his surroundings. He observed that he was getting hostile stares from other giants, and the humans were even more wary and skittish around him than before. He realized word must’ve spread of his misdeed in class yesterday, when he snatched up his smaller classmate.  

At least everybody was avoiding him, especially the humans. He got in line for breakfast and made a mountain of pancakes, biscuits, and ham on his tray. When he went to go sit down at his usual spot, he was immensely annoyed to find another student in his seat. He slapped his tray down on the table and glared at the comparatively scrawny giant. 

“This is my table. Get out of my seat and go somewhere else!” he snarled. The other student looked up at him, glanced over his burly, broad arms, and turned white. He hastily grabbed up his things in a rush and hustled off to another table, muttering an apology.

Hunter sat down with a smirk on his face and started to eat. Finally, he got relief for his famished belly. He wolfed down his whole breakfast with gusto, focused entirely on the taste and texture. He supposed the cafeteria food wasn’t that bad. At minimum, his mind was taken off of eating humans, or the stares of the students around him. Hunter didn’t feel like he belonged here; this place was all wrong. 

He finished his meal and stood up to put away his tray and go to class. As he sauntered through the cafeteria, he noticed giant students staring at him, whispering to their classmates nearby. He volleyed back a searing glare to anybody who looked his way, and their eyes dropped away with discomfort. Hunter sneered. He hated being the center of attention, but he did enjoy putting losers in their place.  

He had to sit near the humans again. Hunter was satisfied to see them tremble under his frigid gaze. The teacher glowered at him and he smirked back. His hatred and arrogance were beginning to overwhelm his guilt. He really didn’t do anything wrong, after all. For some reason, he was reminded of his grandpa’s war stories about slaughtering human soldiers, and he felt vindicated. He was right. They should fear him. 

The bell rang, and Hunter went to his next class. This time, he sat near the humans on purpose, just to watch them squirm. His breakfast digested quickly, as he was still a growing boy of exceptional stature, and he was already getting hungry again as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of his prey. As his mind wandered, and he tried to justify his violent behavior to himself, he spied a small human man scurrying into the classroom. He was clearly an adult, too old to be a student. He called one of the human students away with him and left. Hunter thought this was odd, but didn’t think much of it. 

As his belly processed its contents and emptied, Hunter counted down the minutes until lunchtime. The class was dragging on forever. The human student that had left class, a diminutive nerdy boy with glasses, returned, looking nervous for some reason. He climbed the stairs to the human desks and surveyed them, as if lost. Hunter observed him through his peripheral vision curiously, cupping his chin in his hand. 

“Is there… a human student named Hunter here?” the boy asked timidly. Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. The other humans looked at each other blankly. 

Hunter leaned over the humans. “That’s me.” A shudder ran through all of them, especially the kid who uttered his name, and all their terrified little faces turned up in his direction. 

For a moment, the boy was at a loss, until he finally managed to squeak out, “B-b-but Mr. Pablo is meeting with only the human students, not giants…” 

Hunter sighed. “Come with me, pipsqueak.” Without warning, he scooped up the tiny teenager in his palm and stood up. His classmate yelped out of shock but didn’t dare to make another sound as Hunter trudged outside the class. “Now, what’s this about?” 

The teenager fumbled with his glasses, panicking in Hunter’s palm. “Y-y-you must be m-m-mistaken, the h-human counselor is only s-s-seeing humans…” He was stuttering and shaking so bad as to be almost indiscernible. 

Hunter huffed again. “I am part human,” he confessed. The kid froze up with shock. Hunter leaned in, bringing his classmate dangerously close to his colossal lips and teeth. “You better not tell anyone, or else I’ll eat you. Understand?” The human, speechless, nodded frantically. 

“Good.” Hunter paused. “Where am I supposed to go?” The boy pointed down the hallway. He was unable to hold his arm steady. 

“The door down the hall on the right, with a hole cut out of the bottom corner,” he quavered. 

Hunter nodded curtly and hesitated, fixating on the helpless creature in the palm of his hand. For an ugly moment, he considered popping the student inside his mouth and swallowing him. He’d be the perfect little snack to tide him over until lunch, and he smelled tasty, almost like a hot dog. The boy’s eyes filled with moisture behind his glasses and he let out a soft whine of fear, as if he knew what the giant was thinking. Hunter sucked down the saliva in his mouth and mercifully allowed the boy to go, lowering his hand to the floor. The boy scampered out of his hand and back to the safety of the classroom as fast as his legs would propel him. Hunter felt a small stab of anxiety as he contemplated what he almost did. He didn’t want to dwell on it. 

He headed over to the human counselor’s office. Pedro, from within, felt the ground vibrate with his approaching footsteps but had no idea what was coming. He assumed Hunter was a human like the others. He thought whatever giant was clomping by would keep going, but the seismic rumbles stopped outside his door, the huge shoes casting shadows through the crack under the door. Pedro stiffened as he was stifled by the sinister, gloomy aura emanating from the other side.  

The giant teenager didn’t bother to knock and thrust the door open. Pedro’s heart jumped into his throat and a heavy blanket of ominous dread settled over him. Though he’d never laid eyes on this giant before, he knew right away who he was. He’d heard his exact description more than once from the scared humans whom the giant had bullied. All his features, from his dull reddish hair to his green eyes to his intimidating musculature, matched perfectly. Why was he here now? He couldn’t possibly have good intentions; Pedro’s pulse spiked as his heart began to hammer against his ribcage. He was defenseless if the giant had a hostile objective in mind. 

Hunter scrunched his nose with distaste. “A broom closet? Really?” He squinted down at the diminutive desk and chairs by his feet. “Pathetic.” 

Pedro turned white as a sheet but tried to remain outwardly calm. “Can I help you with something?” 

“You summoned me, or so I thought,” Hunter replied, his eyes narrowing with barely withheld belligerence. “I’m Hunter.” 

“Oh, there must have been a mistake. I’m only meeting with humans,” Pedro explained shakily. 

Hunter huffed loudly, thoroughly irritated with this same talking point being parroted to him over and over. “I am human,” he insisted with exasperation. “Well, half-human. To my great misfortune.” His voice seethed with vile spite. 

Pedro’s jaw dropped. “No, that can’t be possible...” he murmured. “How...?” 

Hunter flashed him a rancorous look for his impertinence before shaking his head. “My father is a giant, but my mother is a human. Don’t ask how, I don’t even want to know myself. I already know too much about the weird intimate stuff they do right in front of me. Gross.” Pedro thought it wise not to inquire further on this point. Hunter stepped into the closet and shut the door. His bulk filled most of the space. Pedro normally felt his office was too spacious, but now he was suddenly overwhelmed with claustrophobic anxiety. Hunter labored to lower himself into a sitting position in the cramped space. He ended up folding his legs in such a way that his enormous shoes fenced in Pedro’s desk on either side. He leaned over the desk, engulfing Pedro with his shadow, surrounding the small man with his gargantuan mass. 

Pedro started to pant with alarm as he realized he was hemmed in on all sides, like a cornered little mouse in the paws of a cat. Hunter could do whatever he wanted to him, and he wouldn’t be able to escape. Hunter bled off a malevolent aura that suffocated Pedro and weighed him down with a crushing force. He couldn’t move and struggled to even breathe. 

“Well?” Hunter boomed, snapping him out of his stupor. 

Pedro fumbled to recover and unglue his tongue. “Uh, yes, so...” He swallowed the lump in his throat with some effort. “I’m just here to address any concerns you might have, or if you need someone to talk to about your experiences...” 

Hunter scratched his chin and glowered. “Yeah, actually. I have a lot of complaints about this crappy excuse for a school.” He shifted his position in the tight closet with discomfort. His back was starting to ache from straining forward. Without asking for permission, he plucked Pedro out of his seat and lifted him up so he could talk to him while lounging against the wall instead. Pedro squealed and flailed as he dangled high off the ground in front of Hunter’s face. Hunter sneered, enjoying the man’s reaction. His belly audibly grumbled, making Pedro shiver at the baleful rumbling. The giant’s face grew serious. He was distracted with the human’s strong, appetizing scent permeating the space. 

“First off, the food here sucks,” Hunter proclaimed, spurned to the topic by his empty stomach. “I can never get enough to eat because it’s not very filling, and I’m always so damn hungry. Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m surrounded by humans that smell so tasty all the time.” He blinked and bit his lip, realizing he had let slip too much. Pedro gaped at him in horror at the implication of his words. Hunter’s stomach growled again, like the vocalizations of a famished beast. The giant imagined curling his tongue around the human, scooping him into his mouth and toying with him, swallowing him whole with a satisfying flex of his throat. He licked the saliva off his lips. 

“That’s another thing. Too many stupid humans at this school,” Hunter complained, trying to move on to another topic. “I hate humans. Worthless little creatures.” By this point, Pedro was too scared to argue or point out Hunter’s hypocrisy. His mind had gone completely blank with terror. All he could comprehend was the enormity of the giant all around him, how small and helpless he was pinched in the giant’s fingers, and the gurgling of the deadly void within that massive body that clamored for him to get inside. 

“And I hate everybody at this school. Everybody keeps staring at me like I’m some sort of freak.” An unexpected sharp pain contorted his features. “I guess because I am.” He shook it off and scowled. “I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to be here anymore. Or anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere. I hate everything. I hate myself!” His voice rose as he became more impassioned. Pedro wished he could say something, but his jaws were cemented together with tension. Hunter’s uncontrolled wrath, when he was held prisoner in the giant’s hand, terrified him. He flinched as Hunter’s huge stomach gurgled noisily again below him. Hunter stopped his tirade and stared at the human intensely. Hungrily. 

“I wonder what humans taste like,” he said softly to himself. He was sorely tempted. He was just so hungry. Hunter wasn’t done with his impossible growth spurts, but he didn’t have his father here to cook for him all the time. The human’s scent was all around him, so tantalizing, his flesh beckoning. His mouth watered as his lips and teeth parted in anticipation. Pedro turned deathly pale at the sight of the dripping darkness within as Hunter drew him in closer. 

Just then, the bell sounded off to signal the beginning of lunch. Hunter stopped. The sound had returned him to his senses. He gulped and set Pedro back down in his chair. “I need to go,” he muttered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He struggled to stand back up and rushed out the door, shutting it behind him, the vibrations nearly knocking Pedro out of his seat. 

Pedro sat at his desk in a stunned silence, unable to move. As the unsettling interaction sank in, he trembled uncontrollably and hugged his arms tightly around his body, as if trying to defend himself. That student had awakened in him a primitive, animalistic fear that he’d never experienced before with such raw potency. In that moment, he hadn’t felt like a person, with thoughts and feelings and a soul; he had the self-awareness to realize that, to the hungry giant, he was nothing more than a living piece of meat. 

Chapter 28

Chapter 1

[brotherhoodoftheblade]

You cannot tell me that DG (back before she lost her mind and dropped the ball at the homestretch) didn’t mean for us to read this scene:

“....It’s coming is a gift, which I accept with gratitude, but when it’s gone, there is no sense of abandonment or deprivation. I’m only glad to have had it for as long as it chose to remain.”

“And you’re saying your relationship with Manoke is the same. Does he feel that way about you, do you think?” I asked, fascinated. He glanced at me, cleared startled. 

“I have no idea.”

“You, um, don’t...talk in bed?” I said, striving for delicacy. 

His mouth twitched, and he looked away.

“No.”

We lay in silence for a few moments, examining the ceiling. 

“Have you ever?” I blurted.

“Have I what?”

“Had a lover that you talked to?”

He cut his eyes at me. 

“Yes. Perhaps not quite so frankly as I find myself talking to you, but, yes.” 

(An Echo in the Bone, Ch.95)

...and draw a straight line in our recollections to the times John lay abed with Percy in BotB, speaking of intimacies they shared with no one else. Because obviously, Percy was the only lover of his he really talked to about deeply personal matters in bed. (That we were shown anyway. He probably confided in Hector at least about some things, I hope.)

“Shall I tell you a great secret?” Percy’s voice was soft, breath warm in his ear. Grey reached a hand through the sheets, slid it over the high round of a still warmer buttock.

“Please,” he whispered.

“My name is not Percival.”

.....[Percy] laughed a little unsteadily, took a deep breath, and lay down on his back, drawing the sheet up over his chest.

“My name is Perseverance,” he said in a rush.

“Per -” Grey lay completely still, holding his breath and concentrating fiercely on his belly muscles. 

“Go ahead and laugh,” Percy said from the dark, with exceeding dryness. “I won’t mind.”

“Yes, you would,” Grey said, but was still unable to quell the bubble of mirth that rose up the back of his throat, and being there firmly suppressed, emerged through his nose in a strangled snort. To keep from committing further offense, he said the first thing that came into his mind.

“What’s your middle name?”

Percy laughed, sounding a little easier, now that the dreadful confession was made.

.....Just now, he was realizing exactly the magnitude of the the gift Percy had given him. 

He was the only one who knew. Percy had been right; it was a great secret, and John felt the weight of his lover’s trust, warm on his heart.

He groped for Percy’s hand and found it, slightly cold. They lay silent for a bit, holding hands, bodies warming to each other. 

..... “Shall I tell you a great secret?” Grey whispered, at long last. ...

“Please.” Percy’s hand tightened on his.

“My father was murdered.”

..... Somewhere in the telling, Percy had gathered him into his arms, and held him now, close against his body. His head lay in the hollow of Percy’s shoulder, and the curly hairs of Percy’s chest brushed soft against his lips as he spoke. ...

Percy’s hand smoothed the hair away from John’s face, gentle. 

“Your mother likely thought whoever’d killed your father had got you, too.”

“Yes, she did.” For the first time in the telling, a lump came into his throat, recalling his mother’s face when she’d seen him, filthy, trailing hay and mud across the Turkey carpet in her boudoir. “That’s - that’s the only time she cried.”

Percy’s arm tightened round his shoulders. He could hear Percy’s heart, a muffled steady thump beneath his heart.

“And you?” Percy said at last, very quietly. “Did you weep for your father?”

“I never did,” he said, and closed his eyes.

(BotB, Ch.18)

~*~

Percy did return to the matter a few days later, though. No doubt it was a matter of Percy’s own upbringing in a religious milieu, Grey reflected. Or perhaps it was only that Percy had never been with a man willing to discuss philosophy in bed. Grey hadn’t, himself, but found the novelty mildly diverting. 

They had left the barracks separately and met in Percy’s rooms for a few stolen hours. Where, after the initial delights of the flesh had been tasted, Grey found himself with his head pillowed on Percy’s stomach, being read to from a collection of legal opinions. published a year or two previous. 

.....

“So,” Grey remarked, “we must be exterminated, because our pleasures are insufficiently ecstatic?” 

Percy’s brow relaxed a bit, and he closed the book.

.....Still, he considered the matter, enjoying the peaceful rise and fall of Percy’s breathing beneath his cheek. 

“I think a gentleman conducts his affairs with kindness and with honor,” he said, at last. ...

Percy gave a short laugh.

“Kindness and honor? That’s all well - but what of love?”

Grey valued love - and feared it - too greatly to make idle protestations.

“You cannot compel love,” he said finally, “nor summon it at will. Still less,” he added ruefully, “can you dismiss it.” He sat up then, and looked at Percy, who was looking down, tracing patterns on the counterpane with a fingertip. “I think you are not in love with me, are you?”

Percy smiled a little, not looking up. Not disagreeing, either. “Cannot dismiss it,” he echoed. “Who was he? Or is he?”

“Is.” Grey felt a sudden jolt of the heart at the speaking of that single word. Something at once joyful and terrible; the admission was irrevocable.

Percy was looking up at him now, brown eyes bright with interest.

“It is - I mean, he - you need not worry. There is no possibility of anything between us.” Grey blurted, and bit his tongue to keep back the sudden impulse to tell everything, only for the momentary ecstasy of speaking of Jamie Fraser. He was wiser than that, though, and kept the words bottled tight in his throat. 

“Oh. He’s not...?” Percy’s gaze flicked momentarily over Grey’s nakedness, then returned to his face.

“No.”

It was late in the day; light skimmed across the room from the high attic windows, striking the dark burnished mass of Percy’s curling hair, painting the lines of his face in chiaroscuro, but leaving his body in the dimness of shadow.

“Is friendship and sincere liking not enough for you?” Grey was careful to avoid any tone of pettishness or accusation, making the question merely one of honest inquiry. Percy heard this, and smiled, lopsidedly, but with answering honesty.

“No.” He stretched out a hand and ran it up Grey’s bare arm, over the curve of his shoulder, and down the slope of his breast, where he spread his palm flat over the nipple - and took a sudden hold of the flesh there, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Add that, though...” he said softly, “and I think it will suffice.”

(BotB, Ch.19)

That their story will never have a happy resolution - after all that they were, and could’ve yet been, to each other - is just tragic. 🥺😭😭😭