#but that shallowness could have been avoided by the duel

[divinesouldariax]

95% of those first three episodes were absolutely perfect, but I am genuinely really sad that Gilmore’s injuries were from an impersonal “Thordak lit a whole city block on fire and collapsed his shop on top of him” and not because Shaun Gilmore, absolute madman and brave motherfucker, decided to start a duel with an ancient red greatwyrm over Uriel’s dead body because he had run back towards the dragons after losing sight of his friends and needing to know they had made it out safely. I understand cutting things and streamlining for the show, but man, that moment in the campaign gave such a beautiful depth to Gilmore’s character, and I feel like something really special was lost there.

[wanderer-on-the-steppe]

Has anyone from the Ogniem i mieczem fandom seen this movie?

Let’s say I’ve been having… an interesting evening with it recently ;) Something I’ve always wanted to see or read was a movie/book with a Helena Czaplińska who’s both an alluring spy and a truly tragic character: someone who’s struggling with guilt and conflicting loyalties, and, much like Kmicic, is longing for redemption, but – unlike him – genuinely cannot decide what the right path is and just gets bogged down more and more hopelessly in a dilemma she cannot solve. Because whatever the historical truth might have been – from a fictional point of view, the most fascinating answer to the question: “Has she been spying on Khmelnytsky or did she truly love him?” is certainly: both.

So, when this movie promised to have some of this approach, I didn’t care much for not so enthusiastic reviews – I had to watch it. And then spent a considerable part of the movie wishing I could see the same events with the OiM-Khmelnytsky and another Helena. Or maybe not even another, but one that’s been given more room: more lines of dialogue (or more substantial ones), more glimpses into her past / her state of mind / her thinking, more opportunities to make the audience understand. For even though I got just enough of an impression of her to feel sorry for her in the end (and to believe her when she told Khmelnytsky’s son Tymish that the only person she’d ever loved was his father) I still don’t feel like I know her. And of course, when one doesn’t understand something in a movie, it can be rather difficult to say if it’s really not in there or if one just… didn’t get it – so I’d be very interested in opinions of others who have seen it ;) – but while I’ve seen movies where I had a strong suspicion that I was, indeed, not clever enough, here I felt like something was missing.

It’s not even completely clear to me when her decision to become a spy was made. Already before she married him? The scene at the king’s residence, about there being a spy close to Khmelnytsky that he trusts, suggests so – but that, as far as I can see, would leave her motivation completely in the dark. Whereas if the decision is taken later, one gets at least a few pieces in the puzzle in the form of her worry for her home country and a marriage that turns out much more difficult than she had imagined. But even then I feel like there could have been so much more. Because… she’s surprised (and offended) that he can’t just retire to a life of dancing and amusements in the middle of a war? Seriously?? I mean, even that wouldn’t necessarily make the character implausible – shallowness exists, and has its reasons, and just a hint of Helena trying to hurl herself headlong into it to escape the trauma of her past could turn her into a character that does have depth but desperately tries to ignore it, for fear of the things that are lurking there. The disappointing thing is: there isn’t even a hint. Or at least I can’t see one.

And Khmelnytsky himself? I’ll readily admit I’m very attached to Bohdan Stupka’s interpretation of him, and of course it’s not the movie’s fault that it’s different from that, but… I feel like there’s so much untapped potential. In both of the main characters. For while we do get to know Bohdan better then Helena, I’ve got the impression that, with very few exceptions, they tried so meticulously to avoid all his flaws that the result is not quite believable anymore. The most striking example: the very honourable duel with Czapliński after Khmelnytsky discovered him among the prisoners of war. Not that I’m especially keen on seeing what I think would have happened – in fact, I’m rather glad that I did not have to see it – the thing is: it wasn’t even necessary to turn Khmelnytsky into a stickler for honourable correctness to avoid a potentially disturbing scene. All they would have had to do is to not let him capture the guy. The historical Khmelnytsky never did so anyway. And that’s exactly why it seems like the only reason for this duel is to show how incredibly fair and correct Khmelnytsky is, and… Oh well… let’s just say there’ve been very different stories ;)

It’s not like I don’t understand the patriotic reasons that might be behind some choices in this movie, but – seeing it from the point of view of storytelling – taking away everything objectionable in a character until what remains doesn’t feel like them anymore doesn’t help. Because it’s vivid, believable, fascinating characters that get people interested in the history behind a movie if they aren’t already. And it’s not like the OiM-Khmelnytsky didn’t have his sense of honour too – he did, towards Jan, and I love this aspect of him – but at the same time, there was no doubt that he was goddamn dangerous and that there would be situations when he would not play fair. And I think he needs some of that to be recognisably himself, because you can make a character somewhat more likeable than their historical self and still make it feel believable (which is exactly what they did in OiM) – but only so much. More of it, and it doesn’t become more likeable, it just becomes... flat.

Still, though I can hardly stop myself from rambling about all the things that I wish they’d done differently, I don’t want to make it seem like everything about this movie is bad from beginning to end. It’s not. The reunion in the tent, after Helena left Czapliński? Beautiful scene, both aesthetically and as far as their interaction and Khmelnytsky’s unanswered questions are concerned. Tymish? Understandably furious and mistrustful of her for marrying Czapliński after witnessing what this man did to his brother. And while I personally tend to have a much darker opinion of him, that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate an interpretation that shows me how I could be wrong and how he could still arrive at doing what he did. And the one thing I really have to give this movie credit for is the scene where Khmelnytsky realises he’s been betrayed: this incredible rage that’s so violent and still so utterly, undeniably helpless. That feeling of getting news that shatters everything, and being unable to believe it – but having to. This they’ve really done perfectly.

So... anyone here who has seen it?

[zivliveblogsop]

One Piece Reread Chapter 5: The King of the Pirates and the Master Swordsman

(prev | index | next - coming soon)

What a title. Let's get into it.

It's funny to see Luffy so impatient with Helmeppo, and so unapologetic about using him as a human shield. It's not surprising, but I feel that it's often forgotten that Luffy is a bit ruthless. This is especially true early on, when he hasn't quite learned more leaderly qualities like patience.

The focal point of this chapter is in the exchange between Koby and Zoro. Where Luffy almost goes out of his way to avoid telling Zoro about the Marines' broken promise, Koby tells him about it right away. His approach is a more pragmatic one - "the Navy is your enemy now". He looks for no permanent promise from Zoro, just a temporary cooperation in the name of sparing his life. "I won't ask you to become a pirate," he says - exactly the opposite of what Luffy told him. Luffy is selfish enough to ask this of Zoro; Koby only asks him to escape, to live. Zoro visibly turns all of this over. Did it take both Koby and Luffy to convince him? Was it the contrast of Luffy and Koby's approaches causing him to realize he preferred the former? Was there something in Koby's faith that spoke to Zoro?

Also of note is how passionately Zoro reacts to learning that the promise he made was not intended to be honored - the firing squad arrives, and that word comes up again by the end. For now, though, Zoro says "I can't die yet", when we know that he will, in the future, he's willing to give his life for Luffy's, for the crew. In both cases, it's a promise he made. It is immediately clear that a promise means a great deal to Zoro - he was fully prepared to follow through on the raw deal he cut with Morgan, and seems almost blindsided by the fact that a promise could be so easily broken.

This is, of course, rooted in his history with Kuina, who has always been an interesting character. On the surface, she's a relatively shallow character, one rooted in Zoro's past, who exists to anchor his motivation and his history (though Zoro notably already had the ambition to become the world's greatest swordsman - and, to sail at sea - was he imitating his parents? Hoping to become strong enough to avoid their end?). The simplest way to do this character, however, would have been the more stereotypical male rival.

Oda makes the choice to write Kuina as a girl, and specifically as a girl who struggles with misogyny - people love to write off Koshiro's "girls can't be master swordsmen" statement as a one-off, but his attitude is clearly on display in how he reacts to the goings-on in his own dojo. It's clear that this is the limiting reality which Kuina lives in.

Following the famous moonlight duel, Zoro forcefully rejects the notion of his and Kuina's inherent inequality - not for entirely altruistic reasons. If he defeats Kuina, not because he became stronger, but because she grew weaker, it would diminish his victory. This is an establishing moment in Zoro's foundational view of the world in terms of strong vs weak, victor vs loser, etc. He clearly doesn't have an inherent disrespect for the weak - he still protected Rika from the dog - but the people he respects the most, the ones he primarily concerns himself with - are those he considers to be strong. It's a shame that Oda - thus far - hasn't taken advantage of this solid jumping-off point for a character arc, or at least some more in-depth character writing.

Then Kuina dies, and the thing that Zoro fixates on is her inability to fulfil their promise - he'll simply have to do so for both of them, and he vows to become a swordsman so great his name will be heard in heaven - perhaps to reach her there. Oda drives this promise theming in an extraordinarily heavy-handed way, closing Zoro's flashback with "I promised her, I can't die yet". I can only imagine that this was all to set up how meaningful his impending promise to Luffy will be.

I believe that this is the moment where Zoro's mind is made up. "What are you?" he asks - not who. Even if Luffy is invulnerable to bullets, to stand in front of a firing squad still shows nerves of steel (he does admit later on, in speaking to Gaimon, that he doesn't like to be shot, which makes this a meaningful gesture, even if he plays it off lighthearted). We know now, with the neatly-juxtaposed flashback, what catches Zoro's eye in a person - and furthermore, that the thought is fresh in his mind (and God knows why adaptations insist on moving this bit around). We get our infamous "You must be the son of the Devil": here is our first case of Luffy reminding someone of the very core of who they are (very often, the person they were when they were just a child, too young to have any conceit or baggage to mask their true self), and making them bold enough to come back to it. Zoro wants to sail the seas. "You've got yourself a pirate," he says.

[jedijourneys]

Akadul’s Journal; Entry Eleven

It has been a long time since I have genuinely dueled with another Jedi. There are the classes, of course, but an actual spar? Truthfully, it has been some time since I’ve trusted myself enough to allow for such things. When Knight Jinora announced that she’d be hosting a combat event, I finally decided that I trusted myself enough to attend. Whether or not that was a mistake is, as of yet, uncertain. But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

We were divided into two teams, and smaller teams within those two teams. I, alongside other Jedi, spectated the first duel between Lyceus and several opponents. Despite his skill, numbers could overwhelm even the most competent of warriors. I’ve always done my best to avoid such battles, favoring fights against a single enemy. It is far easier to pick out the weakest target and pick them off from the sidelines than it is to try and tackle an entire group altogether.

So, when it was my turn, along with the rest of my team, I did just that. There was another Pureblood there, Brodran, I believe. He has an interesting story, and he and I have already gotten acquainted once before. I wasn’t expecting him to be able to whack me over the head, though. Luckily for me, it was a mere training blade, so the damage was minimal. A bit of bleeding from a shallow gash and some pain, but nothing too significant.

Obviously, I was embarrassed. I don’t have a clue what had been going through my mind in that moment to distract me from such a bold attack. He quite literally flung himself at me head-on. I suppose I’m only mortal, and thus… just as prone to mistakes as any other. Perhaps I had simply underestimated my fellow Pureblood, and in doing so, had opened myself up to his attack.

Regardless, it ultimately worked in my favor. Brodran very clearly established himself as the strongest opponent on the opposing team, which meant, of course, that I promptly targeted his companion instead. Perhaps it was unsportsmanlike of me to go after someone who likely could hardly defend themselves against what was, essentially, a fully trained Sith (turned Jedi, of course). I did not even know her name. I simply… picked her out as the possible weak link and eliminated her from the battle, as quickly and efficiently as possible.

That was how I had been trained, in the past. Why drag out a fight when you could pick off the easier foes first? Destroy the morale of the strongest who were unable to defend their allies. It sounds quite vicious, doesn’t it? You’d be correct in that assumption. The Sith do not care about who is weak, and who is defenseless, and they were never above cowardly tricks that might win them a battle they’d otherwise lose. I’m not proud of the tactic, but I do understand it’s effectiveness.

The other two young Jedi on my team, an Initiate and a youngling, were able to tag-team Brodran enough to keep his attention while I promptly took care of the Pureblood’s companion. I have learned to be disciplined in my time within the Order, and as such, I am not quite the wild and untamed wildfire that I used to be. I restrained my attacks to insure that my opponent was not badly injured, before pivoting back to face Brodran at last.

To my surprise, my two companions had managed to fight him off. The duel was won. That wasn’t to say that I was too happy about it, though. Not only had I embarrassed myself with Brodran’s quick attack (and my failed defense), but I could have sworn to have sensed a familiar ice washing through my spirit, seeping through skin to slither like a viper within my veins. The Dark Side. Initially, I had feared that it was emanating from me! That I had… lost control and somehow hurt my opponent in the duel.

But no, the source was from another, an inexperienced youngling on my team, one of the two Jedi that had been battling Brodran. The sensation brought up far too many emotions, and memories. That, alongside my aching head, made me quite irritable. I assisted Brodran, who had been temporarily blinded by debris, to Master Tam’a’ryth for some care. He’s a talented fighter, perhaps on the same level as myself. I can’t quite be sure from a single duel, but I could tell that he knew well enough what he was doing in that fight. Had that been a real battle, Brodran would have struck a fatal blow against me.

I made my way to Adept Kera for some healing in regards to my head, and that was when that youngling, the one who had lost control in the spar, decided to make some snide comment about my face eating training blades. She was probably just teasing, I don’t know… but I was irritated, embarrassed, and in pain. I glared at her, nearly snapped at her, but a few deep breaths got me through the next few minutes it took for Kera to patch up my head, and then I promptly scrambled away.

I did my best to meditate afterward, in the quiet solitude of my room. It took hours to achieve any sort of peace, far longer than it probably takes for any other Jedi. I shall continue to try not to harbor too much negative emotion, for I know such feelings to be poisonous. Perhaps in a few more days, the soreness will fade, alongside my embarrassment. I might try to avoid that youngling, though. The last thing I need is exposure to past sensations. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.

[kuroliondragon]

You are not getting away! (Ace Trappola x Reader)

Υou have a crush on Ace and keep on avoiding him. Until he finally has enough and confronts you about it…

Warnings: slight angst, fluff

“We will wait for Ace-chan and then we can all go to the cafeteria together!” Cater chirped cheerfully.

The moment you heard your friend’s name, you instantly turned to face Cater with blushing cheeks. “W-Wait! We are going with Ace?!” A cloud of panic was visible all over your face.

“Well yeah. It would be bad if we let Ace-chan alone.” Cater explained.

“Ohh, yeah…guess your right.” You awkwardly swallowed, hoping you didn't sound suspicious.

You looked at all your Heartslabyul friends, sweating as you thought hard for an excuse. “Oh! I just remembered!” you squealed as you found the perfect excuse.

Everyone turned their attention to you while wondering what has gotten in to you all of a sudden. “Is something the matter Perfect?” Riddle's silver eyes flashed at you with concern.

“Yeah… you see…I have left my notes for Crewel’s Alchemy class back at the dorm!” You nervously exclaimed.

“I see.” Riddle said as he placed a finger on his chin thinking. As he remebered something, he reached for his bag.

“So… I should really go.” With a shaking voice you signaled your head towards the other end of the hallway while hoping your little lie had worked.

“No need.” Riddle lifted his head, holding a notebook in his hands. “You can have mine instead.” He kindly offered.

“But are you not a second year?” You titled your head in confusion.

“This one has notes from my first year." Riddle held the notebook in the air. "I often lend it to Ace, Deuce or any other first year when they forget theirs.” His expession darkened a bit as he clicked his tongue in annoyance . "We wouldn't want to violate a rule now would we?" Riddle said while giving an intimidating smile to Deuce.

Deuce let out an embarrassed laugh while kept apologizing to his dorm leader with pleading eyes.

“Anyway, you can have it.” Riddle offered you his notes with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” You nervously declined, clenching the hold of your bag. The truth was that you hadn't forgotten anything. Your notes for Crewel's class were safely secured in your bag but you― no matter what― needed an excuse to get away from Ace. You had to get out of there fast, and even if you wanted to be close to him you couldn't. After realizing your feeling for your dear friend, you couldn't be near him not even five minutes without being nervous or blushing red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed Perfect.” Riddle spoke softly, placing his hand on your shoulder in an encouraging gesture. But his silver eyes suddenly narrowed, giving off a threatening aura that soon was matching his face. “Ace is the one who should be embarrassed, for making us wait for so long.”

“If he keeps this up, he’s going to violate rule 366: 'You shouldn’t be late more than 10 minutes before going to lunch on Wednesdays'. The dorm head gritted his teeth, his patience was running thin.

“Dorm leader!” A voice yelled, in your mind it sounded familiar― way too familiar for your liking.

All of you turned to the unexpected shouting, to find Ace running towards your group. “Dorm leader!” he shouted, his heartbeat rapid as he tried to take a few deep breaths, finally reaching you. "Dorm leader, there is a crisis at the dorm!"

"What crisis?" Riddle raised an eyebrow.

Ace gasped for air. "The flamingos are loose!", he panicked.

"What?!" Riddle,Trey and Cater yelled in unison.

"Yes! You need to head there fast!" He pointed towards the Mirror Chamber at the other end of the hall.

Without a second thought they all rushed to Heartslabyul to resolve the situation, while leaving you and Ace alone. Once they were gone, you slowly turned to face your friend― sweat was already forming in your forehead. "You know…I really have to go." You nervously voiced as you tried looking anywhere but Ace's red eyes, "So…it would be best if you followed them." You suggested, praying to any of the seven get him as quickly as possible off your back.

You hurriedly took a few steps towards the other end of the hall. But Ace grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks as he stared at you, "I lied."

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"I said, I lied." He gave out a sigh. Observing your still confused expression he decided to provide you further context. "The whole flamingos incident…is a lie. I made it up, there is no crisis."

"Then why did you-" you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Why would he do such thing?

"Because I needed an excuse to be with you…You were about to run off again." He confessed with a sadden expression.

"I wasn't. I was just-" you tried to make an excuse.

"-trying to get your Alchemy notes that you left in your dorm?" He sarcastically asked. "Yeah, I know", his voice sounded more and more disappointed as his red eyes travelled to the ground.

Your eyes widen as you gasped in shock. "How did you know that?" You imidiatly shifted your body and faced him. He was still holding your hand. Maybe he had no intention of letting go...

"I overheard your conversation." He said as he kept his gaze down and for the first time you thought you heard just a bit of shame in his voice. Shame...Ace…Ace Trappola being ashamed… This must have been the greatest joke of the century! There is no way that compulsive liar would be ashamed for anything! He wasn't ashamed when he challenged his dorm leader in a duel for the dorm head position. Why he would be now?

He swallowed hard. "Why are you avoiding me?", he frowned. Oh no…

"No, no, no, no. NO!" You cried in despair. "Why?! Why are you asking me the one question I can't answer you?!" You said trembling as you lowered your face in your hand― hiding from Ace's view.

For a few moments there was pure silence. None of you spoke, only the wind and the chatter of some students was heard. What could you say?! What he could say?! This had turned out a mess. There was no saving your situation. You could just tell him your feelings. The idea appeared in your mind like a flash of lightning. But Ace was a bit of a special case. Yes, he was your friend. Yes, you two may or may not have done some awesome pranks together. Yes, you have also been in a lot of trouble together. But that did not mean that you could just confess to him! He would laugh at you in no time. Once he knows, he will never stop. He will keep teasing you until you two graduate, if you are lucky! Because if not, he would tease you until you die. So, why would you pour your heart out to him?

All of a sudden you heard a deep sigh and a pair a hands pushed yours away, revealing your troubled expession. "What?" You snapped at him, your voice stained with melancholy, while you turned your head away from him.

"Hey!" He slightly slapped your cheek to make you face him.

You did face him but with an expression he had never wished to see on your face. You were about to shed tears.

"Hey…don't…don't cry." He slowly placed his palm on your cheek as he cupped you cheek with a sincere gaze. "I'm just worried."

"I know. I know." You reassured, placing your hand on the top of his. "But it's hard to say what I feel…" you pressed your lips together in a tight line.

"Then say it. Don't hesitate because of me. " He encouraged with a smile.

"You will laugh." You twisted your gaze to the side, hoping he would leave the matter alone.

Only for him to brought your face to look at him once again, "I won’t."

"You will because you are a little shit." You almost laughed yourself.

"True." He gave you a small giggle. "But I want to know." He sofly stared at you. You still refused to give him any information about what you wanted to tell him. So he moved onto plan B. "Alright then, how about this: I will try guessing and you will tell me if I am close or not." He gave you a toothy grin.

You let an exasperated sigh, "Fine, because you are not going to leave me alone either way."

He gave you a mischievous smile. "Is it about..." he thought a bit, "...that you don't want to be friends with the best prankster of NRC?" he said playfully.

You bursted out laughing, "Cold, very cold."

Oh, now it was beginning to be fun! His red eyes twinkled craftily. "Is it because you are in love with some one?"

You bit your lip, averting your gaze from him, "Warm."

"Is that person close to you?" He suddenly brought his face close to yours.

"Warm, very warm!" You yelped, turning red.

"Is this person me, perhaps?" He cooed.

Your nervousness reached it's peak after Ace had asked the question. Something inside you, a gut feeling, was whispering to you that Ace knew exactly what he was asking, as well as, what the answer was. So, you shallowed and opened your mouth to answer. But you had no time to; without a warning you were met with Ace's lips on the top of yours, forcefully wanting access to the inside of your mouth.

Once he pulled away, you were left dazed, staring into thin air, while trying to catch your breath like a fish gasping for air. Ace laughed at your silly expession. "I surprised you, didn't I?~", he gave you a playful wink.

Still dazed as you were you could only utter one word, "Warm." You still couldn't believe the fact that Ace Trappola had just kissed you.

"And it's about to get warmer." He huskily whispered, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and diving for another deep kiss.

"ACE TRAPPOLA", a furious shout was suddenly heard.

You and Ace quickly pulled away from each other, dread filling both of you as you realized whose heels were angrily tapping in the halls.

The two of you turned towards the sound, finding a Riddle seething with rage while being followed by a concerned Trey and Cater. "Dorm leader, I can explain!" Ace cried out as he saw Riddle marching towards him.

"Riddle at least let him explain." Trey pleaded.

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!" The dorm leader screamed as he unleashed his unique magic.

[panvani]

After possessing a pretty shallow level of engagement with fiction aside from being very invested in avoiding normie/cringe/problematic content for most of my life, reading your blog during quarantine really opened my eyes to what it can look like to examine how writing functions and operates. Crucially, that you put that thought into pieces of fiction that are either commonly written off as things to be avoided or looked down on (Drakengard 3, Hello Charlotte, etc) or that you yourself can straight up point to and say that the work or the author, wholly or in part, sucks shit (We Know the Devil, etc). It may sound silly, but the idea that a piece of art could be doing or saying something interesting and noteworthy entirely separate from arbitrary judgments of quality, and, moreover, that those symbols may not be immediately intuitive 1:1 analogues but become apparent when looked at in the larger thematic context (the duels as gendered violence in Utena, etc) was kind of novel to me. It's something many people talk about, but seemingly few people actually put into practice.

I don't want to seem like I'm putting you up on a pedestal as an unimpeachable master whose wisdom I must bow up, but rather, just that seeing that kind of example of looking at things beyond the cringe/based good rep/bad rep dichotomies got me motivated to start doing more reading and thinking than I had been before.

Omg anon I've been really busy all day (was on a trip/meeting some friends) so I wasn't able to answer today but I saw it first thing this morning and have been thinking about it all day... This is genuinely so sweet thank you so much

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations, pt.2

The moment you’ve all been waiting for

Chapter Two: A Clarity

By the early evening, they had made it. Their journey was long and rough, leaving their muscles aching and in desperate need of rest. Ahead was a rather large shack nearly hidden by the towering elms all around it. Jean wasn’t really well versed in architecture, but he remembered one of Armin’s late night ramblings about an ancient style of housing that the cabin-like building resembled. It was a nice, homey looking place. Though it seemed long abandoned with ivy spreading up the walls and leaves camouflaging the roof and scattering the ground. To the east came a loud shushing sound, easily identifiable as a clogged up creek. Bingo.

“Yeah, tell me about it. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night here.” Marco chimed, trying to conceal the excitement that the sentiment brought.

They set the rest of their stuff by the rock-lined fire pit before making their way to the waterside. Water was building up rapidly, overflowing to the sides. Blocking it’s path was a massive oak tree, water only barely trickling over the top.

“Oh shit,” Jean began, rolling up his trousers and stepping in for a closer inspection.

Marco followed suit, yards of thick rope in his grasp. “Luckily it’s fairly hollow.” he called from behind Jean over the sound of water forcibly hitting the log. “The tree itself won’t be too heavy, it’s just stuck. Look there,” he gestured to the base of the tree trapped in the thick walls of the compacted mud. “It’s just trapped. If we attach rope to either side and pull at an angle, perhaps we can free it and get it to the surface.” he concluded with a small, self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of his little assessment. Marco always seemed to take joy in the simplest things, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Jean smiled devilishly. “Well done my brilliant friend. Let’s get this started.” Marco gave a dramatic salute before getting to work, tying the rope tightly to one end of the tree. Jean took a nearby stick to dig at the tough mud, aiming to loosen its grip on the tree. Marco noticed and began to do the same. Soon enough, they felt a thudded movement of the tree as water poured in from the sides.

“It’s coming loose!” Marco leapt. “Jean, I’ll drag the rope up my end, you meet me with your end, ok?”

Jean lifted the rope. “Ok, aye aye captain!” he yelped.

With just enough force from Marco’s end and Jean coming to meet him on the same edge of the creek, the water ferociously gushed in, releasing all the built up tension behind the log.

“Alright ready to flip it?!” Jean called out over the rushing water, and was met with a swift, “Yep, heave!” With one last bout of labor, they had gotten the bulky tree over the edge of the water, the makeshift dam no longer able to wreak havoc on their water supply.

And with that, Jean dramatically flung himself into the semi shallow water, the flowing tide steadying to a more constant trickle as it evened out. Marco starred in bafflement before howling with a poorly contained laughter.

“Jean! What on earth are you doing!” he cried between laughs. Jean had that devilish grin on his face again, and Marco knew exactly what was coming - he was next. “Jean, Jean no. Splash me and I will have no choice but to go in and defeat you myself.” he pleaded, threatened, warned, but despite his desperate cries and admonishing face, Jean got closer, arms in position to fire water directly at him.

“I’d like to see you try.” he said menacingly, before pushing a massive wave of water to the surface, full on drenching Marco on the spot.

Oh. This was war.

Marco hurdled into the deepest part of the creek, a battle cry leaving his lips as he shoved a tall wall of water onto the other. Managing to side step his first attack, Jean beamed as his eyebrows furrowed, face contorting to that of a jester.

“Jean, oh my God.” he chuckled, a standoff between the two men putting them at a pause. Jean bent low in the water, soaking his chest.

“Well? Gonna come and get me?” he taunted, smirking his most devilish smile. Marco eagerly leapt at him, arms wrapping around the bulkier man in a wrestle. The two danced in and out of the embrace with Jean finally gaining the upper hand, slamming Marco backwards into the water. Marco let out a small cry, soon to be muffled by the incoming water enveloping the pair.

The two quickly resurfaced, Jean looking more than pleased with his second consecutive win, and Marco coughing and hacking up stream water.

“Oh shit. Marco, I'm sorry, are you ok?”

“I'm-” Marco proceeded to nearly cough up an entire lung, obviously not having been prepared to be body-slammed mercilessly into a deepish body of water.

Jean sloshed his way over to his choking friend patting him on the back hard as if that would somehow help the situation.

“Jea-” cough “It’s fin-” couch “Just sto-”

“It’s not fine, I almost drowned you! Here um I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Jean said in a panic, rushing to stand behind Marco. Of course the Heimlich maneuver wouldn’t do a damned thing to help, but Jean didn’t need to know that, as for Marco’s master plan to work he needed to lull the other into his trap. Now directly behind him, Jean couldn’t see the absolutely devious grin on Marco’s face.

Jean hurriedly wrapped his arms around the other’s torso and before he could start the first compression Marco turned to face him at the speed of light. Confused and a bit startled, Jean froze in place, finally realizing the deep shit he was in once he saw Marco’s lopsided and evil grin.

Fuck. He was tricked. That cheeky little bastard.

“Wait, Marco-”

Before Jean could plead for his life, Marco's hands were already steadfast onto each of his shoulders.

“Now, accept your defeat!” Marco dramatically yelled as he forcefully dunked a yelping Jean under the rushing current. He let out a downright maniacal laugh, still reaching Jean’s ears over the rumbling sound of being dunked into the water.

He grabbed blindly in Marco’s direction, finding what felt to be his shirt and hoisting himself up with a gasp. The quick movement and general unsteadiness of the creek caused him to lose his balance, Marco catching him by the waist before he capsized again. Marco looked at Jean with a satisfied grin, and Jean could only sigh exasperatedly after finally catching his breath.

“Why do people think you're the nice one?”

“What? You started it. All I did was finish it.”

“You’re a demon.”

“Only for you~”

Jean promptly shook the remaining water from his hair, making damn sure it got on the smirking devil in front of him. Marco chuckled at his petty revenge, turning his head to avoid most of the incoming droplets, though not retreating his arms holding Jean upright.

Their impulsive little duel in the water had them both utterly soaked, Marco’s white shirt practically useless as it clung tight and sheer on his body. Of course, Jean had seen his bare arms and chest before but never this close up. Never with said arms still wrapped around his damn waist. They were really no further than a foot away from each other and Jean felt his face heating up as he looked everywhere but Marco’s face. His sun kissed shoulders were speckled with freckles that matched his cheeks and it made Jean want to know just how much of Marco was covered with them.

Whoa.

What?

Back the fuck up.

He did not just think about Marco’s naked body while being held this close in his arms and shit shit shit abort mission. NOW.

Jean rather abruptly shook himself out of Marco’s gentle hold, looking absolutely everywhere but at the man himself. His face was probably bright red with the embarrassing amount of heat radiating off it. He could practically feel the questioning look on Marco’s face but Jean was absolutely not going to let him voice it.

“Hey, you hungry? Let’s uh... get dressed and get some grub, shall we?”

Though it was technically a question, Jean didn’t wait for an answer. He was up and out of the water before Marco could so much as say “polo”.

Jean didn’t walk towards the shed so much as run to it.

The embarrassment and guilt ate at his psyche and all Jean could do to stop it was just pretend it wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to make things awkward for the rest of the night because he was… Imaging his best friend naked? In a not so dude-bro way? No. No, he hadn’t assured that yet. He was only thinking about his friend’s freckles… And there was nothing inherently inappropriate about that. Right. Jean was fine. Marco was fine. Everything was fine.

He decided to go with that explanation for now.

Jean dressed in the shed first, putting on what sort of resembled sleepwear before hanging his soaked clothes to dry over a tree limb. Marco did so next, coming out of the shed dressed in plain brown pants and a thick white tunic that hung low, exposing a part of his dotted chest. Jean tried not to notice, really, he did, but it was hard. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to it.

Seeing the sun begin to set, Marco took initiative and got a head start on a fire in the pit yards away from the shed. Jean dug through the bags to grab food, sheepishly bringing it over to Marco at the fire pit.

“It’s uh just wrapped rations, nothing special.” Jean explained, handing the sitting man a packet.

“Thanks Je-” Marco began before a scream escaped Jean’s lips,

“But I snuck BOOOOOOZE!” he exclaimed, holding out a bottle of hard liquor. Marco’s mouth flew open.

“You sneaky bastard!” Marco teased, causing Jean to stick his tongue out playfully.

“I know, you love it” Jean said, sitting cross legged not but a palms length away from Marco.

The sun quickly fell behind the mountainside, leaving a distant dim glow as the crackling fire took its place as the center source of light. The smell of wood burning and the trickling sound of fresh water reminded Jean of how much he missed simply just enjoying the outdoors.

“Yknow,” Marco began as Jean opened the bottle and took a swig. “I’ve never been camping before.” Jean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, handing him the bottle.

“This is news to me, you sure know how to navigate in the wilderness!” Marco chuckled, taking a swig.

“Guess you can teach me a thing or two more,” he winked. Jean stirred, his hands finding stability only when the bottle was passed back to him. Jeez Marco had no right looking so-

“Well then, a toast!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too loudly.

Marco looked at him quizzically. “Hah, to what?” Us he wanted to say, almost feeling the word slip off his tongue before correcting it.

“To Marco’s first night outdoors!” He held the bottle up in triumph, taking a large swig before handing it back to Marco, who did the same. They laughed heartily at the sentiment before settling to let the booze make its effect on their minds and bodies.

The moon’s soft white luster shone down onto the pair, reflecting off the fracturing water of the now ever-flowing stream. Broken images of adjacent trees appeared as inky veins dancing upon the water’s surface, nearly as mesmerizing of a sight as were the blinking flames in front of them. For a short while, there was a tranquil sort of silence. The soft sounds of a forested night; a lullaby, as Jean and Marco simply sat there, existing together under the dull shine of the stars.

The crackling heat of the fire provided ample warmth and light, allowing Jean an inviting gaze toward his companion's calmed face, eyelids shut softly as he enjoyed the slight chilly breeze. Jean let his eyes scan down the expanse of Marco’s figure, stopping at his toned, freckle-peppered arms. For reasons he could not decipher, Marco’s freckles enveloped his mind. Unbeknownst to Jean, he reached out to touch them, tracing shapes and constellations into the dots adorning Marco’s arm.

Marco startled a bit at the sudden touch, though upon seeing Jean’s peaceful, zoned out state, made no turn to move. His heart stammered in his chest, the light tracing of Jean's thumb on his arm spreading chills throughout his entire body. His mind abandoned any rational thought as he watched, rather felt Jean’s pointer finger and thumb gingerly dance across his skin. It was such a gentle gesture, one Marco hadn’t seen Jean ever perform. As his feather-light touch ran ever so slightly higher, Marco couldn’t hold back a twitch, halting Jean in his place. What on earth was he doing? Jean yanked his hand back close to his chest and averted his gaze back to the trees, the creek, the shack, hell anything but Marco.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely audible over the steady whooshing of running water. For the second time that night Jean’s face felt hotter than hell itself.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispered back, looking over at his now abashed friend. “I… don’t mind.” he finished and Jean glanced up, dilated eyes looking up through his lashes, not knowing what that response meant.

“Listen, Jean, I-” Marco began, liquid courage pushing him almost as hard as Ymir’s words the previous night. Jean crossed his arms in front of his chest, uncomfortable and otherwise unmoving as he took in Marco’s increasingly anxious behavior. “Fuck it, I just- Gah.” he swore, bringing his hands to grab nervously at his reddening face. Jean shivered, though he doubted it was due to the chilling air. What was the matter? Was it him? Did he make him uncomfortable?

Assuming that was certainly the case, Jean tugged in his legs close to his chest, demeanor physically decreasing. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have.... Was weird. I-” he was silenced by Marco’s fingertips resting on his knee in an action of reassurance.

“I liked it.” he hurriedly quipped, before his eyes widened and his cheeks grew a more prominent crimson. Marco turned away and looked off into the fire, seeming to contemplate something, though his hand stayed placed atop his knee. If Jean was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified. Terrified of himself, of fucking everything up, of how nice it felt to be touched like this…

Despite being a self-proclaimed womanizer, Jean was often untouched, making the sensation of Marco’s fingers upon his knee amplified and probably more intimate than was intended. But still, he longed for more, so much more. His mind went foggy as he tried to decipher what this all meant, what this entire night had ment. His skin felt hot as he took a deep breath, looking at Marco with equal amounts of concern and desire.

The want to always be close by to him, the walls of confidence and arrogance that seemed to falter and collapse when with him, the unjustifiable jealousy towards Ymir who had only just became close-ish to him, his obsession with seeing him laugh, seeing him happy, seeing him prattle on about his childish feather collection and seeing those freckles and that damned smile: it was all leading towards the same answer, an answer Jean didn’t know he was ready to fully confront.

Marco was still facing the dwindling fire, a heavy look weighing his features down. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he ought to do something, he rested a hand atop Marcos. He turned away from the smoldering coals to look Jean in the eyes, features flashing a whole myriad of emotions Jean couldn’t even begin to decipher. The tension between them grew as they both stared at one another, neither of them knowing how to proceed.

As if God Herself had had enough of the two’s back and forth antics, a downpour of rain started to fall from the darkened sky. Feeling the icy drops of water on his skin, Marco instinctively let Jean go, making his way up and off the now dampening ground.

“Ah shit, looks like the storm followed us here.” Marco awkwardly blurted, the contrast of the casual line with the previously tense staredown like chalk against a blackboard, finally breaking the impenetrable silence. Marco turned to start towards the shed, though when Jean didn’t follow, he threw him a worried glance. Jean knew he had to go in - this type of rain only meant bad news to come and it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin another pair of clothes... But something was stopping him. He was nervous. Nervous of the fire in Marcos eyes yet realizing he wanted it more than anything.

Seeing Jean unmoving as rain drenched his body, Marco bit his lips nervously, swimming with his own uncertainties and nerves from it all.

“Jean…?” he re-approached calmly, voice cautious as if approaching some sort of wild animal. The air grew colder and wetter as the winds picked up, Jean’s mumbled response rendered inaudible as he shook in the frigid air. He slowly stood, still fixating on the ground as the two made their way inside.

…

It seemed like this untouchable silence was to follow them inside as well.

The two men stood face to face in that rustic styled living room, Marco leaning against the east most wall and Jean standing limp by the door, neither sure if they had the courage to initiate what they both so desperately wanted. Marco looked at him with practically every traceable emotion etched onto his features. Jean could feel his remaining walls starting to chip away, a long running crack threatening to crumble the blockade into an unidentifiable nothing. Fine. He knows what he’s got to do.

A second of contemplation later and finally, it crumbles.

Jean makes his way over to the other, wordlessly and with his brain running damn miles a minute. Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean continued to step towards the other, stopping just a footstep in front of him. He looked a bit startled, though not afraid. If anything, Jean would say Marco looked… hopeful? Relieved? He reached out, hand grazing Marco’s hair as he settled it onto the wall behind him, leaning closer still. Marco was essentially trapped between the wood wall flush against his back and Jean, enclosing arm, yet he still did not look uncomfortable.

He had already made it this far… It was too late to chicken out right? Last minute thoughts raced in Jean’s mind as Marco's eyes looked up into his from wherever they were set before. His gaze was intense, his eyes aflame with a fire Jean had never seen in the other before. Now he wasn’t necessarily great with feelings and general social awareness, but looking into those fire orbs Jean saw nothing that said ‘Stop’

And so Jean said ‘Fuck it’

Jean finally closed the remaining space between them, lips meeting lips and- oh. OH. Jean’s body ignited with a sense of overwhelming intensity and desperation, the long awaited action of this sending his mind into overdrive. He was kissing Marco. Marco was kissing him. Marco didn’t hesitate to cup his jaw, Jean leaning into the touch before grabbing onto his arm. His other hand slid down from the base of the wall to slink around his waist, pulling the goddamned beautiful man closer.

Marco took initiative in deepening the kiss, eliciting unexpected hum from Jean’s lips. He let his other hand fall to meet Marcos waist, wanting nothing more than to graze his heated skin underneath the damp cloth, though Jean pulled back for a second, allowing room for retaliation or, possibly, resentment.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Marco nodded, fingers toying with the man's wet hair. “It’s more than okay.” he replied before Jean resumed his actions, lips meeting his with urgency. If it didn’t feel real at first, it sure as hell felt real now, and Jean was soaring.

It was sudden when Marco pulled back, hands moving to graze up and down Jean’s chest. Jean looked at him with nothing but fondness and ease, all his barriers down for him and him alone in this moment. Marco looked in his arms, skin burning with heat and eyes flaring with longing.

“Well…” Marco chuckled nervously, and Jean grinned. “This is unexpected,” Marco finished his sentence in a hush whisper.

Jean bit his tongue, more worried about this reaction than he had expected. “In a… good way?” he asked as anxiety crept its way into his slightly shaking hands. Marco put his forehead to his, getting a better look into his eyes. “You tell me,” he taunted.

Jean’s features took a turn for the serious, as he softly rocked his forehead against Marco’s. “Marco…” he began, the tone of his voice causing the said man to tremble slightly. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this... with you.” As Marco peered through the darkened wet strands of Jean’s hair, he saw his eyes were glistening. Tears. Jean was crying. Unable to spit even a syllable out in return, Marco simply brushed his lips against his in a kiss. This time, it was Jean who returned the action with haste. Marco cupped his cheeks and felt their fresh tears mixed with warm flesh as they kissed once again, this time, with mutual cognizance.

Jean began laughing between kisses, almost unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t realized how damaging it had been trying to ignore his feelings for Marco, nor how euphoric it would feel to finally acknowledge them. Marco pushed him back impishly and Jean caught his near-fall before grabbing Marco’s hand and holding it in his own.

“Is this real…?” Marco asked mindlessly, focusing entirely on their hands entangling as Jean rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

“It better fucking be,” Jean half-joked. “'Cus if it’s a dream, please don’t ever wake me up” he concluded, studying Marco’s lightly speckled skin in the little light the shack provided.

“Hug me, please” Marco hushed, embarrassed at the question despite having kissed the man already. Jean flushed, the demand sending chills down his spine and making something in the pit of his stomach flip. Without a word, Jean snaked his arms around him, Marco hesitantly leaning his head on Jean’s broad shoulder. It was an apprehensive embrace at first, as if they still were somewhat afraid this was some kind of prank. He held him, too, and Marco’s hands were tangled around his neck. After a moment of comforting solace, it seemed Marco had finally realized that yes, this was in fact real. “Thank you.” he muffled into the crook of his neck.

Jean smiled, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said.

“Why?” Marco chuckled. Jean stroked his back, stepping somehow even closer in the embrace.

“Because you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” he worded earnestly. Marco giggled cutely and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, nearly eliciting an embarrassing gasp from Jean.

“Says Jean fucking Kirstein.” he emphasized, kissing his neck again. Jean flushed furiously. He was seriously going to die.

“Mhph- don’t tease me, Bodt” he bit, forcing Marco’s head up as he collided with his lips again. Marco’s eyes widened as their bodies hit the wall, hands once more exploring and teasing through clothes.

Jean hiked his hands up Marco’s shirt, feeling his hot torso beneath as he thumbed the outline of his toned chest. Marco rutted against him, his hands moving to his hips in an attempt to bring him closer. “Ah-“ Jean hitched, his breath wavering as their clothed bodies rubbed against each other. Kisses deepened and tongues grazed curiously. All that could be heard in the little shack made for two were breathy moans and wanton grasps as the night took a physically fervent direction.

__________

Jean woke up in a daze, last night barely able to find its way back into his mind as his eyesight adjusted to the morning light. He shifted slightly before noticing Marco lying naked on his chest, hand snaked behind his head.

A smile easily spread over his tired face as the shining sun was proof the evening they shared wasn’t a dream or another figment of his imagination. It was real, and he treasured the feeling of Marco’s soft skin touching his. Careful to not wake him, he shyly traced false patterns on his speckled shoulder, elated at the prospect that he could just do that now.

A slight gust of cool wind slithered under the door and into the room, making Marco shiver slightly in his sleep. Jean pulled the fleece blanket to better cover the both of them as he continued to swipe his fingers across his skin. But it was too late, as Marco had already opened his pretty brown eyes.

Not being near awake enough to communicate, he entangled himself with Jean’s body as he reveled in the feeling of his skin being touched. Jean took this as full confidence there was no regret concerning what had happened and he kissed his forehead, hand ever so softly tickling his back.

Marco hummed, smiling into his touch as he slowly eased awake. He moved his head further into Jean’s chest, peppering him with small kisses as both of their quickening heart beats thumped against one another. Jean’s comforting touch faltered slightly, not being able to focus on much of anything other than the soft lips against his chest. Noticing this, Marco lifted his head up to be eye-level with him.

“Hi,” he grumbled cutely, voice deep and ridden with sleep.

“Hi,” Jean grumbled back, reaching slightly to place a quick kiss on Marco’s nose. They admired each other's sweat-lined skin before Jean spoke up again. “So,” he gulped, and Marco let out a low, grovely chuckle.

“We fucked and now you can barely look me in the eyes?” Jean went bright red. Hearing Marco’s joking tone and following chuckle didn’t lessen the effect this sentence had on him.

“I- sorry. Just never-” he began, and Marco placed his fingers on the man's chin.

“Me neither.” he confirmed, letting out a shaky breath.

Jean swung his thigh over Marco’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer - a clear sign to Marco that he was content with their situation. He snuggled closer, the blanket enveloping the both of them from the cool winds.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Marco’s sun-kissed cheeks went pink, those words being uttered to him by Jean only ever being a part of his late night fantasies.

“Of course,” he managed, and Jean obliged, leathery lips kissing him in a delicate action of reverence.

“Jean,” Marco began, breaking the kiss. “Before anything… y'know. I have to know your feelings on, this, I guess. I’m not- I can’t just leave until I have absolute clarification. Listen, if this was just a one-off, I understand, but-”

Marco was silenced by Jean using his thigh to maneuver himself on top, resting atop the man before answering his plea. “I don’t want this to be a one-off, Marco. Believe me, last night was a blast, but you need to understand it’s you that has me smitten - you who has me wanting to stay in this stupid shack forever. And for some goddamn reason, you fuckin like me just as much as I like you.” he answered wholeheartedly. Marco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Jean continued on. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the alcohol or anything that led to last night. Marco, I kissed you because for a long time now, I knew I didn’t want to be friends. And… being alone with you it just - it opened that up for me and-”

His words caught in his throat as Marco used his same technique to hoister himself on top. He smiled from ear to ear, a sight Jean couldn’t get enough of. “If at any point in time you would’ve made a move, I’d’ve been yours. That talk I had with Ymir? It was about you. Jean, if you’re serious, I need a definitive-”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase: fuck yes”

Marco could’ve squealed, elation running through his veins as he watched Jean’s equally giddy reaction. He adored Jean, his bluntness, sarcasm, and tender heart. Not everyone knew of Jean’s warm heart, they hadn’t given the jock the chance. But Marco did, and to Jean, that’s all that mattered. They kissed for the thousandth time before laying back down in a fervent embrace, both knowing they had to get up and head back to camp soon but neither making the move to do so.

Eventually, and begrudgingly, they got up. A little cleanup and packing was done before they got fully dressed, ready to make the trip back. “We still have several hours,” Marco pointed out as he slipped his backpack on.

Jean grinned. “Yeah?”

Marco nodded. “We could… if you wanted to, hold hands?” he finished. Jean blushed despite how juvenile it may have seemed as he took Marco’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze of assurance.

“You never have to ask to hold my hand,” he chuckled.

A few hours had passed as the overcast sky seemed somehow even brighter than usual, their spirits beyond content with themselves and the world around them. Jean looked at Marco as their hands stuck like glue, neither daring to let go. Overwhelmed with adoration of the man next to him, Jean snaked his hand behind his waist, pulling him close. Marco stopped out of surprise, returning the action and turning his head to kiss him.

“Fuck you,” he snipped as he smiled. Jean played with his hair.

“You already did.” he quipped, causing Marco’s face to glow a bright red.

“I- ah-” he stammered as Jean kissed him again.

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Jean whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder as they slowly began to pick up the pace again. Marco rubbed Jean’s back lovingly as they stayed conjoined at the hip.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll find time to sneak around. Especially at night”. Jean closed his eyes for a moment, imagining several nights of being close to him before waking up the next day to have it be their own little secret. That was okay by him, and by Marco too.

It was nearly nightfall when the pair had finally made it back, the sleeping quarters seen just ahead in the distance, lit by the torches lining the paths. They sighed, letting go of each other as they attempted to keep some semblance of normality of who they were before.

A hacking noise was heard, and Marco whipped his head to the side to see Ymir chopping wood. “Ymir?! What are you doing out so late?” Marco gasped. Ymir got up, striding toward them as she spoke. “Dumbasses back there are bickering. I’d rather be out here in order to avoid a headache.” she said flatly. Jean could only nod, as he had no idea what to say in reply.

“Fair enough,” Marco said nervously, watching as she crept closer to Jean. She pulled down the collar of his shirt and smirked.

“Ah Marco, it seems you finally learned how to ride horses.” she quipped. Jean nearly died right there on the campground and Marco let a hand shoot up to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Ymir!” he exclaimed before laughing out of embarrassment and defeat. She cackled before resting an arm on his shoulder, eyeing Jean’s absolutely horrified expression. “I’m proud of you, really. It was about time something was done about you two.”

Jean straightened out, a hand covering half of his face.”You… oh shit. You won't-”

“Tell anyone?” She finished, cutting through the bullshit. “No, ‘course not. That’s up to the two of you.” she smiled, calming the boys down.

Marco looked at her with a gentle gratitude. “Ymir, thank you. But… How do we keep this from everyone else? I just- I’m not ready. Jean isn’t ready.” he suggested before looking to Jean who was nodding furiously in confirmation. Ymir put her hand to her chin in momentary contemplation.

“Look, I’m not telling you all my secrets. But I can give a few. For now though I’ll just say this: if Christa and I can get away with it, so can you two knuckleheads.”

Jean’s eyes widened. So many bombshells in one evening. Ymir and Christa? Together? Thinking of it now, he wasn’t that surprised, but the sudden admittance of it caught him off guard. “Wow” is all he could muster before Marco tenderly put his head on his shoulder, making his face flush a light pink.

Seeing this, Ymir couldn’t help but grin. They were cute, and she unfortunately had to concede to that. “Well, I’m turning in for the night-” she began as Marco brought her in for a hug, interrupting her goodbyes.

“Thank you Ymir, really” he whispered. She patted his back. “Anytime man.” she concluded before breaking the hug to turn back. “Sleep tight!” she winked, and Marco looked back at a flushing Jean.

“How do you feel?” he questioned, unable to read Jean’s expression.

He ruffled Marco’s hair. “Good,” he said. “Really good”. He cupped Marco’s cheek and leaned in to meet his forehead. They breathed in the warmth of each other before pulling back, knowing they had to actually go back this time. “Meet me in my room, twenty minutes.” Jean hushed, and Marco bit his cheek.

“Fifteen” he quipped, jogging off to report their mission.

“Deal.”

[gryphonablaze]

heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey who wants a one shot fic that I wrote for daughter of the lilies by the awesome meg syv, aka bludragongal who I’m not gonna actually tag here bc I’ve tagged her in half a billion posts already ,, 

the fic is titled ‘saving face’ because I love me some puns

‘Eugh, snow… I hate it, I hate it I hate it I hate being cold…’ Lyra was sitting as close to the fire Thistle had started as she could without being burned. 

‘Hey, are snowstorms a thing? Like magic storms, but snow?’ Thistle asked. Everyone was quiet for a while. 

‘Don’t know. Probably, but hope not. Anyway, cave is goot place to trap heat. Glad ve found. Also glad Thistle can make voodless fire. But vhy only now bring up?’

‘Beceause most places we camp chalk won’t stay on the ground, so it wouldn’t work anyway. It’s complicated, too. I don’t remember half the runes. And you can’t write ‘em down without setting the paper on fire.’

‘Then… how did you get it to work?’ Brent asked.

‘Muscle memory. I couldn’t teach someone how to do it, but I could draw it out with my eyes closed if I needed to. When I was a kid, every fireplace in the house used these. The kitchen, too.’ 

‘You vere raised by mage? Is that vhy you not go to magic school?’ 

… Oops.

‘Er… yeah.’

‘Hrm. Explains vhy you so goot.’ 

‘Ooooooh, backstory!!!!’ Lyra teased. ‘You’ve said your dad didn’t like animals, and apparently he’s a mage. What else do we know? I need to start taking notes.’

‘Hey, cut it out.’ Brent ‘gently’ punched her in the shoulder. Didn’t seem like he meant it, though. 

There was a noise like the clattering of a rock. 

The fire went out. 

Something whistled in the air. Thistle leaped to her feet at the same time that everyone else dropped like flies. 

‘What the--’

Behind her were five cave elves.

Her teammates were unconscious, and there was some sort of antimagic that put out the fire… and rendered her defenseless. 

Claws cut through the air. The cave elves expressed confusion when she dodged the blow. Thistle went for Brent’s discarded sword. 

They clearly hadn’t been expecting for her to be able to see in the dark. 

They seemed to get over that surprise quickly. 

One of them said something, and the others backed away. Did he want a one-on-one fight? 

Apparently.

Despite not knowing how to use it, Thistle was at an advantage with a weapon. Even so, she was still on the defensive. She dodged more than a few attempts at disarming her. 

Did cave elves have some sort of honor-duel system? Was that a thing? Would they be left alone if she won this fight? Was it to the death? Not like she could ask, between the language barrier and being preoccupied with combat. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the other four standing over Lyra, a fist raised, ready to concuss her.

Oh, so this was a distraction. 

She flipped like a switch.

‘rrrrRRRRAAAAAAAGGHH!!!!!’ Thistle took a powerful, haphazard swing at the dueling elf. His surprise earned him a shallow slash on his leg. 

You don’t get killed by being careful, she heard Gwen scold her. You get killed by being reckless. 

Yeah, well, she had no magic and was outnumbered five to one. No amount of careful could save someone from that. Might as well do something. 

With another roar she rushed at the other one, who immediately jumped back so as to avoid being skewered. 

A phwt! through the air and something stung her in the neck. She picked it out. It was a dart. Paralytic poison, by the feel of it. Would put someone out of commission just long enough to knock them unconscious. Good thing it wouldn’t affect her. 

Thistle chased another elf away from Brent and turned toward two that had just now stopped arguing over how to handle Orrig. She stepped forward. Something swept her feet out from under her. 

‘GAH!’ 

In an effort not to land on the blade, she tossed it aside with both hands. Which meant she could not catch her fall. Thistle hit the ground face-first. She tasted blood.

It was hard to get any air without inhaling blood. But Thistle was saved from the effort of trying. She choked as one of the cave elves pulled her up from the ground by her hood. 

And then dropped her. She landed hard on her knees, and fell into a coughing fit trying to catch her breath. She barely heard the cave elves panicking amongst themselves and running away. 

~~POV switch~~

The fire went out.

He couldn’t move. 

‘What the--’ 

Foreign chatter, the swing of steel, the sounds of struggle. Something was here, and Thistle was fighting it, alone, not using magic. If he had to guess, the talking sounded almost like the two cave elves that took a bite out of his arm a few months ago. 

He heard Thistle let out a scream of pure fury. Damn. He’d seen her angry before, but he was very glad that this wasn’t directed at him. 

He was starting to regain movement when he heard a yelp, followed immediately by a sickening crunch. Brent managed to remove the poison dart from his shoulder. Gods, this was like the cave elf job. Thistle was hurt, and he couldn’t do shit to help her. He could barely reach out an arm in futile desperation. 

A gasp. Distressed conversation. Something had started wailing like a child. He heard footsteps running away. Just like the cave elf job… 

As the assailants grew more distant, the fire relit itself and began to grow from a flame barely the size of a candle. Thistle noticed the light and pulled her hood up. There was just enough for Brent to see the outline of long, pointed ears and short fluffy hair. Ears like Lyra’s. So she was an elf? Huh.

No, right now was not the time for wondering what she was hiding. He could see blood on the ground and all down the front of her vest.

‘Are you guys alright?’ 

‘You’re asking us if we’re alright?’ Lyra’s words were slightly slurred. ‘You look like… I can’t even think of something witty. You’re covered in blood, and you’re asking if we’re alright?’ 

‘Yeah, well, poison is usually more dangerous than a nosebleed. If it isn’t wearing off by now, then it’s a different type than I thought, and that could make for some serious problems. But you’re talking, so that’s a good sign. Brent? Orrig?’

‘Vill be fine.’ 

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ 

‘Good.’ Stiffly, Thistle got up and went over to her bag and dug out some gauze to hold against her face. ‘Now that the antimagic is gone,’ Her voice was nasally, ‘I’m gonna set some wards. I should’ve done that first thing.’  she started grumbling. ‘It even crossed my mind, but I chose not to, I almost got us all kidnapped or killed…’ 

‘Did you know there vere things in cave?’ Orrig asked sternly.

‘Well… no, but I still--’

‘Then is not your fault.’ 

[elriel-oblivion]

Okay here's the thing.. I respect everyone's opinions and they can ship whoever they want but like... For Elucien and Gwynriel... I literally cannot even see how. I would gladly ship them if someone gave me a valid reason. Elain avoids talking or even being in the same room as Lucien, and Azriel had one polite conversation with Gwyn. Az is just nice to her. As nice as he would be to any female. Elriel has foreshadowing & chemistry- The roses painted on her drawer and the rose necklace...👀

Strongly agree with all of this!! My main problem with anything that's not elriel is that a lot of anti-elriel shippers completely ignore or erase Elain. With these ships, it's always what benefits Elain does or doesn't bring. It's so misogynistic, people just ignore everything she's mentioned about her own heart and how she doesn't want a mate or the bond, she doesn't care for it, but oh Lucien's had such a hard life, he deserves his mate!!!!!

😒😒😒

Surely he deserves someone who wants him as much as he wants them, no?

Non-elriel-endgame with the canon we currently have would mean Elain's choices are stripped once again since she'd have to give up/lose the love she actually wants in favour of one she doesn't want that's attached to some cultural concept that means zilch to her and her human heart. I mean, sure sjm could spin it so Elain catches feelings for Lucien and they end up happily mated. But then what is the point of having Elain constantly avoid him for three books? That's not even setting up for a good relationship bc every time they interact/meet, the communication just gets worse.

While I can honestly see the potential of gwynriel bc platonic interactions can later become romantic, I still don't ship it bc it doesn't feel right the way elriel does to me. I can def see gwynriel becoming a strong healthy friendship, but if it's endgame then Elain ends up with Lucien, whom she visibly shrinks from and has been avoiding since acowar. She doesn't feel seen by him at all - as much as I love Lucien and truly do want him to have his own HEA, we can't deny that he's really just pursuing (I use pursuing in the loosest way since he's very respectful about it 😅) Elain bc of the bond. If we take that away, there's nothing between them imo and he probably wouldn't give Elain more than a passing glance for her beauty and that's it bc she's not the type of girl he's into.

But people don't wanna think about how that makes Elain feel. This girl who previously felt seen by only one person - who then rejected her bc of that bond itself - and craves someone to see who she truly is, is being courted by someone who doesn't actually like her for her, but just the idea of what a relationship with her would entail. He's only trying bc of some divine belief she doesn't share. That must suck like hell. It's almost objectfying, the bond. And again, I don't blame Lucien at all, not even for trying bc it is something that's important to him and his culture, but it's not a mutual thing. If it were important to Elain too and she just wasn't cooperating bc of some stupid shallow reason, then I'd be angry at her. But that's not the case at all.

But with Azriel, the first person to see her since Graysen, there's so much potential for growth - for both of them. They make each other feel seen. And for all that antis say neither has grown in the time they've known each other, how did Az pluck up the courage to almost kiss Elain after having not done anything with Mor for five centuries? How did Elain initiate that kiss - ie have the courage to follow her heart again after having it torn and shredded by Graysen? And anyway, weve never seen into Elain's head so we don't know what she feels has changed within her; we can only detect subtle changes from other povs, but there might be some huge changes in her learnt from Azriel, maybe about her outlook on life/strength, that she's just keeping hidden for the time (or that no one has bothered to see bc Elain is invisible 😭). Same with Azriel. One little chapter isn't gonna tell us everything he's been thinking the past two years.

But either way, we know now that they both have feelings for each other. Why is a mutual healthy relationship shut down so quickly, one where both partners' choices are taken heed of? If Elain had said no in that moment, Azriel would've stepped back instantly, no questions asked. He probably would've have some huge internal conflict about his own self worth but he wouldn't have gone further without Elain's consent. He's already shown he respects her, he said they've been sharing looks and touches, and these are things fandom eat up, so I don't understand why it's suddenly wrong or unwanted just bc Elain makes up half the ship.

And there's so much foreshadowing/symbolism that antis seem oblivious to, which, fair enough, interpret the text how you want. But even if somebody doesn't see the spark or blooming feelings between the pair throughout the books (how do they explain away all the stiffness whenever one of them is mentioned or is in the same room or something though? Genuinely curious here), there's a lot of plot foreshadowing. The Blood Duel has now been mentioned twice, as has the idea of breaking the bond, maybe more. There's the issue with Koschei and Elain not being able to see things related to him past mist and shadow. There's all this potential conflict that could arise between the Courts if elriel pursue their love, and conflict is the driving force of any novel.

If gwynriel were an IRL couple, I wouldn't care if there were never any conflict, but if I'm reading their story, I want more than just them falling in love and having internal conflict about whether they should kiss the other or not. Especially if the backdrop is a fantasy world on the brink of war with many players. I saw a gwynriel post mentioning Merrill once and while I do think she has the potential to be a running antagonist, I don't see her as anything but a subplot/crony for/associate with another stronger villain. I don't think she could carry a whole novel at the moment. So Gwyn is tied to nothing in the overarching plot. Same with Az. Not to mention all the theories about the Koschei/Swan Lake/firebird folklore that is potentially inspiring this new series in the acotar world. Of course, this could all change as we get more info about the next book/s and all, but compared to elriel certainly, I don't think there's as much conflict with gwynriel.

Ultimately, I don't claim knowledge of the next books' content, so I don't really care what people ship, but the main thing I take issue with is how they treat Elain in the midst. A lot of gwynriel arguments I've seen portray certain acts in a romantic/positive light for Gwyn but either completely ignore or erase any semblance of romance for Elain or tear her down. Like, we shouldn't push the narrative that Gwyn as an SA survivor can't have healthy meaningful sex in the future (yeah, of course I agree), yet some of the same people who say that are also people who judge and make fun of Elain and call her too vanilla for Az without having a clue what her bedroom habits/preferences are 🤯 This is just one of many. There are so many double standards I've seen for gwynriel against elriel and I'm just tired of it. And even if they're not doing any of that, they simply hate Elain and don't want her to be with Az and so ship gwynriel as the next best alternative. Like, can they not push down Elain in favour of Gwyn, please? That's so misogynistic 🤮

For all that this fandom flaunts the series being feminist with strong female characters, they sure do a good job in tearing down females who don't fit their definition of strong, despite even Feyre stating and acknowledging multiple times that Elain has a different kind of strength 😒

Gahhhhhhh. *exhales deeeeeeeeply* Sorry this is so damn LONG!! 😅😅😅😅😅 I did not expect to write a whole bloody essay lol but I hope it was fun/comforting to read at least 😅😆 I know I fall back on elriel posts when the ship war gets too intense bc I actually enjoy shipping elriel. They've become my otp, and I absolutely adore both characters of the ship; I think most of us elriels do. I haven't really seen any elriel stans who dislike/don't care for Elain and her welfare so it's nice being in this corner of the fandom where we can appreciate both Az and Elain equally. And of course, the other characters with their due respect. I truly do want Lucien to finally get his good life, but I don't think that's with Elain 😕

[scorpionatori]

Okay it’s time for me to be emo about Reiko and Natori again because I’m obsessed with them as foils to Natsume and their lives are so depressing and I’m angsty. Thinking about how, unlike Natsume, who has reached a place where he’s been able to make genuine connections with a lot of different people and youkai, Reiko and Natori both didn’t reach a place where they were able to really do that, and instead turned to superficial substitutes where they could have shallow and fleeting contact with others in a way that was safe and not risky. In Reiko’s case it was challenging youkai to duels and then leaving, and in Natori’s case it’s being a popular celebrity who interacts with and is friendly to fans. From what we know, Reiko was never able to make close connections with other humans. The only two human relationships we know of are with Souko and Natsume’s grandfather. Her relationship with Souko ended due to a heartbreaking miscommunication that led to them believing they were rejected by the other (which led to the creation of the book of friends). Also, this connection only really happened due to Souko’s insistence at being around Reiko, and Reiko eventually accepting it and agreeing to have contests with her. We still don’t know anything about her relationship with Natsume’s grandfather other than it resulted in a child. We don’t know if they were in love and able to truly connect with each other or if it was simply an affair. Both options are tragic. Either she finally found someone she connected with on a genuine level only to die soon afterwards, or her life ended after a loveless relationship that left her a single mother. Instead of connecting deeply with humans, Reiko turned to interacting almost exclusively with youkai. But from what we’ve seen, these connections were shallow and fleeting. Her pattern with interacting with youkai was to challenge them to duels and write their names in the book of friends (it’s honestly really depressing that she called it that considering she didn’t really form a friendship with any of them) and leave them, never calling their names despite the fact many of them were fond of her. Natori does have a lot of connections in the human world, but they’re for the most part strictly professional and impersonal. He has coworkers and acquaintances but not many close connections. From what we’ve seen, the several people he’s connected with at all are Takuma, who kept him at a distance, Matoba, whom he kept at a distance, and Natsume, whom he’s often deceived, despite a strong desire to genuinely connect with him and be a good friend. In “A World Unbent” we see that his more genuine personality was depressive and insecure and self-loathing and withdrawn. He avoided people emotionally, and as we learn in that episode, physically as well (due to his fear that the lizard mark would transfer to someone else). This is in stark contrast to his facade he puts on in the present: charismatic, talkative, self-confident, and affectionate. As a popular actor, he is shown to be very friendly and interactive with his fans (much to Natsume’s embarrassment when they hang out together lol). He stops to smile and wave when he’s recognized and is sometimes seen walking and chatting with people. Which is nice, but sad when you contrast it to his avoidance of his peers growing up and his lack of deep personal connections into adulthood. He’s always had a strong desire to be kind and gentle to those around him, but feared actual intimacy with others and turned to directing kindness towards people he wouldn’t have to risk maintaining a relationship with and having an intimate connection with. Instead of forming close personal connections with others (human and youkai) like Natsume did, both Reiko and Natori ended up with a tendency to flirt with fleeting impersonal interactions and reject intimacy.

[tendertenebrosity]

Part 2 of the Duel Flashbacks, for Consort Rill. Part 1 here. 

The exhibition field in the grounds of the palace had a packed dirt floor and ranks of raised seating, kept for performances and demonstrations and, yes, duels.

The crowd that inhabited those seats now was a modest size, mostly nobles and merchants of the court, young and fashionable. News spread fast, considering Rill had only made the challenge last night. He supposed, sourly, that this was pretty juicy gossip; nobody who was anybody was going to want to miss it. Whoever wasn’t here was inevitably going to hear the story.

Armand was dressed in bright clothes, no longer a uniform but something casual and fashionable. No trailing scarves or sleeves to get in the way, sensible boots. The sword buckled on to his waist was the same one he’d had last night. He’d spent the waiting time making conversation with his friends in the first few rows.

Rill had spent the waiting time trying to ignore the crowd as much as possible, although a few people did attempt to catch his eye or say something encouraging. How sincere they were, Rill found it hard to tell. He was too busy trying to keep his face calm and collected and with no hint of the dread tying his stomach in knots.

The referee who stepped forward into the circle chalked into the ground was one of the men who oversaw the training grounds – a grizzled older man, probably a retired soldier. Honestly, Rill should have known his name, but he didn’t.

“All right,” he said, matter-of-factly, looking between Rill and Armand. “Is there any chance this grievance could be settled without coming to blows?”

Rill looked over at Armand, keeping his face smooth.

“If the Captain would withdraw his comments,” he said, flat, toneless. “Then of course.”

Armand actually chuckled. “And miss this chance to show the whole court what you’re made of?” He grinned. “I don’t think so.”  

“I don’t know what you expect this to achieve,” Rill said. “My wedding vows were made six years ago and contrary to what you seem to think, a duel doesn’t have the power to dissolve them.”

“Really?” Armand said, quirking an eyebrow. “In that case… Queen Tali came here to support you, did she?” He made a show of scanning the crowd. “I don’t see her…”  

Rill gritted his teeth. Tali had not come. Would not - Rill had asked – and she would not. That was absolutely none of Armand’s business. “She has a country to run,” he said. “She doesn’t have time to waste on this sort of thing.”

“Then surely she at least gave you a favour or a token of some kind?” Armand was still grinning. “A ribbon, or a flower, or…”

Rill took a deep breath, let it out slowly in order to not say something stupid and hasty. It’s not important. What he says is not important. Let’s just get this whole embarrassing thing over with, shall we?

After several seconds passed with neither of them saying anything, the referee shook his head. “All right, then. On my word?”

Rill nodded tensely. The crowd cheered as the referee stepped back and away, leaving Rill and Armand alone in the circle.

Rill shifted backwards, drew his sword, and dropped into a ready stance. Across the circle, Armand drew his own sword with a flourish and lifted it to the crowd.

“Begin!”

No sooner had the words left the referee’s mouth than Armand was uncoiling from his deceptively casual stance, covering the space between them with a few short steps, and sweeping his blade across and down towards Rill.

Rill parried, rushed and clumsy, no grace to it.

Damn it. Why did I let myself in for this?

The duel started exactly how Rill had known it would. He blocked once, and again, losing ground each time. Armand was pushing him backwards against the line that marked the barrier of the dueling circle.

Rill needed to do something other than block and give ground. He parried the next blow desperately, and turned the movement into a lunge forward.

Rill knew the strike wasn’t going to land home as soon as he started it. He was going to blunder past Armand and leave himself wide open. Oh, well, at least it’ll be over quickly.

Armand stepped aside neatly as Rill plunged past him; the crowd roared and Rill got his feet underneath him and spun, raising his sword slowly, much too slowly.

To find Armand standing back, allowing him the time he needed to turn around, not taking the obvious opening. Smiling.

Making it clear to the crowd that he could have easily ended it.

Oh, you bastard.

Armand made a little after-you gesture, a smile touching the side of his mouth. He was barely breathing hard.

That was the thing. It would have been easy to despise Armand as a blow-hard, conceited, arrogant.  Rill knew that he was all of those things, and the kind of hothead that would lose their tiny, fragile new country its only chance at independence if he got his own way.

If only he wasn’t every bit as good with the blade as he thought he was.

Rill licked his lips, tasting sweat. His breath dragged in his throat. Apparently Armand meant to make a show out of this; which Rill should have expected. A duel that was over in five seconds was more indicative of skill, probably, and more accurate to what real fighting was like. But it didn’t give Armand as much of a chance to show off for the crowd just how badly he outclassed Rill.

Rill stepped forward, blade raised. Armand let him have a few offensive strikes, batting each aside with ease. Then he stepped forward again, sword a graceful blur, and effortlessly knocked Rill back into poorly coordinated, slow defence.

Rill panted, his forearms aching from the force behind the blows. The crowd noise battered at his ears, everything outside this little circle in the dirt blurring into a confused mass of colour and noise. It was distracting. Particularly when he stumbled, like – ouch – like he had just now, and only barely got his sword up in time to meet Armand’s lazy swing.

You should have practiced more. What, you thought it would never come up? Like you could avoid it forever? Idiot.

It felt like Rill was being chased from one end of the dueling circle to the other, while Armand just kept coming, never slowing, never letting up unless it was a calculated move to swing the fight the way he wanted it. 

Rill wanted this to be over. But he couldn’t just yield now; that would look even worse. No choice but to limp through this farce, getting hotter and clumsier and more tired with every step. 

Rill’s eyes stung with sweat, his heart was pounding; he wished this was over, he wished people weren’t watching, he wished this wasn’t going to be taken as proof of how unsuitable Rill was. Can’t even fight a duel without embarrassing himself. Can’t even be bothered keeping his swordsmanship up. What use is he?

The crowd was quieter now – was that just Rill’s imagination? He could barely hear them over his own breathing.

Abruptly, Armand seemed to tire of the game. His next blow came faster, with less warning; Rill blocked it with a wild, desperate movement.

And then he was off-balance, an and Armand’s sword had flicked out to score a blazing line from his elbow to his wrist. He jerked back, away from the pain - incredibly, his fingers kept their hold on his sword hilt as he fell backwards into an undignified and painful sprawl across the dueling ground floor.

Armand was there, immediately, standing over Rill. He leveled his sword downwards, looking down the blade; the very tip of it came to hover just below Rill’s chin.

“First blood,” the referee announced, somewhere very distant. “Victory goes to Captain Armand!”

The crowd was noisy with applause and cheering, voices gabbling. Rill turned his wrist and let his sword drop to the ground, then raised his palms upward in surrender. There had only ever been one way this was going to end.

A courteous opponent would have removed their blade from his throat immediately. Armand just stood there, silhouetted against the morning sun, and kept it there. As if savouring the moment, or pondering whether he would cut Rill again anyway.

“You lose,” he said. “That was an even more pathetic display than I was expecting.”

Rill shifted in the dirt; pain radiated through him, from his back and head where he’d fallen, to his ankle that had been under him as he fell, to the hot burn of the sword cut down his arm. Blood ran hot across his wrist. The sword-tip made him keep his head tipped back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Yes,” he said eventually, the words coming out between heaving breaths. “First blood; well fought.” He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice. Armand should have let him get up by now. His arm was hot and wet with blood. 

“How can the court possibly believe that you’re fit to be by the Queen’s side?” Armand demanded, his voice a little breathless. “Coward. Incompetent. You can’t even put up a decent pretend fight - what use are you? You’re not worthy of her.”

“Look, the duel is over,” Rill said. “I yield. You won. What are you waiting for?”

The crowd was as noisy as ever, loud conversation, applause – and the thing that Rill dreaded the most. Laughter. His stomach twisted itself into a knot of misery.

The sword at his throat drifted to the side a little. “Maybe I want you to say it out loud,” Armand mused. “Admit it. Admit you’re not worthy.”

“Well, you’ll be waiting a while,” Rill snapped. He lifted a hand as if to swat the blade away, but it darted closer like a snake and scored a shallow, stinging line against his collarbone.

“God’s blood,” Rill snapped, hating the way his voice wavered. “I yield! I yield, get off, I don’t have to say anything!”

The referee materialised at Armand’s shoulder. “He doesn’t,” he rumbled disapprovingly. “Move back, Armand, you scored your blood and he yielded. That’s it.”

The blade was withdrawn; Armand’s shape moved out of the light and away, letting the full force of the morning sun shine down on Rill’s face. He wanted to slump back against the ground and pant, miserably; but this was overpowered by his greater need to get away from here. He rolled over, aching body screaming at him, to get his back to the crowd.  The sound of them still beat against his ears. He gripped his injured forearm, teeth gritted against the pain, and gathered the strength to push himself upright.

His shirtsleeve was sodden, blood pressing itself out between his clamped fingers.

The referee’s hands were there, helping him to his feet. Rill wanted to throw them off, but that would be churlish. He was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault Rill had lost.

It was nobody’s fault but Rill’s own.

“Let’s see that,” the referee said. “Tsk. Looks shallow enough. Can you move your fingers?”

“Yes,” Rill said, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes stung, threatening to betray him with stupid, childish, humiliating tears. Plenty of people sustained worse injuries than this in duels, or even training. Let alone real injuries sustained on the battlefield. There was no call for this shallow cut to make Rill feel unsteady on his feet. “I don’t think it’s… too bad. Just… bleeding. I’ll… find a healer back up at the palace.”

“There’s one here. Always is,” the referee said. “If you head to the waiting room and sit down, I’ll send them through.”

Rill nodded, holding his injured forearm pressed against his middle. He carefully avoided looking at anybody as he limped off the packed sand; not even to the scattered wave of half-hearted applause that sounded as he left the exhibition grounds.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Satf Ulkhud

Part 9 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Who know how many more parts are going to follow…  Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings​ ‘Falling Stars’

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count: 1,612

Warning(s):  Blood, minor injury.

Translation(s): Satf Ulkhud:  Step Light

Harkulul:  Enough

Gadra allâk; Mahal hefsu binhas:  Against stupidity; Mahal himself is helpless

~~~~

Why did everything have to be so complicated?  Was it too much to ask for just a simple, easy answer to just one of my questions?  

In the days following my forced chat with the Company, I tried to delicately feel out Thorin and see if I could see what everyone else supposedly saw.  

To put it simply, it wasn't easy; nor was it going well.  So far, I had found out that Thorin really didn't like me very much--no surprise there.  But even through that, I thought I saw those little hints of affection that everyone talked about.

If I looked hard enough, I could see his steely blue eyes--thikilkhagal in Khuzdul according to Balin when I asked him--soften whenever I spoke to him; and his voice would change just the tiniest bit when he spoke to me.  

There were other instances in the past that I could remember as well.  The time I had dragged him out to go stargazing and had grasped his hand within mine; a blush had sprang to his darkly bearded cheeks.  Or when he had offered to teach me Khuzdul.  

But even with all of those hints, I still couldn't bring myself to believe Balin's words.  As I studied Thorin, I grew more frustrated than before; and all that pent-up energy had to be expressed somehow.

That's why I accepted Fili and Kili's challenge to spar with them.  I figured it would be a harmless activity that wouldn't invoke any of Thorin's anger towards me.  

"Parry left, and strike!"  Kili called to his brother as he crouched on the ground a few feet away from where Fili and I were dueling fiercely.  

Fili shot Kili an annoyed glance; the split-second distraction allowing me to land a flat-edged blow to his dominant arm.  Fili yelped in pain and dropped his sword, holding his arm as he swore loudly.

"Harkulul, Kili!  You're distracting me!"  He said angrily, glaring at Kili as he gingerly rubbed the sore place.  

Kili just grinned and hopped up, dodging his muttering brother as he walked forward, swinging his sword in preparation to duel me.  "Prepare to be beaten, Miss Estel."  He laughed, and I rolled my eyes, grinning.

"I wouldn't be too sure, Kili...  Cockiness doesn't get you anywhere but in trouble."  I said wisely, darting forward only to have my jab blocked by Kili.  "As your uncle would say, gadra allâk; Mahal hefsu binhas."

My words had Kili grinning widely, shaking his head.  “Actually, that’s something Lory would say."

Within minutes, him and I were engaged in a swift flurry of jabs and parries; neither of us willing to let the other win.  I had to admit, even with his lack of experience, Kili was a better swordsman than his brother.  There was a finesse to his movements; more grace.  Perhaps it came from his interest in archery.

Sweat began to bead on my forehead, dripping down and into my eyes as I focused intensely on gaining ground on Kili.  It was only a matter of time before he would make a wrong move and I could score a hit.

"Hey, watch where--” Fili’s voice vaguely penetrated my concentration, just as I stumbled over something.  My stroke went wide to the left, leaving me open.  

Silver flashed by my face, and pain erupted across my left forearm as Kili's sword grazed my skin.  I let out a hiss of pain, dropping my sword as I brought my right hand to clamp over the shallow cut.  

Crimson oozed between my fingers as I clenched my teeth, wavering on my feet as I tried to keep the pain from overwhelming me.  It wasn't a bad wound, but the superficial ones tended to hurt the worst.

"Estel!  I'm sorry, are you alright?!"  Kili's panicked voice broke the silence, and I heard a scuffle as he and Fili gathered beside me, gentle hands prying away my fingers so that they could look at my wound.

"I'm fine, Kili.  It's superficial."  I said through clenched teeth, taking in a deep breath as Fili's calloused fingers prodded the sensitive area.  "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when you do that!"  I said quickly, and Fili drew back, his blue eyes concerned.

"Fili, Kili, what is going on here?"  Thorin's voice rumbled ominously from behind me, and I could see Kili's brown eyes widen as he gulped.  "Is everything--"  

Catching sight of the scarlet staining my hand and arm, Thorin cut himself off, hurrying to grab my arm and look at my injury.  Once he assured himself it wasn't life-threatening, he raised his dark-haired head to look at Fili and Kili.  "Which one of you did this?  I thought I would have taught you better to not gang up on people."  He said quietly, and Kili raised a trembling hand.

"It was my fault, Uncle.  I didn't mean to hurt her, but she tripped over a rock and I couldn't stop my stroke..."  He mumbled apologetically, shrinking underneath Thorin's furious stare.

"It's not his fault, Master Thorin," I began, and he shot me a look, raising an eyebrow.  But that didn't dissuade me from plowing onwards.  "I should have been watching my footing as well.  It was an accident.  Besides, it's just a superficial wound."  I tried to reassure him, pulling my arm out of his grasp, but he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Miss Estel, there is rarely such a thing as a superficial wound, and even if it is, that doesn't change the fact that Kili hurt you."  He said, and my brow furrowed with confusion.

"What difference does that make?  Kili accidentally hurt me and he apologized.  What else needs to be resolved?"  I asked, and Thorin avoided my gaze.

"Things are different in our culture, Miss Estel."  He said, dodging my question, and a quick glance at Fili and Kili told me that his words were confusing to them as well.  

"Alright, if you say so.  Now, I'm going to go get this cleaned up."  I said, glancing down at my forearm.

Without waiting for a response, I turned away to go locate my bedroll and find the spare roll of bandages that I kept there for this sort of purpose.  Once that had been taken care of, I headed off in search of Dwalin.  Perhaps he would have answers for me; after all, he was Thorin's closest friend.

Much to my relief, I quickly caught sight of him lounging at the edge of the forest, brawny forearms crossed over his equally brawny chest as he scanned the horizon.  Heading in his direction, I watched as his gaze slid over to me as I approached.

"Miss Estel," he nodded to me as I moved to stand beside him.  "Ye look as though ye need something."  

I managed a soft laugh.  "That I do, Master Dwalin.  A listening ear for my complaints."  I said, taking a deep breath as I tried to cool my rising temper.  

Dwalin turned his body towards me, raising a scarred eyebrow as he looked down at me.  "Complaints, ye say?  They wouldn't happen to be about Thorin, would they?"  He asked, and I nodded sullenly.

"Right on the bullseye, Master Dwalin.  Even after spending days observing Thorin, I still don't see what you all talk about.  Perhaps there might be some affection somewhere, but I haven't found it yet.  Although, he has made it easy to get close to him...  He hasn't seemed to have wanted to leave my side ever since I walked into that tree in the dark..."  I grumbled, and Dwalin chuckled.

"The Dwarrow has every right to be protective of ye..."  His voice trailed off as he glanced at something over my shoulder.  "I mean, the way he feels about ye--"

"No.  Don't give me that utter rubbish about his feelings for me.  I've tried my hardest to find a hint of it; of anything!  But there's nothing!"  I said, glaring at Dwalin.  " You also forget that I'm raised by Elves, Thorin can't stand Elves.  In his eyes I'm just as bad--if not worse!"  I exclaimed, ignoring the way Dwalin's gaze grew solemn.  "Ever since I said it, he's been horrible to me.  Even more so than usual!"  

Dwalin raised a hand as if to try and calm me.  "We've told ye, Lass, Thorin's trying to protect himself from getting hurt.  He just needs some time to process--"

I cut him off, breath coming in deep gasps as I struggled to hold back the tears brimming in my eyes.  "But if he really loves me, he wouldn't care about my past.  That shouldn't matter to him.  You are all blind; seeing something that isn't really there.  Perhaps he loved me once, but that all changed the moment I said I was raised by Elves."  Swallowing hard, I looked straight into Dwalin's dark amber eyes that shone with confusion over my sudden change in emotions.  "I cannot return his affections if they do not exist."  I whispered in a shaking voice.

"Miss Estel--” I didn't wait around to hear what he had to say and bolted away, brushing past the approaching Thorin and fleeing blindly into the forest as tears streamed down my face and sobs shook my body.

I ignored the familiar voice that called after me; asking what was wrong and where I was going.  Thorin was the last person I wanted near me right now.

For a moment, I thought I had found answers.  But then I realized they were only questions in disguise.  

Questions whose answers persisted at being elusive.

[queen-scribbles]

Things Best Unsaid

I didn’t intentionally write this for DA2′s birthday, but the timing did work out pretty well. :D Thus, ~3k of Fenris POV from Sigi dueling the Arishok + the aftermath.

---

“I accept.” 

Fenris’ heart squeezed in his chest as Hawke’s voice rang out, unflinchingly confident. She flung the words back at the Arishok as if she were the one issuing a challenge.

From the Arishok’s satisfied smile, it was clear how he expected this to go. A lone human woman, no matter how respected, no matter her reputation, seemed no match for the towering qunari leader.

Fenris could count the beats of his pulse hammering in his ears as he and the others herded the surviving nobility up to the balconies, out of harm’s way. He ached to draw his sword and demand to fight instead, but he knew he could not.

The Arishok would not allow it-- Hawke alone was basalit-an.

Hawke would not allow it--she hated when others tried to fight her battles for her.

So he stood with arms crossed and shoulders hunched between Sebastian and Isabela, tried to ignore Merrill’s quiet fretting, and kept his gaze fixed on Hawke.

If she was at all worried about the duel, it didn’t show in her stance. She stood with the same casual wariness that marked the outset of any fight; ready for whatever came but content to let her opponent make the first move.

And the Arishok obliged. He barreled toward Hawke with a roar, large blades sweeping in tandem arcs.

Hawke waited until the last possible second to dance out of the way, her own hooked axes now in hand. She pivoted as the Arishok’s charge carried him past her and dug one deep in his back below the shoulder.

The Arishok spun with a snarl and swung at her again, the way one might bat at a stinging fly. She dodged the first strike, but the second caught just at the edge of her shoulder.

Fenris sucked in a sharp breath watching her stumble and scramble back out of range, crimson spreading down her arm. Isabela nudged him reassuringly--or, he assumed that was the intention--but he didn’t even glance her way.

Hawke was retreating, eyes on her opponent as she darted backwards. She’d never seen shame in running away, especially when she could use it to make her surroundings work in her favor.

Even as the Arishok pursued her, she dodged around a pillar to gain some distance putting her superior agility to use.

“Ebost issala!” he spat, nostrils flaring and one blade rising as he charged again.

Fenris’ jaw clenched, heart lodged in his throat, despite his familiarity with Hawke’s skill in battle.

She dodged under the swinging blade and slashed open the inside of the Arishok’s elbow, then let their momentum carry them away from each other. She wove between the pillars again, clearly anticipating another bullrush from the qunari leader.

It came only a few seconds later, and the throne room seemed to shake when he missed and slammed into a wall. “Ashkost kata!” the Arishok snarled as he wheeled to charge her again. His battleaxe was extended in front of him, prepared to skewer this human who had the temerity to defy him and survive so long.

Again, he bore down on her. Again, she waited to dodge. Again, fear clawed the breath from Fenris’ lungs.

And this time she was just a little too slow. 

While Hawke managed to spin away from the main thrust and avoid being impaled, the blade did gouge through armor and flesh both. A collective gasp rose from all the onlookers--save one. Fenris’ teeth were clenched so tightly it made his ears ring, fingers digging into his arms as he struggled to hold himself back from joining the fight.

She can be as furious at me as she likes, if it means she survives.

But Hawke kept her feet, though staggering, and grinned fiercely at the Arishok even as his eyes blazed with fury. “Come on, then,” She goaded, circling like a panther even as the bloodstains on her armor grew.

Part of Fenris wanted to call encouragement, show his faith in her. Part longed for her to be more cautious. Part knew better than to distract her, and all of him was too tense to get the words out if he had settled on a course of action.

The Arishok was too enraged to do anything but succumb to Hawke’s prodding. He bellowed as he charged toward her once more, swinging one of his blades in a brutal arc meant to end this--and anyone in its path.

Hawke ducked, and the fearsome blade lodged in the pillar behind her instead. She swiped at the Arishok with one of her axes and opened a shallow gash across his chest.

The Arishok gave another bellow and yanked on the trapped weapon, swinging his other battleaxe at Hawke as he worked to free it. The point rattled and rasped as it scraped over the front of her armor, but she’d backpedaled far enough it did no real damage.

She leapt up, stepped on the trapped blade, pushed off that and then the Arishok’s pauldron to propel herself away. She faltered slightly on the landing, one hand flinching toward her wounded side as she grimaced.

Despite the way his heart pounded, Fenris couldn’t help a small smile when he saw her mouth a silent curse before zeroing back in on her opponent.

The Arishok finally yanked his battleaxe free, leaving a large divot in the pillar, and whipped around to face Hawke. He launched himself toward her with a roar.

Hawke gave her axes a flourishing twist and darted aside. She didn’t entirely avoid the attack--one blade grazed her thigh and Fenris bit his lip when the wound blossomed scarlet--but it did far less damage than intended. And before the Arishok recovered his balance, she was behind him, hooked axes plunging into the hollows of his collarbone. He snarled and tried to jerk free. She dug the blades deeper with a savage yell.

The Arishok swayed, then wrenched around and grabbed her by the hair. He growled as he flung her into a tumble across the room, her axes clattering to the floor. 

Fenris bit his lip harder to keep her name from spilling out.

The Arishok’s shoulder heaved in great, angry breaths as he glared after her, his back to the balconies. And then his weapons clattered to the floor as Hawke pushed up to a crouching stance. A murmur rippled through the air, uncertainty shifting to hope.

Snarls of red-brown hair hung in Hawke’s face now, blood trickled from her lip, but she still looked every inch the predator. Her hand darted to the small knife at the back of her belt.

The was a rasp growing in the Arishok’s breath, a wet snarl escaping as he stumbled to one knee. “We... we shall return-”

Hawke’s hand flashed forward, the deftly-thrown knife snapping the Arishok’s head back when it slammed into his eye socket.

“Excellent shot,” Sebastian murmured approvingly, and Fenris smirked as the knot in his chest started to loosen.

Hawke staggered to her feet as the qunari leader  fell splayed over the steps.  “You won’t,” she panted, raking hair out of her eyes to stare down the remaining qunari.

They did not look happy with the outcome, but after a protracted moment glaring back, the ashaad nearest Hawke jerked his head toward the door and his few brethren followed the wordless command.

Fenris took what felt like--and may have been--his first full breath since the Arishok issued his challenge watching them go. His arms were stiff with lingering tension when he dropped them.

The movement caught Hawke’s eye and she flashed him a smirk. Despite her bravado, her posture was tense, hands balled into loose fists,weight balanced subtly on her uninjured leg. He moved like a wraith through the crowd of milling nobles, skirting the banister and rushing down the stairs with Merrill and Sebastian in his wake. His gaze remained on the departing qunari, wary even though he knew they would honor the Arishok’s terms.

Jangling armor broke the breathless silence, Meredith and Orsino slowing as they entered the room. Meredith’s sword came up at the sight of qunari, and they reached for weapons in response--

“Don’t.” Hawke’s voice rapped through the air. “It’s over.”

“Over?!” Meredith demanded glaring at the qunari though she addressed Hawke.

“Over,” Hawke repeated. “We had an agreement.” She jerked her chin toward the slain Arishok. “They’re leaving. Without further bloodshed.”

Now Meredith wheeled to aim her glare at Hawke, her gaze rife with arguments.

“For the good of the city,” Hawke said firmly, glaring right back as the nobles clustered and spilled down the stairs. Fenris shifted closer to her.

The women held each others’ gaze a long, tense moment as the qunari filed out. Meredith didn’t relent until the last one had gone.

“Very well,” she ground out, and sheathed her sword. She took in the scene; the Arishok’s corpse, Hawke’s injuries, the near-rapturous way the nobles were eyeing the battered woman before her and nodded with grudging respect. “It would appear Kirkwall has a new champion.”

The tension finally, fully drained from the room as the nobles erupted into cheers.

Hawke indulged their relief for a few minutes, her hand resting on Fenris’ arm when he stood next to her, but the set of her jaw made it clear pride and determination were just about all that kept her on her feet. In short order, she gave a final wave of acknowledgement to their accolades and headed for the door with a just noticeable limp.

Fenris followed close on her heels, was there to catch her arm when she swayed just outside the keep. “Hawke-”

“That went well,” she cut him off, inhaling a sharp breath as she leaned against the wall. “Considering.”

“I’ll get Anders,” Merrill volunteered, starting for the steps.

“No,” Hawke ground out, even as she clutched her wounded side. “People will need him with... with all this.” She gestured at the rising smoke and what destruction was visible from the courtyard.

“You need him,” Fenris growled. Damn her stubbornness, anyway.

She shook her head, brown eyes flashing. “No. None of these are deep enough to need magic for healing,” she said through gritted teeth. “Stitches will do.”

“Then allow me to assist.” The words escaped before he could stop them(not that he could swear he would have).

The beat of hesitation, vulnerability flickering through her eyes, cut deeper than any physical blade. Even if he understood. Especially because he understood.

But then she nodded, once, a brittly sharp motion. “Long as you know what you’re doing?” 

He heard the layers, knew what he risked tearing open, for both of them, beyond the confirmation of ability. “I do.”

I should have stayed. But it was too late for that now. The most he could do was help.

“...Alright.” Hawke pushed away from the wall, froze, and one hand jerked to her belt. “Shit. My axes-”

“I have them, Hawke,” Sebastian assured her, holding out the weapons.

Hawke took them with a grunt of thanks, her movements stiff. “I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward the burning city again. “See what you can do to help.”

“Aye,” Sebastian nodded, in the same moment Merrill piped up, “We will, Hawke.”

“Good thing my house isn’t far,” Hawke commented as she watched them depart. “You won’t have to help me long.”

“It would be no trouble,” Fenris said softly.

Hawke sighed and flashed him an inscrutable look as she leaned on him.

They made their way to her estate in silence, exhaustion giving an excuse to mask any awkwardness. Hawke refused to accept much help besides the stairs, and Fenris struggled with the urge to just carry her every time she bit her lip or her fingers dug into his arm.

Grizzly greeted them with enthusiasm as soon as they opened the door, which Hawke returned with head scratches and cooed praise for protecting her house and its occupants.

Orana peeked out of the library and gasped. “Oh, mistress, you’re hurt!”

“Orana, I’ve told you-” Hawke cut herself off with a sigh and shake of her head. “Could you- Are Bodahn and Sandal with you in there?”

Orana nodded, eyes still wide as she stared at the blood. “Bodahn’s trying to get his boy to sleep, mist-- Hawke.”

“Damn,” Hawke sucked her teeth a moment, swaying into Fenris’ shoulder.  “Could you please bring supplies for patching up to my room?”

Another nod, steadier, as Orana clasped her hands in front of her. “Of course. Will you need my help, mistress?”

One side of Hawke’s mouth curved in the faintest of smiles. “No.” She glanced at him. “I have all the help I need.”

For some reason, the words made his gut clench even more than watching her fight the Arishok had, and Fenris didn’t really want to dwell on why. He nudged her toward the steps. “Hawke...”

“No need to coddle,” she muttered.

Irritation spiked, but he bit his tongue as she started up the steps. Her fingers were white-knuckle on the banister a third of the way up. By halfway, he could hear her breath hissing between her teeth.

“Enough of this,” he growled, and scooped her off her feet.

“Fenris!” She glared at him, hand balled into a fist as it pressed against his armor. “Put me down! I’m injured, not an invalid, I am capable of walking!”

“If you do not let people help you, injured may turn into being an invalid,” he shot back. 

Hawke glared at him a moment longer, jaw clenched, before relenting. “Fine.”

It didn’t take long to reach her room, and he gingerly set her on the bed.

“I’m not made of glass, Fenris,” she grumbled as she tugged off her gauntlets.

“But you are injured, as you yourself pointed out,” he said, a knot snarling in his chest at how cautiously she moved. He shucked his own gauntlets and set them on the bedside table next to hers. “And I’d not cause you any unnecessary pain.”

Beyond what I already have.

Hawke was quiet a long moment, jaw working as she swallowed at least one sharp comment. “Then... could you help with my boots? Please?”

“Of course.” Fenris bent and helped slide off her boots, then wordlessly moved to the buckles of her armor.

She stiffened, staring at the wall, but didn’t fight him. A sharp breath escaped her when she raised her injured arm out of his way, and Fenris hurried so she could lower it again.

By the time her leathers were removed and piled in a chair, Grizzly was curled on the rug to keep watch and Orana had brought the requested supplies; warm water, rags, salve, bandages, catgut thread and a needle. 

Fenris glanced at the supplies, then Hawke’s injuries. “Which one first?”

“Shoulder,” she said without hesitation. “Hurts like the bloody Void.” With only some difficulty she worked off her shirt, tugging the fabric away from injuries with ginger fingers. Her head snapped up to meet his gaze when he started to protest. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He shut his mouth with a click under the challenge of her tired, whiskey-brown eyes. “As you wish,” he finally murmured, and set about cleaning away the blood. Up close, this one was surprisingly nasty and it did seem wise to tend it first.

Silence filled the room as he worked, broken only by the crackling fire and occasional huff from Grizzly as he shifted position. Exhaustion, uncertainty, and a myriad of other things made the prospect off conversation a daunting one, and neither was eager to open that jar of worms right now.

So Fenris focused on the stitches, keeping them secure and even, pretending he didn’t see her grip tightening on the edge of the bed with each stitch. Hawke didn’t emit as much as a whimper as he worked. Her gaze never left the wall until he’d tugged the last stitch into place and reached for the salve and bandages.

“You do know what you’re doing,” she commented, upon peeking at his handiwork.

His lips twitched toward a smile as he gently spread a layer of salve over the stitched wound. “I would not have offered otherwise.” He nudged her arm up with the back of his hand, heard her breath catch in the same moment his heart skipped a beat, pushed through to begin winding bandages around her shoulder.

Hawke bit her lip as she watched him. “When did you learn?”

“After I... ran.” The Fog Warriors had imparted a few things, and he’d gotten practice in a variety of places. “It is something you pick up quickly when you are... unsure who to trust.”

“I imagine so,” she said softly. “Leg next. This one’s not as deep.” Her fingers flexed against the rag she held to her midriff. “You can just cut or tear the trousers, they’re beyond repair anyway.”

From the amount of blood that had soaked the fabric around this wound, he had to agree. “Very well.”

She leaned back against the pillows, swinging her leg up on the bed as he cut away the pant material. After a moment’s internal debate, Fenris surrendered to the inevitable and knelt next to the bed for the best angle stitching this one. Again they were silent while he worked, though Hawke did suck in a few harsh breaths as he progress up toward her hip.

He didn’t dare wonder if it was pain or something else to blame.

Finally all that remained was the gash on her stomach. It was, as she’d claimed, not as deep as the other two, and had largely ceased bleeding. It was still the most difficult to tend, for reasons quite aside from skill.

They both caught a sharp breath when his fingers brushed her side. Fenris swallowed hard, saw her do the same.

It’s fine. I am simply helping a friend. Never had his thoughts seemed such blatant lies. He hesitated, and Hawke shifted.

“I can have Orana-” she began, but he shook his head.

“No.” He raised his head to meet her gaze, saw the walls barely holding... everything at bay in her eyes, and returned to the freckled skin around this last wound. “I said I would help, and I shall.”

“If you’re sure.” Hawke voice was rough and her posture still tense.

“I am.” He took needle and thread in hand, loosely rested his other hand on her hip to steady them both.

These stitches were less even, though no less secure, and his hands trembled  as he carefully wound the bandages. Tight enough to protect, loose enough they wouldn’t cause further harm.

“Thank you,” Hawke whispered as he stood. “I appreciate you... your help.”

He stood there a moment, many things he wanted to say warring for release, but none succeeded. “...You are most welcome,” he said instead, unable to resist tucking her hair behind her ear. A bruise was blossoming on her cheek. Hawke’s eyes fluttered closed and he withdrew his hand swiftly. “Is there anything else you need?”

She flashed a smile that was plainly forced, even with its brevity. “Just fresh clothes and sleep. Orana can help for those, though.” Her jaw tightened and she stared into the fire. “You don’t have to stay.”

I want to. The words made it to the tip of his tongue before they stuck, caught on pride or remorse or something else. He’d given up that right. It wasn’t his place, by his own choice. A choice he was no longer certain had been the right one. But it was the one he’d made, the one he’d needed to make, and he would accept what that meant. For both their sakes.

So he nodded, heart squeezing when her shoulders slumped just perceptibly. (Or did he imagine that?) “Sleep well, then, Hawke. I...” This much he could say. “I am glad you are alright. Relatively speaking.”

She laughed softly at his deadpan addendum and finally met his eyes. “As am I.”

With too much and no more to say, Fenris gave another nod and collected his gauntlets, pulling them back on as he headed out into the street. At least the chaos there he could do something to fix.

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 50: Oops! All Supports Volume #8

The portal babies are going to be weird. Most of their Supports are going to come from the OAS entries. Add it onto the pile of close to thirty Birthright Supports I didn’t get to. Also, because this is Entry 50 and I hate myself, I’m doing twenty different Supports today instead of ten. God help me. I’m already a few days behind and this won’t help.

Support: Mana/Sophie

C: Kana manages to befriend Sophie's horse Avel, despite Avel normally being horrible.

B: Kana and Sophie see a burning building and Avel happily allows Sophie to ride him so she can save people.

A: Kana and Sophie discuss how Avel is loyal to Sophie, despite his assholeness, and will follow only her into battle.

S: Kana gets friendzoned.

Review: Not bad. Avel being a good horse when the chips are down is great. Also, this is the second time Kana’s been friendzoned. Poor kid.

Support: Corrin/Hinata 

C: Corrin finds Hinata training. Corrin is surprised, because they heard Hinata was lazy.

B: Hinata beats Corrin in a duel, so Corrin runs laps to get stronger.

A: Hinata reveals that he trains so hard because he lost a fight to Takumi once and wants to beat him.

S: Hinata does the promise to protect blah blah blah I like you blah blah thing.

Review: Not necessarily awful, but very generic and lacking any spark to make it stand out.

Support: Mitama/Shiro

C: Shiro finds Mitama sleeping outside. He wakes her and she heads to her room so she can take another nap.

B: Shiro explains that falling asleep on a battlefield is dangerous, Mitama explains that she's ensuring she's fully rested for battle.

A: Shiro takes a nap outside. Mitama agrees to stop sleeping outside as much.

S: Shiro asks Mitama to be his girlfriend.

Review: Very shallow. Mitama is somewhat amusing, but other than that this is completely forgettable.

Support: Dwyer/Selkie

C: Dwyer is woken up by Selkie chasing a bird.

B: Selkie gurts herself climbing a tree. Dwyer, not wanting to ignore a not-ugly lady in distress, tends her wounds.

A: Dwyer tries to convince Selkie to stop hurting herself. Selkie drags him off to go frolic.

S: Dwyer decides to tend to Selkie's wounds for the rest of his life. Selkie decides they should get married and claims she planned this from the beginning.

Review: A fun, cute fluff Support.

Support: Azura/Saizo

C: Saizo tells Azura that she doesn't trust her because she's from Nohr.

B: Saizo injures himself protecting Azura. Azura tends to his wounds. Saizo notices a scar on Azura and Azura explains that some noble children beat the shit out of her when she was a kid. Again, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to bully the violent sadistic king's stepdaughter?

A: Saizo apologizes for forcing Azura to relive painful memories. Azura says he only has to say thank you and that she wants him to be her ally.

S: Saizo offers Azura a magic salve that can heal any scar. He doesn't use it because his scar is important and also HE'S A MANY MAN AND NOT A DELICATE LADY. Azura says she loves him despite the sexism.

Review: A very good Support that gives good characterization to both Azura and Saizo.

Support: Felicia/Takumi

C: Felicia runs into Takumi while carrying the laundry. Literally. Takumi grumpily helps her clean it up.

B: Takumi tries to yell at Felicia to be careful, she ignores him and talks about her hometown. Takumi insinuates there's a problem with how Felicia was raised and apologizes when she calls him out.

A: Takumi keeps an eye on Felicia to keep her from messing everything up. Felicia cries. Takumi praises her for being a hard worker.

S: Takumi asks Felicia to tell him about her village, because he likes her and she cares about it.

Review: Not bad, but could have had a bit more lore about Felicia’s village or had Takumi play a more active role.

Support: Kaden/Mozu

C: Kaden has a fatty piece of meat, which he doesn't want to eat because it's unhealthy. Mozu offers to cook the fat off. Kaden offers to split it.

B: Mozu makes a really good soup. She compares Kaden to a little kid for being impatient.

A: Kaden guts a fish, which makes Mozu think he's wise and mature. Sure, why not. Mozu says he's like a brother to her, because this game didn't have enough pseudo-sibling fucking.

S: Mozu says Kaden is everything she wants in a man.

Review: Overall, a fairly mediocre Support lacking a consistent throughline.

Support: Kagero/Setsuna

C: Setsuna is tasked with delivering important messages during a battle and forgets them, so Kagero is ordered to help Setsuna become a better messenger.

B: Kagero gives Setsuna sentences to repeat back to her. Setsuna forgets them immediately because she has the memory of a goldfish.

A: Kagero comes up with a better solution: babysitting Setsuna to make sure she doesn't fuck up.

Review: An overall decent Support. Although it raises one big question: who the hell thought it was a good idea to make Setsuna a messenger? They’re the real idiot in this army.

Support: Azama/Subaki

C: People have begun saying Azama and Subaki are training together. This angers Azama, who hates Subaki for pretending to be perfect. Subaki doesn't mind.

B: Azama goes on a hike and finds Subaki training alone so other people won't see him get tired.

A: Azama explains that the difference between them is that Subaki cares what other people think about him and Azama just doesn't give a shit.

Review: Overall a bit bland. Also how did the training rumors start? Part of me feels like this is an “oh my god they were roommates” scenario.

Support: Hinoka/Jakob

C: Jakob finds Hinoka training and praises her courage and fighting skill. Hinoka says she used to be trained in formal princess behavior, but through all that away to spend more time training. B: Jakob offers to train Hinoka in etiquette again. Hinoka ends up remembering everything anyway. A: Jakob explains that war is more than battle and courtly training is just as important. S: Jakob says he loves Hinoka. Hinoka points out how sudden this is, and Jakob offers to leave and come back later. They get together.

Review: Wow that romance came out of nowhere. They even point it out! Aside from that, this Support is very lackluster. It avoids all conflict by having Hinoka not have anything to learn and leaves Jakob without any development.

Support: Hisame/Kiragi

C: Hisame acts subservient and loyal to Kiragi. Kiragi asks him to treat him like a friend, similar to how Takumi and Hinata act. Hisame rejects this, saying Hinata should treat his betters with respect. Also they mention that Takumi and Hinata bathe together, which is interesting.

B: Kiragi says that they don't have to be master/servant just because their fathers are. Hisame suggests that they play shogi to become friends.

A: The two of them have fun playing shogi. Hisame acknowledges they're friends now.

Review: This one is interesting, analyzing that Hinata doesn’t really act like the retainer of a prince. Kiragi just wanting to be friends with Hisame is nice, and Hisame acting like an actual medieval person is interesting. I do wish this Support, and the game as a whole, had more analysis of class divides, though.

Support: Setsuna/Silas

C: Silas is attacked by an enemy archer. By an enemy archer, I mean Setsuna, who fell into a pit and fired arrows out to get his attention.

B: Setsuna does it again, almost injuring her fellow soldiers. Setsuna blushes while talking to Silas for...some reason.

A: Setsuna falls in a pit and accidentally kills a bunch of enemies while firing arrows.

S: Silas proposes. Halfway through the proposal, Setsuna falls into a pit. Silas rescues her and she immediately does it again.

Review: This is a fun Support. Setsuna being more willing to shoot Silas than ask for help is relatable. Setsuna taking out enemies by accident and wandering off in the middle of a confession is hilarious. Also, between this and the Kagero Support, I’m starting to think Setsuna is a liability.

Support: Midori/Shigure

C: Midori shows Shigure her herb garden. In the middle of it is a pretty flower bub that Midori likes.

B: Shigure helps Midori garden.

A: The flower blooms; Midori says it's a rare flower that is a symbol of happiness.

S: Shigure tells Midori to stay out of battle because he can't bear to see her hurt. When Midori refuses, Shigure instead vows to protect her throughout the war and after.

Review: This one had a surprisingly good S-Rank. I like the idea of Shigure being paranoid about his loved ones getting hurt because he’s already lost his entire village. Unfortunately, other than that, this Support is fairly bland.

Support: Asugi/Dwyer

C: Dwyer somehow manages to beat Asugi in a fight. Asugi challenges him to a rematch and Dwyer leaves to take a nap.

B: Asugi spies on Dwyer all day to find out how he trains. Dwyer does nothing but nap. Dwyer reveals that Jakob beat fighting skills into him as a kid so he doesn't have to train anymore.

A: Asugi challenges Dwyer to a baking contest. Dwyer forfeits before it even begins.

Review: Not bad. Dwyer completely shutting Asugi down out of laziness is fun.

Support: Hinata/Rinkah

C: Rinkah watches Hinata fight. She tells him it's a miracle he isn't dead, considering how sloppy he fights.

B: The two of them spar. Hinata is surprisingly powerful, but Rinkah matches him hit for hit. Rinkah decides to mix Hinata's moves into her one fighting style. A: Hinata and Rinkah fight again, drawing.

S: Hinata asks Runkah to take him to the Flame Tribe...as her husband.

Review: Fairly mediocre. I’ve seen a dozen sparring Supports already and this one lacks anything new.

Support: Jakob/Takumi

C: Takumi asks Jakob to help him train in secret. Jakob says no.

B: Corrin orders Jakob to help Takumi. Takumi snipes arrows off Jakob's head like William Tell.

A: Jakob tells Takumi that his need for others to recognize his skill is immaturity.

Review: Goddamn, Takumi. There are better ways to train than accidentally killing your sister’s retainer! Other than that this is mediocre; Jakob calling out Takumi’s immaturity is nice, but it isn’t built up properly.

Support: Caeldori/Hisame

C: Caeldori and Hisame are tasked with cleaning a shed together because they're the only competent soldiers. Caeldori brings up her respect for her father and Hisame changes the conversation.

B: Hisame explains that he doesn't respect Hinata because Hinata is a moron. Caeldori is disgusted by the idea of not respecting her father.

A: Caeldori apologizes for being forceful. Hisame says that he actually hates Hinata because he's jealous of Hinata's laid-back attitude.

S: Caeldori and Hisame get together because they're smarter than everyone else.

Review: Contrasting their differing views towards their fathers is nice, but the idea that Hisame is jealous of Hinata is ridiculous.

Support: Kiragi/Selkie

C: Kiragi and Selkie race through the woods and notice a group of suspicious men hanging around.

B: Kiragi saves Selkie from the men, who are poachers.

A: Selkie criticizes herself for being too trusting. Kiragi it wasn't her fault and that her kindness is one of her best traits.

S: Kiragi apologizes for allowing Selkie to be captured in the first place and asks Selkie to date him so he can protect her.

Review: Look, follow up to Selkie’s Paralogue! Kiragi being heroic is nice, but Selkie is a bit of a damsel in distress in this one.

Support: Fana/Midori

C: Kana has a sore throat. Midori's medicine doesn't work.

B: Midori tries new medicine. It still doesn't work.

A: Midori realizes Kana needs dragon medicine.

Review: That was a bunch of nothing. I think this is the shortest Support line I’ve read, and damn is it forgettable.

Support: Corrin/Hana

C: Hana is mean to Corrin because Corrin made Sakura sad by being kidnapped. Sakura isn't very smart.

B: Corrin asks about Hana's family, who are also Samurai, and says they apreciate Hana's ambition because they didn't have any when isolated. Hana mentions that her inspiration is her father, a samurai who prerished honorably protecting Sumeragi. Corrin says that dying in and of itself shouldn't be respected. Hana gets mad and storms off.

A: Corrin explains that Hana shouldn't throw her life away because it would make Sakura sad.

S: Corrin says he actually wants Hana to keep living because he has feelings for her. Protect eachother yada yada yada.

Review: I’m torn on this one. It gives backstory for Hana and at least tries to say something meaningful about dying in battle, but the C-Rank has Hana act ridiculous.

[atelier-dayz]

For Jedi June’s meditation prompt! Another snippet from Under the Desert Sky.  A recap: Qui-gon survives the duel in TPM and Obi-wan becomes a Jedi Ranger after his Knighting, but first he visits Jedha to find a new crystal and build a lightsaber. This is set just after he arrives in Jedha.

The first morning he’s at the Temple, there’s a knock on his door just before dawn. The Guardians who’d volunteered to show him around the day before, Chirrut and Baze, stand outside the guest quarters he’s been given.

“Good morning!” greets Chirrut. “Would you like to join us for meditation?”

Obi-wan readily agrees; it has been a while since he’s meditated with anyone other than Qui-gon, and even that had been several weeks ago. With all his confusion and hurt after the Naboo crisis, he had avoided the communal meditations at the Jedi Temple, and then his Trials had come, where the meditations are done alone. And now, here he is, away from the Jedi Temple and all Jedi. 

He wonders what meditation is like with the Guardians. 

He grabs his cloak, to guard himself against the cold of Jedha, and then follows the two Guardians through a maze of hallways. 

The meditation room they take him to is large, capable of holding at least a hundred odd people. It’s also round, with smoothly curved walls and a vaulted ceiling. Slit windows let in soft beams of the dawning light, illuminating the interior just enough to see by. The tiered floor descends in increments to the center of the room, where a shallow, circular pool of water sits, its reflective surface perfectly still, the very picture of tranquility. Scattered around the room, Obi-wan sees not only Guardians, but pilgrims from across the galaxy, sitting on the bare floor or on cushions and deep in meditation. 

Chirrut and Baze lead Obi-wan across the entire room, to a spot close to the wall right under one of the windows where a Guardian around their age sits -- a friend, Obi-wan assumes. The Guardian tilts his head in their direction in greeting but otherwise keeps his eyes closed, returning to his meditation. Chirrut and Baze each take up a cushion, Baze waving Obi-wan towards the last cushion in their small cluster. 

Like countless times before, like the very first time as a youngling with his clan, he sits himself down on the cushion with crossed legs, straightens his spine, and rests his hands on his thighs. He closes his eyes and takes a slow deliberate breath, in and out. He focuses on his breathing at first, on the air moving through his nose and filling his lungs, on the rise and fall of his chest. 

Then the thoughts come, as they always do, as do the feelings they bring along with them. First, the benign ones, like wondering what the day holds for him once they’re done with meditation, what the rest of Jedha City is like, when he’ll be going to the crystal caves. Then the deeper ones, the ones that keep coming back, that he struggles with. 

What if he isn’t meant to be a Jedi Knight? What if he’s not good enough? Did his master truly mean those words of praise on Naboo? Why isn’t he good enough? What is he thinking, leaving the temple to travel the galaxy alone? What good could he possibly do? 

He catches himself sinking too deeply into those thoughts and takes a deep breath, in and out. He acknowledges the thoughts, the anxieties, but lets them go. He has faced them before and risen above; he will face them again and rise again. He refocuses on his breathing, distancing himself from his thoughts, like a swimmer rising back to the surface of an ocean. 

Eventually, his mind settles, peaceful and clear. That’s when he opens himself to the Force, allowing it to fill him as he reaches out for it. He feels around him, through him, the energy that connects him to every living thing in the universe. He is but one star in the constellation of lights that make up the Force presence of all those around him. Among those in the meditation room, some shine brighter than others, but all are still very much present. Some even brush gently against him in greeting, fleeting but friendly.

Further away, far away from Jedha yet still close within the Force, he feels the collective presence of all the Jedi, many only distantly familiar, but others deeply familiar -- those who are the closest to him like Qui-gon, Master Yoda, Garen, Bant, and the rest of his friends and crechemates. 

He basks in the warmth of the Force and in the light of all those around him. 

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

When the time feels right, he gradually lessens his connection to the Force, bringing his awareness back to himself and the physical world. With eyes still shut, he takes a moment to listen to the sounds around him: the soft breathing and murmurs, the rustling of fabric, the faint footsteps outside the room. Distantly, a low bell tolls, announcing the hour. 

Obi-wan opens his eyes to find the sun has begun to rise, washing the room in gold. The room is emptier than when they had entered, but there are still people deep in meditation. Next to him, Chirrut stirs from his own meditation. Baze and their friend must have finished much earlier, because they’re deep in conversation in what Obi-wan realizes is Mandalorian sign language. 

Chirrut hops to his feet, interrupting the conversation with a barely audible whisper of “Breakfast?” 

With that, Obi-wan saves his questions for later, and they quietly leave the meditation room.

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (10 - End)

Chapter 10: Duel of the Fates | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn’t know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Notes: Finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has been staying tuned to what could be my biggest (in terms of word count) SWJFO yet! I hope you enjoyed it and my other fics, and also hope that you’ll still be there when I make more! Lots of love! 💕

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

10 of 10

Cal clutched back your hands on his face, savoring their softness after yearning for your touch. He wasn’t sure what to say, he kept silent while avoiding your eyes. Impulsively, you pull yourself close to him into an embrace which he gladly returned, relishing your warmth as you tightened your hold around his back.

Over your shoulder, he notices the pair of antennas poking out—he knew that it was BD-1. He was relieved that the little droid has regrouped with you.

“What happened to you?” you whispered in his ear.

His eyes wandered all over the place, searching for the answer. He didn’t know what to say. He gently pulls away from you but never let go of your hands.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, no,” he weakly chuckled. “I’m fine, see?”

His assurance didn’t really console you, he knows well enough not to take you for a fool—he feels that you can sense it too within him: the Dark Side of the Force.

You didn’t want to startle him with your questioning, but you wanted to know everything all at once whilst a part of you still doesn’t want to believe or perhaps isn’t ready to believe. Cal saw the troubled look in your eyes—the way your eyebrows furrowed, how your lip trembled even if you’ve bitten it, and the shallow rapid breathing.

“BD told me that… you went with the Grand Inquisitor… And Razh! He told me that you gave the order… at the village, you… slaughtered them!” you rambled away, your thoughts out of sequence. “W-Who is the Grand Inquisitor?!”

“Razh and BD didn’t tell you everything.”

From that reply, the worst of all your assumptions have been confirmed. There was no need for more questioning; you have the answer to everything you need to know.

There was a churning feeling in the pit of your stomach, your heart was pounding so loudly that you were out of breath just by trying to calm it down.

“What do you mean?”

“What a droid couldn’t understand is my reason for doing it,”

BD-1 trilled loudly, obviously confused and shocked at what Cal had said.

“What reason!?” your voice cracked, your tone becoming more demanding as the moment passes.

On the other hand, Cal understood where you were coming from; you were in a state of shock, of course you’re confused and can’t comprehend everything going on right now. You came to him for answers, although they were answers that you never hoped and perhaps weren’t ready for.

“I should’ve told you way back then,” he muttered, blankly staring at the floor.

“So, you were hiding something from me then?!”

“If only you knew what I had to do to save you,”

“Save me…? From what!? From the Grand Inquisitor?” you pointed at him. “From you!?”

One thing piled over the other. You had sensed something wrong with Cal back then, even when you were still recovering in Razh’s house. You hated yourself for not sensing it much earlier, had you been vocal about it and brought it up with him—even at the expense of his comfort in talking about it—then you would’ve averted this entire disaster.

The blast door behind Cal jerked open. Out comes the Eighth Sister back from the dead. You didn’t even realize it, your legs were moving on their own—you backed away in a fearful shock, discovering that you apparently didn’t kill the Mirialan Inquisitor.

“It’s you!” The Eighth Sister exclaimed at her discovery, the longing to exact her vengeance on you immediately took over her actions, she briskly ignited her lightsaber, ready for a second round.

“No, you’re not taking another step!” Cal growled.

“Screw that, I’m gonna get a go at her for dropping rocks on me!”

“I SAID NO!!!” Cal, with a great ferocity, roared again and stretched out his arm at the Eighth Sister and an unseen wave—as violent at the Fourth Brother’s in their first encounter—threw her right back into the metal hallways and locking her there in the process by busting the control panel.

You witnessed how strong Cal had become—obviously stronger than you—and wondered if this was the work of the Grand Inquisitor and the Dark Side that has seeped into him. All of a sudden, your fear of him was starting to outweigh your love for him.

It felt like time had stopped ticking for that one moment.

Cal’s heart pounded loudly through his chest, despite the flurry of emotions wounding between you and him, it was beating rather in a calm rhythm.

Every plea you uttered, echoed and then drowned by the eruption of geysers. The hot wind pricking your cheeks. Your breathing was unstable and shaky, gasping in hiccupping beats as you fought back tears.

You cannot deny it: his descent was imminent.

“Please, Cal,” you stepped closer to him so that you reach to touch his face. “Stop this. Stop this and come home with me.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Don’t you see that this is the better choice? A choice that either you or I should have done a long time ago?”

You unconsciously shake your head, but he didn’t notice.

“[y/n], if only you knew how it feels, all this…” he looked at his hands, then looked around him, gesturing at the expanse of the Empire’s hold. “This power, it’s something I’ve never ever felt in my whole life!”

“Please stop, you’re scaring me, Cal…” you cracked.

“Stay here with me, I’ll protect you like I always do—I’ve become stronger already, [y/n]! All this strength that’s been hiding within me, this is what it only needed for me to finally get a hold of it. The Inquisitors won’t dare lay a finger on you. We’ll always be together—like we’ve always planned, haven’t we? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“But not like this!” you bellowed, still struggling to suppress the tears welling up in your eyes. “This is NOT how I wanted that! You of all people should know that!”

He continued to justify himself. It was for the best, he says. This could do some much good that you two have been lacking all this time, he presses. A twisted smile curled in his face alarmed you, though you remained stubborn with yourself, you had hoped to convince him back.

Your heart broke and ached so much that you felt your chest suffocating you.

“This isn’t you… This isn’t who you really are!” you said shakily, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know the person I’m looking at anymore!”

Cal’s lips parted, his once-soft expression quickly morphed into a face seething with rage and greed.

“Please, don’t make me do this…” your voice quivered as you hesitated to reach for the hilt on your belt.

“It doesn’t have to be this way!” Cal roared, fighting to get you to his side—not the other way around.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,”

You didn’t even realize that your hand was moving on its own, your fingers clamped around the elegant cylinder and gave a quick tug.

“And that is why I will do what I must.”

One lightsaber being ignited was followed by another.

Your eyes trailed blankly to the beam of light, a second beam was ignited, appearing out of the other end of his hilt.

There was no other way to settle this. Both of you positioned yourselves in stances. As quick as the blink of an eye, both of you lunged at each other until your lightsabers hissed and sparked as they collided. Cal shifted all his weight on his deflect in an attempt to stagger you, but you withdrew and restarted your stance.

He’s gotten more aggressive. You analyzed as the two of you circled one another, you wagered that it was a new lightsaber form he’s picked up but it’s impossible—even for an Inquisitor, let alone a fledgling Inquisitor.

To his advantage, Cal has read your moves—none of which were new—and knew exactly when and where you were open; though, he took the liberty of going easy on you—he remembers that you hated that, it always felt like you were being robbed of a challenge and a lesson altogether, resulting to you throwing a tantrum in the form of reckless moves and attack patterns.

The meeting of your sabers procured a blinding light for every collision, the weapons hummed and snarled violently when one of you deflected the other, you gracefully evaded his lethal dash strikes; in frustration, he turned to you, teeth clenched and bared, and then prepares for another attack.

Is he trying to kill me or apprehend me? You pondered in that second. It doesn’t matter. I have to fight!

It occurred to you that for once in your life, you never imagined that you would be crossing blades with Cal in this kind of predicament. This couldn’t be what the Force willed, could it? It felt like a premature joke, a cruel prank at you—it was bull, you thought. The anger was growing in you; little by little, it manifested in your strikes until you were at par with your boyfriend’s caliber. While it was satisfying, you knew you had to be better—you forced the anger to recede, remembering all of your training in the space of a second, and the words your master and Cere spoke that burned into your mind.

“The Dark Side could make you grow so much stronger than this,” Cal hummed.

“And be a prisoner of it? I don’t think so!”

The floor beneath your feet shook and rumbled, later realizing that you’ve stepped onto the elevator. When the lift had hoisted you a mere three feet up from the ground, Cal wasn’t letting you get away from him—he somersaulted effortlessly and attempted to land a strike on you, much to his chagrin, you deflected it again.

“Good block,”

“Thanks, I take after you!”

The duel dragged on as the elevator brought you to the upper levels of the fortress. You elbowed Cal in the stomach, hoping that the few seconds of his staggering would buy you some time; you ran off of the elevator and found yourself in what you assumed to be a control center, you used the Force to seal the doors behind you.

“[y/n], are you still there? We don’t have much time, their command ship has picked up the Mantis in their radar!” Cere crackled through your comlink.

“I’m here! Tell Greez to make the Mantis do a fly-by at the upper level of the fortress, I’ll find my way to you!”

The doors didn’t barricade Cal from you for long. The two of your continued the duel, slashing up the computers and terminals in the process.

“If you knew better, you wouldn’t let this battle drag on!” Cal bantered again.

“If you knew better, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place!” you clapped back.

An Imperial security droid awoke from the sound of your skirmish; unable to identify friend or foe between the two of you, the tall, human-like droid charged at Cal and picked up the boy with great ease. The young fallen Jedi kicked his legs in the air, trying to break free from the droid’s surprisingly strong grip.

The droid somewhat did you a favor and afforded you mere seconds to flee. You ran to the outdoor balcony overlooking the operations of the facility below; there were some pipes that connected this level to a higher one. You looked over your shoulder and saw the droid slam Cal hard into the ground—it was so strong that the impact of his back against the metal floor caused it to quake. It somewhat hurt you more than it hurt Cal.

There was no time to lose. Slowly but steadily, you stepped onto the narrow width of the pipes with both of your arms extended but relaxed.

“Don’t look down,” you chanted to yourself at every step, trying to calm down. “Don’t look back.”

The young redhead made quick work of getting rid of the droid and then returned his attention to you. He ran to the balcony and saw you were halfway across the pipes to the high platform; you’ve already jumped up to the pipe above your head and shimmied through. Instead of following you in the same route, he looked to his side and wall-ran to another, much thicker, pipe.

You saw him at the corner of your eye but you ignored him, concentrating on setting foot onto the platform. Unexpectedly, he directed his focus on the second, upper pipe you were standing on and used the Force to pull it. From the distance, you could hear the throttle of the Mantis.

They’ve come through! You thought with great relief.

The rusty pipe groaned as it loosened from Cal’s Force-pull, you lost your footing in effect but you hugged the beam until you figured it was safe to stand on it again. You watched Cal easily balancing on his pipe and reaching the wide platform first.

“That son of a—!” you growled and bolted through the pipe, making a run for it instead of going gently. Each step you brought on the pipe was a burden, it creaked and slowly you can feel it falling apart under your feet.

You took a leap of faith and made it through the gap. You propped yourself back on your feet and reignited your lightsaber. Cal wasn’t letting this fight end so easily and quickly, and neither were you. Lightsabers intercrossed once again, attempting to overpower the other by the shifting your weights on blocks and strikes, refusing to end up in a stalemate both of you forced each other’s strength against the other—in turn, sparks have begun to spew out of the blades.

Cere was searching for you and Cal in the tower, Greez kept the Mantis hovering by the fortress in a close distance for Cere to find you. The lightsabers were enough of a beacon for her to easily spot you. Leaning close to the windshield, she pointed at the platform here the pipes have led you and Cal to.

“Look, there they are!”

“Hold on, I gotta maneuver the old girl!” Greez strained at the wheel as he makes a sharp turn with the Mantis.

You looked to the Mantis for one second and knew that Greez is preparing to hover the ship close. You turn back to Cal—in a final, hopeful attempt, you pleaded to him.

“Cal… Please, can we go home?”

“I can’t go back anymore,”

The fire in his eyes, stoked and illuminated by the mingling colors of your lightsabers, burned differently. When you discovered that glint in his jade eyes, you looked at him as if he was someone else. A whole, new person.

A stranger.

He can feel your strength ebbing, about to fumble any minute now; but you gathered the remaining power you have in you and pushed him away, stealing his chance of ever landing a strike at you—with this newfound frenzy, you denied him an opening to hit back, not even a single jab. The strikes that he blocked from you were noticeably stronger than before.

You kicked him in the abdomen, enough to make him stagger away a few steps away from you, and your next move is what surprised him the most in the entirety of this duel.

You aim your outstretched hand at him and then a powerful ripple emitted out of your open palm. Out of the blue, Cal was stiff as a board, stuck in a painfully arching posture as he stood with his chest sticking out, causing his back to camber in a wide, convex curve. This was entirely different from his Force-Slow. He’s ultimately stuck in place. Not a single muscle was allowed to twitch. A single jerk of a finger felt like he’d sprain it if he tried.

You yourself were surprised at what you had done. You gawked at your hands at the discovery of this once-dormant ability.

Behind your back, you could hear Cere calling your name.

“[Y/N], COME ON!”

From the distance, ion cannons from the TIE Fighters whistled as they fired at the Mantis and tremendously missed by a hair.

Seeing that it’s hopeless to convince Cal, you directed your concentration on his lightsaber and pulled it away from his hand; then you turned tail and booked it towards the Mantis hovering by the railings. You closed the gap between the platform and the ship. You almost made it as you landed on your stomach; Cere cautiously approached you and grabbed you by the arm as she helped you pull yourself up. You held onto the bar of the entry ramp and looked back: Cal remained standing there, still stuck in the influence of your Force-Halt. His face was crumpled with great anger as he watched the Mantis prepare for takeoff—a part of you understood if a fraction of that anger was for you.

This is the last time your eyes meet.

You retreated into the ship and threw yourself on the co-pilot seat and started typing out coordinates. Meanwhile, the crew was staring at a frozen Cal on the platform through the windshield. They—especially Cere—couldn’t believe what they're seeing. A thought was bothering her the whole time as well, and much like you, the sight of Cal is what confirmed her theory.

“H-Hey, wai—what are you doing?!? What about Cal!?” Greez yapped in confusion.

“GREEZ, JUST GO!”

Startled, he pressed buttons on the dashboard with all of his four arms in the speed of lightning before cranking the lever and the Mantis fled out of the planet. Greez told the entire crew to hold on as he dodged all of the cannons that the TIE Fighters blasted at the Mantis—you felt all of your organs spin out of their place as the ship performed a 360 and then jump into lightspeed. Your knees were already weak from the altitude and the duel, but it felt like your caps have dissolved and turned into broth with Greez’s daredevil stunts with the Mantis.

While the ship sped through the tunnel of blue light, you finally afforded to catch your breath. You almost forgot that you had Cal’s lightsaber in your clutches. Just by holding it, you could feel the emotions that he has imprinted on it—fear, desperation, and even hate. These were emotions that you knew would be the last thing to stay in Cal’s mind.

Though, you figured that the young redhead that you tried so hard to lure out of that wrath-filled husk of a man could be just that—a shell, an image. You held the hilt close to your heart as you leaned back slumping against the co-pilot seat.

Greez and Cere exchanged glances, torn between give some comforting words or letting you be in your silence; but Cere sensed that the latter would be the best thing to do for you.

“[y/n], why don’t you… lie down in your room for a while?” Cere cooed in a motherly tone.

You swiveled your chair to face her, she shoots a gentle look at you, slightly motioning her head at the direction of the quarters. Without a word, you obliged.

The room has never felt so empty. It’s like stepping into it for the first time and not knowing what to do, expect, and say. You placed Cal’s lightsaber on the workbench along with yours. You approached the narrow bed and found his scrapper’s poncho sitting there. Unconsciously, you take it and let your fingers run across the matted fabric, giving off the musk of combined rainwater and gear oil.

BD-1 hopped off of your shoulder as you sat down, you continued to feel the cloth and let it squish through the spaces between your fingers.

“Boo-woop?”

“I’m okay, BD…” you mumbled.

“Boooo…” he lowed sadly.

“Yeah, I miss him too…”

You curled up into a ball lying down on your side, with Cal’s poncho held close to your heart and BD-1 nestling by your side as you dozed off in a hushed sob.

Meanwhile, Cal had already broken off from your Force-Halt, pounding the metal floor with his fists in agony more than anger as he regained his bearings. The Grand Inquisitor found him in a complete disarray, although he dismissed as a tantrum.

“Oh come now, you could’ve bested her if it weren’t for her ship,”

“I… I thought she’d want to be with me…” he mumbled, confused and disappointed like a child. And then he suddenly snapped. “Now she’s fled with the Holocron!”

“Which I believe you will make quick work of… after your training.”

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor,” Cal hissed, his mood immediately shifting into a calm yet ominous demeanor as he followed the Grand Inquisitor into the fortress.

TO BE CONTINUED…