#emelyn stone

[throneofsapphics]

Hey! Hope you're doing better mentally ❤

I was hoping we could get something (anything honestly, I'm not picky 😂) on Lorcan's kid?

Take your time!

Here have a cookie 🍪

falling down with you

Reader (Elorcan’s Daughter) x Manorian’s son 

Summary: You spend an afternoon with your boyfriend

Warnings: none

A/N: thank you for the request & cookie! Hopefully this fits what you had in mind. Manorian’s son is Orion :). Ignore my very creative title

You supposed it was a “long time coming,” but it still felt quick. One day, you were kissing your best friend and the next you were entangled in each others arms, perched on a rock in your favorite forest clearing in Perranth. 

Emelyn, your nosy older sister, always knew and did her best to cover for you. Why were you hiding again? Right - he was terrified of your father, as any sane man would be. Granted, you were terrified of his mother, well she’s adored - as much as a witch can - you as a child, but dating her son was a bit … different. Orion, the second son of the King of Adarlan. 

But, with the beautiful man next to you, it was easy to ignore the feeling that your luck was about to run out, that you’d be caught sooner rather than later.

“I missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“We saw each other last week,” you elbowed his side. You’d missed him too, dearly, but like your father affection didn’t quite come naturally. “I still think we should run away together,” you teased. 

“The hell you are,” your father’s voice filled the clearing, you didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, eyes murderous. 

Panicked, you didn’t first thing you thought of and shoved Orion off the rock. 

A loud oof, a satisfied grunt, and your yelp. Hands shoving down cold stone, dress catching on the various crevices, you tumbled next to him. Inches from the ground, you knew it would hurt and squeezed your eyes shut. Twin tendrils of magic caught you, one the black of death, the other magic in its purest and rawest form. Orion had received no such courtesy from your father, and you weren’t surprised.

The magic gently lowered you to the ground and you flopped on your back, staring up at the sky and avoiding everyone around you. Gods, this was mortifying. 

Orion, next to you, was laughing - bent in half.

“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered half heartedly. 

“You already tried,” he countered. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Emelyn burst into the clearing, her girlfriend - Rowan and Aelin’s daughter - hot on her heels. The duo were inseparable. 

She shot you an apologetic look. 

“Well,” her girlfriend said. “Cats out of the bag - when’s dinner?” 

[00-little-worlds-00]

Angel of Grief or Weeping Angel on a grave stone is said to signify that a person has died in an accident and their guardian angel has failed to save them.

One of the most well known is the Angel of Grief sculpted in 1894 by William Wetmore Story for the grave of his wife Emelyn Story at the Protesant Cemetery in Rome. Its full title bestowed by the creator was The Angel of Grief Weeping Over the Dismantled Alter of Life.

However these two are just my ocs. I just thought the fact above was neat

Character(s): Sirius, Robert

Story: Till Death Do Us Part

[sisterforsaken]

HEADCANON : a study in haunted memories

after her second resurrection, mary is done with london. the city holds too many memories for her, too many gravestones, and she leaves without looking back. she makes her way through europe and her path is a bloody one. she sustains herself on any human she can get her hands on. she does not discriminate - men, women and even children fall to her hunger. she becomes a nightmare, a story parents tell to their children to invoke fear and she does not care. as long as it gets her away from the rotten city that had taken so much from her, she is content to be a thing of nightmares.

her travels eventually lead her to america and that is where she settles in her new life. mary does not return to london until 2018, a hundred years later. she does not really know what provokes it - perhaps it’s the mark of the century or simply an incessant curiosity she can’t seem to shake.

she flies there and lands in an unfamiliar bustle of human life. the nights are electric and the city does not sleep like it used to. she finds comfort in that, knowing she is not the only creature of the dark. her first stop is west end in search of her family’s home. not surprising, it was demolished and replaced by a row of similarly designed homes. no trace of the reid family exists there anymore, save for the graveyard.

she finds her mother’s grave there, cracked and worn by time. she takes time to tend to it and revive it until “EMELYNE REID, 1853-1919” can be read on the stone. she does the same for her husband’s grave and her son’s, whose were almost lost to the overgrowth. for her brother there is no grave. and her own had been replaced by other bodies long ago. she stays in london for some time and finds it no longer haunts her as it did so long ago. in fact, she’s even eager to explore and taste what london has to offer.

what she does not realize is london has not forgotten mary reid. and old eyes lurk in the dark. waiting.

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

xvii. novel

“you… you want him to be able to do what?”

“don’t treat me like a fucking idiot. you heard me.”

“but to… to extend the aether that far, to attune it that… that highly?”

“it’s possible, then.”

“... you’re not asking me that. you’re telling me, emelyn.”

“you’re damn right i am. he will do this. otolin must.”

“if this works, emelyn, he’ll be…”

“he’ll be everything he needs to be.”

“everything you want him to be.”

“yes. is that a fucking problem?”

“... no.”

“good. we mold the stone into something stronger.”

“...”

“every fucking Fist breaks against steel.”

[set-in-stone-writing]

Two

cw: this piece contains depiction of violence, blood, and harsh language.

The dark and ancient places of the world.

They were like a second home to you.

The cracked stone, Crumbling foundations, Unsteady steps.

You reveled in them. You appreciated their silence, the way you could take one step And be both heard and unheard in the same breadth.

Opening the first allowed you freedom. You could travel to the fringes of your world, And right as you discovered how big it was? It’s then they would pull you right back in.

Back to training. To torture. You remember asking yourself: “What’s the fucking difference?”

She’d tell you there wasn’t one.

So one day, you scurried off To one of those places, Where you too could become dark, ancient, and unbothered.

What a dream. What a day. What devastation it all led to.

She tracked you down, intent on bringing you back. So you did what felt natural. You fought.

Master and student.

Mother and son.

An unstoppable object, and an immovable force- No, no, the phrase is the other way around. Actually, what’s the fucking difference?

Even when she opened one, two, three- Your one was enough to keep her at bay. The feeling of levin lancing you through the solar plexus, As she caught Him, that exalted feeling, in the crown.

But then she opened the fourth, And the Mother/Master became something else entirely: Mutilation. Death by a thousand strikes, like knives darting in and out of the dark.

But she forgot something important.

The dark and ancient places of the world are often the ones defined by conflict. Whether by blood or book, by thought or torn asunder.

It’s why you still think of them as home to a degree. It’s why you did then. So you called upon the energies of such a place in the midst of combat.

The pain of your dozen wounds paled in comparison, To the feeling at the base of your spine, the way it dragged you down to your knees, And made you feel the earth.

The rock. The dirt. The gravel. The Stone.

It’s then you learned for the first time how to become both immovable and unstoppable.

Even if your skin still tore, and your bones broke, and your-

(One day, you’d learn to become immovable.) (Unstoppable.) (Invincible. But that day wasn’t the one.)

You fought back, and pushed. Pulled. Shattered her sternum, and then-

Then you collapsed. His burden is one you couldn’t just bear yet. But in time, you would. A tale for another day.

It makes sense you opened your second in such a place.

The dark and ancient places of the world.

They were like a second home.

[steliosagapitos]

               ~ “A graduate of Harvard College and Law School, William Watmore demonstrated his passion for art, abandoning the legal profession to devote himself to sculpture as well as poetry. Once moved to Rome in 1856, William and his wife Emelyn lived a long and fulfilling life in their home in Palazzo Barberini, surrounded by art and beauty, having become their home a fervent meeting place for Italian writers, musicians and artists. and foreigners. On the death of his wife, the goal of his life became to create a last, wonderful statue for his beloved wife, to be placed over her grave. Thus, was born the Angel of Grief, still located today in the non-Catholic cemetery of Rome, also known as the English or Testaccio cemetery. The monument became so famous that it ended up inspiring countless replicas, present in various cemeteries around the world. The angel is kneeling in front of a pedestal, with his head resting on his arm, while he is crying with his face hidden. His hand dangles helplessly over the front of the pedestal, and the well detailed curvature of the fingers lends an incredible feeling of sadness and emptiness to the entire front of the sculpture. Some stone flowers are scattered at the base of the pedestal, as if the angel had made them fall gripped by pain in a moment of despair. Even the wings, which would normally stand tall, straight and proud, are sadly curved and full of grace on the angel's back, giving the impression that he has lost hope. The body has almost completely abandoned itself to its pain and the sensation that the work transmits is of excruciating humanity.” ~

[strivia]

Late reply, but such a fun tag from @takadasaiko.

Rules: Shuffle your ‘On Repeat’ playlist and post the first 10 tracks, then tag 10 friends.

Ancient History by Set It Off

Friends on the Other Side (Disney Villain Mash-Up) by Thomas Sanders

We Have It All by Pim Stones

plot line by emelyn

Go Tonight by Krystina Alabado & Emman Hunton

Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab

Love Was Made To Break by Andy Black

Drugs & Candy by All Time Low

Choke by Royal & The Serpent

Moon by The Cab

Tagging @uttermywish, @thatfaerieprincess, @occasionallygiveadamn, @pepperf, @fuck-you-i-am-spiderman, and anyone else who wants to,  consider this your tag.

[dragons-ire]

#17 - Destruct

CW: Violence

Emelyn Stone's little shit-heeled crony was a person when it started and an obliterated waste of flesh when it was over The fiery explosion that ignited the air around him. It spread to the scrubby grass and plants on either side of the trail

It was because of that kid The one that looked fit to piss himself When Breandan's lance struck true Right through his buddy's ribcage His hands went up, and she made her move: No surrender. Surrender is death After that, the choice was simple:

He'd always had a soft spot for kids who were in over their heads

The Thanalan sun was beating down overhead The air was stiflingly hot Still, it was a nice view from fifteen fulms up Like for a moment He was doing nothing but sightseeing Soaking up the sunlight Until his lance turned and he turned with it And down he went

She prayed to a meteor, didn't she? Guess it's time to meet your god

When it was over When he was certain that he had made his extreme displeasure adequately clear He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the party

Otolin was standing there as still as the Stone of his namesake Non-eyebrows drawn together Like he didn't know what he was seeing Or that he did know And just didn't know what to say

And Severine Looked like she was going to be sick The way she always had At the sight of blood At the sight of him spilling it

Understandable This isn't what you were when she last knew you

Not too bad for a plain old lancer With his plain old lance Now was it?

Well

At least now they all know

[lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr]

Trouble Brews

⚔︎ Pairing: Jungkook x OC

⚔︎ Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Knight!Jungkook, Knight!Hoseok, Wizard!Yoongi, King!Namjoon, Prince!Taehyung, Prince!Jimin, Brothers!Yoonjin

⚔︎ Warnings: mentions of abusive relationships, forced marriages, mentions of minor character death

⚔︎ Rating: 13+

⚔︎ Synopsis: Prince Jimin and the king’s ward, Emelyn, decide to take it into their own hands to find out if the legends are true, and if they are, return the knight to the kingdom. 

⚔︎ Masterlist

“Legend speaks of a fearless knight.”

“Nelly, not again.” I groaned, propelling myself up onto the counter.

Nelly ignored my plea and continued on as if I weren’t there. “An invincible being who once protected the kingdom single-handedly against an entire army.”

“You know that’s not possible right? It is physically impossible for any one man to defeat an entire army.”

“It tells a tale of bravery and honor. A knight so strong he could move mountains, sent to protect us from the terror of the moon dragon. Before the reign of King Namjoon began, before peace was formed between the nations, the moon dragon reigned over them all. Terrorizing the kingdoms with a ruthless vengeance. Vengeance for the extinction of its own kind. A vendetta which only the Phantom Knight could stop.”

I rolled my eyes. “Must we do this now?”

“It is by the bravery and skill of the Phantom Knight alone that our kingdom remains standing to this day.”

“Alright, now you just sound ridiculous.”

“Though it was not often the knight would bleed, as no one could ever touch him, those who claim to have seen him hit say his blood runs golden. One touch from the golden blood and you are granted eternal youth. So, you see, our kingdom may never need worry, for if you look to the horizon, you may see a magnificent man atop a mighty steed, patrolling the lands and keeping watch. For to this day, the knight protects the kingdom under the reign of King Namjoon and Prince Jimin. If either were to be cut from the thrown and another took their place, the knight’s protection would cease, leaving us to fend for ourselves against the enemy’s attacks. He will only serve the royal family. There will never be anyone else he will serve. Perhaps this is why others are so keen on taking the throne. For without the knight’s protection, the kingdom would fall prey to those who wish to take it.”

I rolled my eyes at the eccentric woman. Nelly was an excellent cook, yet she had a flare for the dramatics. “You know as well as I do this phantom knight does not exist.” Nimble fingers snatched an apple from the basket in Nelly’s arms as she passed by. “It is King Namjoon’s brilliant mind and Prince Jimin’s unrivaled battle strategies that keep us safe.”

Nelly regarded me solemnly, as if she pitied me. “The King’s ward would believe such lies.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean no disrespect, Milady,” she stammered, “of course we have the brightest King in all the kingdoms.”

I took a bite of the apple, crunching on it loudly as I thought over her words. “It’s not because I’m the King’s ward that I do not believe in this knight of yours. It has more to do with the fact that I’ve done my own research on the subject. There are many tales surrounding his name, and yet he doesn’t seem to have a name to speak of. No one has ever seen him, and it is physically impossible for anyone’s blood to be golden.” I dropped the hard facts on her with no remorse. Nelly may have been my best friend, but she lacked the common sense of most every other individual.

Nelly’s head shook sadly as she clicked her tongue at me. “You kids and the need for proof of everything.” She waved her mixing spoon in my direction. “Isn’t it enough that he protects us? Whoever this knight is, he has done his job well. I can’t bear to think what would happen if he were to cease his watchful eye.”

“Knight or no knight, as long as our kingdom is protected, I am happy.”

“Spoken like a true royal.” Nelly chuckled softly, her feet lightly padding against the stone floor as she busied herself with dinner. “Should the kingdom ever need it, you would make a wonderful leader. I dare say you love the people of this kingdom as much as our dear Prince Jimin.”

A soft smile painted itself across my lips. Jimin was the reason I loved this kingdom so dearly. For it was he who showed me just how wonderful it truly was. I could still remember the day he took me down into the villages, disguised as bakers, armed with cart loads of Nelly’s baked goods. He had introduced me to the people, showed me the beauty of the land. From that moment on, I had vowed to myself that I would do everything in my power to protect this land and all the people in it.

The moon rose to claim the sky as the sun slowly sank away, allowing millions of stars to blanket the now dark expanse. The castle was still. There were not many who remained awake. The king had sent most of the servants off to their quarters for the evening. 

I sat across from Jimin, watching as he poked at his food, occasionally glancing up to catch my gaze. Namjoon sat at the head of the table, his plate of food completely untouched as his fingers slowly massaged his head and a frown darkened his features. Something was bothering him, though it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to share.

A loud silence filled the room for most of the meal until Jimin finally spoke, “Is it true what they say? Prince Taehyung is coming here?” Excitement brimmed at the edge of his words. It was no secret the two were best friends, despite coming from neighboring kingdoms who had a tendency to fight more often than speak.

Namjoon shifted uneasily in his chair, his frown deepening slightly. “It is true.” 

Jimin beamed. “Is his presence a call of duty or has he simply missed me so terribly he couldn’t stay away any longer?”

I rolled my eyes at him, plucking another grape off the vine on my plate.

Namjoon’s eyes drifted over to me for a moment with a clear shine of uncertainty. “The Prince is coming to discuss relations on his father’s behalf.”

“Excellent!” Jimin beamed. “Without the old sot, we may be able to come to an agreement this year.”

I bit my tongue and quickly raised my goblet to my lips in an attempt to hide the grin.

Namjoon shot Jimin a sharp glare. “Watch your tongue, boy. We will not disrespect King Merek in such a way, simply because he is not here.”

Jimin lowered his head and had the decency to look ashamed. “I apologize my Lord, but isn’t it true? It is because of him that our kingdoms have been at odds with each other for so long. Without him here to dictate how this exchange happens, we may be able to come to an agreement.”

Namjoon nodded thoughtfully. “This is what I am hoping for.”

I eyed the king warily. There was something he wasn’t telling us. This wasn’t simply an ordinary meeting between kingdoms. Another motive lay hidden beneath his actions.

Jimin was the first to speak on this, having come to the same conclusion as I had. “This is wonderful news, yet there is something you’re not telling us.”

Namjoon cringed at his accusation but didn’t deny it.

“What is it? You know you can confide in us. Nothing you say will leave this room.” I said, urging him to finally speak the whole truth.

“I prefer not to speak of it at the dinner table.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Codswallop. It is only the three of us here tonight. You can speak your mind.” He unceremoniously leaned across the table, resting his chin on his folded hands. “Best to inform us now, rather than have us discover the true nature of this visit later.”

“I hate when you speak sense.” Namjoon grumbled. “Very well then, I suppose it would do good to tell you both now.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly growing anxious. I didn’t like the way his eyes kept trailing over to me, remorse clouding them. 

“Taehyung is coming because,” Namjoon took a deep breath, as if to raise his own courage before continuing, “we may have found an exchange that will settle all bad blood between our kingdoms.”

Jimin sat up a little straighter at his words. “This is wonderful news, is it not? You told me only last month about your doubts of ever finding peace with the Kim line.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Jimin gaped at him. “Are you sure you’re not ill, my King? This should be a time for celebration, and yet you look as though you are about to face the executioner.”

I watched the king expectantly as I raised my goblet once more. “Care to share with the rest of us?”

“Taehyung is coming to discuss your marriage arrangements.”

I choked, spewing my drink across the table. 

“Ugh,” Jimin groaned, wiping my spit off his face.

I turned to the King. “He’s coming to arrange our WHAT?”

“Calm down, Emelyn.” 

I stood dramatically, knocking over my goblet in the process and sending the contents trailing across the wooden table. “I will not calm down! You promised me there would never be any marriages. You promised, when I came under your care that I would not have to endure another forced engagement.” Tears threatened to spill but I angrily blinked them away.

“Why would you go behind her back in such a way?” Jimin asked, jumping in to defend me. “This very kingdom is built upon trust. The very trust which you have broken today.”

Namjoon ignored the Prince’s accusations, his attention kept strictly on me. “Will you not do this? Will you refuse to help your kingdom?”

I choked on my words as I tried to form a reasonable reply. I wasn’t even a member of the royal family. Not truly. It was true I would do anything to protect the kingdom, but this?

“I can’t, Namjoon.” I said, dropping all formality. In that moment, I was speaking to him as an equal. As a brother. Not as my King. “Not after what happened last time.”

Jimin quietly padded around the table and draped himself over my shoulders in a comforting hug. I leaned into him, welcoming the embrace. My mind now reeled with all the memories I had tried so hard to bury. Memories of him. Memories of that night.

“Emelyn, listen to me,” Namjoon said softly. It was clear he had been prepared for this conversation. He knew what my reaction would be, and he had been ready for it. “Taehyung is nothing like Borin. Of that I can promise.”

“Even I can testify to that,” Jimin said, “yet I still think it unfair to subject Emelyn to such a fate. Wasn’t her last betrothal painful enough?”

Namjoon ignored him and instead leaned over further in an attempt to meet my eyes, which I reluctantly allowed. “We were all fools for even striving toward an alliance with that king. The fact that they attempted to infiltrate this kingdom through you was unforgivable. It is the reason that castle no longer stands.” Namjoon sat back, his arms flying through the air slightly. “Why, even the phantom knight stepped up to defend you.”

I scoffed. “The phantom knight. There is no such thing and you all know it! If everyone here weren’t so obsessed with an imaginary figure, then perhaps they’d be able to have a bit of curtesy for the people around them.” Shaking Jimin off me, I stormed from the room, leaving the two men gaping after me.

I refused to speak to Namjoon after that. He had made the decision to allow Taehyung’s visit to proceed as planned, despite both Jimin’s and my own protests. Jimin loved Taehyung. They were the closest friends I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and yet he remained on my side, never once wavering. For that, I was eternally grateful.

“Perhaps it would not be quite as bad as you think,” Nelly said 

My hands froze, hovering over the potatoes I had been chopping. “Nelly!”

She held her hands up to try and calm me, though the knife in her hand was more unsettling than reassuring. “Perhaps it’s a bit bold of me to say, but I believe Prince Taehyung would make a fine match for you.”

“That is far too bold.” I resumed my chopping, a bit more aggressively than before.

“He’s a fine man. Prince Jimin’s best friend. The three of you are together all the time. Surely it wouldn’t be so terrible to be his wife?”

“You don’t get it. I can’t take another husband. Not again.”

Nelly’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, her eyes soft and reassuring. “I’m not telling you to agree. I’m only saying that you should consider the King’s words with an open heart. If it truly is best for the kingdom, there are far worse men you could end up with.”

I hated that her words made sense. I hated that I couldn’t conjure up an opposing reason to her statement. I hated that I began thinking, she may be right.

Kim Taehyung, Prince to our neighboring kingdom and Jimin’s best friend. We had been friends for as long as I could remember. Ever since the day he and Jimin went out riding despite their fathers having just broken any connections between their kingdoms. I had tagged along without anyone realizing. Jimin and Taehyung had been far better riders than I was and though I had tried to follow their path, my reckless actions nearly got me killed. If the boys had not been there, I would have died that day. Since then, there had been nothing that could tear us apart. Until now.

Tae had hardly looked at me since his arrival. Things between us had never been so awkward. Jimin tried to relieve the tension but to no avail. Eventually, Taehyung and I found ourselves sitting together on the stone bench in the gardens, Jimin having left us for a moment to fetch a few snacks. Whether food would be the magic cure for this awkward situation or not, I wasn’t sure, yet it was worth a try.

My eyes remained glued to the purple flowers that grew by my feet as Tae shifted nervously in his seat. My mind, although racing with unwanted thoughts, seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was having a hard time processing everything. It still didn’t seem real. Taehyung, one of my best friends since I had been six was sitting beside me, not as a friend but as my potential betrothed. 

“Emelyn?” Taehyung broke the silence, though I failed to hear him the first few times he said my name.

“Hmm?” I slowly blinked up at him, attempting to refocus my jumbled thoughts.

He watched me for a moment, waves of uncertainty wafting off him. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for that. “I talked with Jimin earlier,” he started slowly, as if to gauge my reaction, “I think I understand why you don’t want this.”

“Tae -”

“No, Emelyn, it’s alright. I get it, and I am not going to force you into anything.” He kept an unwavering eye contact that made me feel a bit uneasy yet was, at the same time, reassuring. “I only ask that you don’t dismiss the idea immediately. Allow yourself some time to think about it. I promise, if you were to accept, I would not dare to treat you wrongly.”

“I know, Tae,” my voice shook slightly but I refused to look away, “I know.”

He took my hand in his and gently began rubbing circles across my skin. “You would make a wonderful queen. I know you love the people of my kingdom just as much as you do your own.” He smiled softly, his eyes dropping down to our enclosed hands, “I’ve always liked you, Emelyn. If you’re willing, I really do think we could make a good team.”

My mouth hung open at his sudden confession. Perhaps I had been too preoccupied with beating them in everything we did, but I had never known he had feelings for me. My guilt doubled. If I were to deny him now, would I be hurting him?

I decided to answer with a pitiful attempt at humor, “Was that your weak attempt at a proposal?”

He smiled sheepishly and slid his hand out of mine. “Perhaps,” he brought his eyes up apprehensively, “was it horrible?”

I laughed lightly. “It could have used some work.”

Just then, Jimin returned with some fruit and a few of Nelly’s freshly baked rolls. He happily squeezed himself in-between us with a bright smile. “I brought the snacks.”

Taehyung stole a roll from the basket and took a large bite, filling his cheeks with the soft bread, ignoring Jimin’s cry of protest. “I was thinking we should go riding today.”

“Where too?” Jimin questioned.

“Same place we used to. The creek that separates the two kingdoms.”

Before either of us could respond, Namjoon appeared in the garden. “Taehyung, Emelyn, may I see you both for a moment?”

Jimin gave me an encouraging glance as we all slowly got to our feet. Tae offered me a reassuring smile, reinforcing his previous words to me, before following Namjoon back into the castle. 

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment in which my fate was decided. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it, or if I ever would be. For a moment I contemplated running away, disappearing into the crowded streets and avoiding it altogether, but I knew I couldn’t do that. 

Jimin’s hand came to rest on my shoulder and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It will be alright. Just know, no one can force you into this. If they try, I’ll beat them until they’re unable to stand on their own sorry feet.”

A tight-lipped smile was the only response I could muster. With one last shaky breath I followed the others out of the garden.

Jimin found me back inside the gardens later that evening. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. My head pounded as if the knights had been using it for practice. Nothing had gone according to plan. As if there had ever been a plan to begin with. Everything had been so rushed. I hadn’t had time to truly understand what was happening. All I knew was that my future had been at stake and I made the regretful mistake of only thinking of myself. 

“Hey,” he greeted, “care if I join you?” 

I sniffed and motioned for him to have a seat next to me while unceremoniously using the sleeve of my dress to wipe my eyes and nose. Jimin didn’t seem to care, or even notice as he plopped down next to me. 

Flinging his arm across my shoulders, he pulled me into him. “I heard Tae’s father showed himself halfway through.” 

“Mhmm,”

Jimin sighed. “I love Taehyung, but his father is one person I can hardly stand to be near.”

“Jimin,” I said, my voice barely audible, “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

He didn’t say anything at first. I could feel him shift beside me, drawing a bit closer to offer some comfort, but he didn’t push me to say anything.

“It’s King Merek,” I blurted, “he came in unannounced and demanded I return with them to their palace.” The words spilled out of my mouth in a jumbled mess. “I panicked, Jimin. I told him I refused his offer for marriage and that I wouldn’t be going with them. Taehyung stood behind me, but King Merek was furious. He and Namjoon got into an argument and now King Merek has left with a warning that he will be sending his knights to invade. I’ve ruined everything, Jimin. I’ve ruined everything and all because I was too scared to become someone’s wife.”

Jimin took me in his arms and carefully held my trembling body. Still, he didn’t say anything. I was grateful to him for that. He didn’t offer me false reassurance, nor did he sit and blame me for what had happened, even when I knew I would have deserved it. Instead, he whispered calmly to me as we rocked back and forth on the bench together. The words he spoke were of the people. He spoke of the beauty the land held and the kindness of the villagers. He reminded me of everything in the kingdom that had captured my heart. All the days we would slip out of the castle to spend time amongst our people.

“The kingdom still stands despite the mistakes of all those who have ruled before King Namjoon. We are nothing more than human, Emelyn. Mistakes are going to be made. What’s important is how we work to fix those mistakes. Namjoon has amassed the largest and strongest army of any of the kingdoms. King Merek may try to take this land, but he will never succeed. Besides,” he grinned and poked my cheek, “we’ve got the phantom knight on our side.”

I rolled my eyes as I sat up, slipping out of Jimin’s hold. “The phantom knight does not exist. You know that as well as I do.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Have you ever seen him?”

He shook his head and tapped the side of my head. “No one ever has. Remember?”

“Well there you are,” I said, “there is no proof of his existence. How can someone exist if no one has ever seen them?”

“Ah,” Jimin countered with a grin, “but if no one’s ever seen him, who’s to say he doesn’t exist?”

He stood then, leaving me dumbfounded as he strode out of the garden.

The next few nights, I hardly slept. I laid awake, staring at my ceiling and waiting for the sound that would alert the kingdom to King Merek’s invasion. Namjoon had reassured me several times that I had done nothing wrong, and yet the feeling of guilt continued to plague me. Perhaps if I were to ride out and tell them I was willing to accept their offer, there would be no fighting. Perhaps if I did everything I could to make this right, fewer people would suffer.

With a sigh, I pushed myself out of bed. I would be getting no sleep tonight. Grabbing the blanket off the bed, I wrapped it around my shoulders and padded over to the door. Creaking it open slightly, I saw one of Namjoon’s most trusted knights standing guard just outside. The guards around the castle had doubled since Merek’s announcement. Namjoon wasn’t taking any chances. 

The guard, whom I recognized as Hoseok, caught me out of the corner of his eye and his lip twitched up into a small grin. “Young girls should not be out of bed this late at night.” He spoke to no one in particular, though I knew his words were directed at me.

“This young girl is not much younger than you,” I said, “she also holds superiority over you.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Not tonight, Milady. Our King has given me strict orders to keep you in your room.” His smile dropped and his tone became far more serious as he said, “With the impending threats against the kingdom, it is not safe for you to be roaming the castle at night.”

Stepping out of the room, I groaned in frustration as I slid down the wall next to him. “I fear I’ve made a mistake. It is my doings that have put the entire kingdom in the line of danger.”

Hoseok shook his head. “It is no one’s fault but King Merek’s. He is well known for his short temper. Even if the marriage had taken place, he would have found something to anger him. That man has been after this kingdom for as long as anyone can remember.”

“So, I just gave him the excuse he needed to attack,” I hugged my knees to my chest and pulled the blanket tighter around myself, “wonderful.”

“Do not blame yourself, Milady. We will win over his army. Of that I have no doubt.” His signature grin returned. “Besides, we have something King Merek can only dream of.”

I shot him a glare. “If you say the phantom knight, I swear I’ll rip you of your status right here and now.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “What has you so against this knight?” 

“He doesn’t exist!” I shot back. “He’s a myth! A legend! Just as his counterpart, the moon dragon, is. Neither exist and yet everyone is so determined to rely on these legends to save us. If we are to keep this kingdom, people must return to their senses.”

Hoseok frowned, his stance tensing a bit. “The moon dragon exists as well. Of that I am certain.”

“It is just like the knight, no one has ever seen it. What makes it so real?”

“I’ve seen the dragon.” Hoseok’s voice was low.

I watched apprehensively as he crouched down next to me and rolled his sleeve up past his elbow. My breath hitched when I caught sight of it. The long white scar traveled from his elbow down to his wrist and was nearly the width of his entire arm.

“I received this when I was merely six years of age. That was well before Namjoon became king. Before the phantom knight came to our aid. In those days, the moon dragon terrorized the kingdom nearly every night. That was the night my parents were killed. They were both slaughtered by the moon dragon.” Yanking his sleeve back down, Hoseok gave me a hard look. “I know you’ve chosen to believe that these things do not exist, but for the rest of us, they’re very real.” He stood then, his expression cold and blank, returning to his persona as nothing more than my guard. No longer a friend but a protector. 

I hugged my knees closer to my chest as I thought over his words. Jimin had always been so adamant that the knight existed as well. Perhaps there really was some truth to the legends. I had never heard of Hoseok’s past before, though I knew he was one of Namjoon’s most trusted knights. Hoseok had seen us through many battles before. I also knew he had no family to speak of apart from those of us in the castle. Hearing him tell his story now, I saw him in a new light. He wasn’t simply the brave knight with the lame jokes. He was a hero in his own right.

“Milady!” Hoseok’s frantic voice pulled me from my jumbled thoughts, back into the present. 

I peered up at him, a question on my lips when I heard it. The sound I had been dreading for the past few days. The sound I knew had been inevitable and yet I hoped would never sound. 

The warning bells. 

We were under attack.

Hoseok pulled me to my feet and shoved me back inside my room. “Stay there,” he ordered, “do not leave for any reason. Someone will be posted outside your door shortly.” Without another word, he slammed the door shut in my face, locking me inside.

I sat at my window, watching as the knights scrambled about, attempting to prepare themselves before King Merek’s army arrived. I hated sitting idly by. I should be down there, helping. I had trained with Jimin and Taehyung when they were younger. I could wield a sword as well as any man, so why must I be trapped here? Useless? 

My fingers tapped nervously against the scabbard on my waist. I had changed into a simple gown and had strapped my scabbard around my waist, ready to leap into action should the need arise. Should it seem that our men were losing any ground at any time, I would join the fray. Whether the phantom knight existed or not was no longer relevant. 

I watched begrudgingly as the knights collectively drew into formation and rode off to meet the enemy. Amongst the knights, I spotted the King and Hoseok together, leading the rest of the men. I hadn’t seen Jimin, but I supposed I could have merely missed him among the hundreds of other faces. 

A knock at the door caused me to nearly fall off my chair in surprise. “Come in.” I called, quickly pulling myself back together.

My personal maid, Alyse, poked her head around the door and flashed me a quick smile. “I do believe everything is all prepared for you, Milady.”

I gave a curt nod in understanding while rushing to the bed to retrieve my boots from beneath it. My grin grew as I finished lacing them up. Alyse waited for me, just outside the room, my cloak in her arms. 

“Thank you,” I said, gratefully taking it from her. 

“The King won’t much like this at all.” She warned as I passed.

“King Merek has a large army. Despite what Namjoon thinks, they’re going to need every abled body they have.” 

Alyse hurried to keep instep with me. “Are you sure this is wise, Milady?” “Wise or not, it must be done.” 

I yelped in surprise when Jimin stepped around the corner, a knowing look on his face. He bowed his head toward Alyse and quietly dismissed her, thanking her for assisting me. His attention returned to me as soon as she was out of sight. “I know what you’re doing.”

I played dumb, adjusting the scabbard on my waist a bit to avoid looking him in the eye. “I’m not sure what you mean? I am not doing anything.”

“You’re meant to be in your room, for your own safety. A knight was assigned as your guard.”

I shrugged slightly, resuming my trek to the armory. “He never made it.” Jimin grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving. “Drop the act, Emelyn. We know where you’re going and what you’re doing?”

“We?” 

Taehyung stepped around the corner, a sheepish smile on his lips. Both men were dressed for battle, clad in chainmail and each armed with their own swords. The extra sword Taehyung carried did not go unnoticed either. 

I groaned and spun to face Jimin. “I’m not going back to my room. You can’t force me to either. Merek’s army is large, you’re going to need all the help you can get, and I am just as capable of welding a sword as any man.”

“Good,” Taehyung chirped, keeping Jimin from saying anything, “because we need you to come with us.”

“What?”

Jimin shot Taehyung a dirty look. “I still don’t know why we’re bringing you, but Tae insists.”

The taller boy shrugged unapologetically. Reaching out, Taehyung offered me the extra sword he’d been carrying. 

I accepted it with an air of caution. “Where are you two going?”

Jimin’s brows dipped down into a deep frown. “King Merek’s army has grown drastically. Our own men are outnumbered, two to one.”

I gasped and nearly dropped the sword I’d been given. It wasn’t possible. Our army had always been larger than his. How had he managed to grow his army so large without our knowledge? Our kingdom had some of the bravest and most well-trained knights in the country, yet even they couldn’t defeat an army that large. Not on their own.

“It’s bad. The fighting has only just begun and we’re already losing our ground. We’ll never survive the attack at this rate.”

My heart sunk. This had to be a sick joke. We couldn’t lose this battle. 

“We think we might have a solution though.” Taehyung quickly jumped in, having caught on to my distress. “We’re going after the Phantom Knight.”

My head shot up as I looked between the both of them in disbelief. “You’re what?”

“He hasn’t shown. Too many lives are being lost and it won’t be long before Merek’s army takes our own. We need to do something.” Taehyung said.

“Of course, he hasn’t shown!” I said in exasperation. “He. Isn’t. Real.”

Taehyung shook his head in shame. “When you told me, she might not want to go because she didn’t believe, for a while I honestly believed you were joking.”

Jimin sighed. “I know you don’t believe he exists, but we’re going. With or without you. We aren’t forcing you to join us, but we are offering. The choice is yours.”

It didn’t take much thought. I may not have believed the knight existed, but I was willing to do anything to save my kingdom. “Let’s go find ourselves a knight in shining armor.”

“Do either of you even know where we’re going?” I asked, urging my horse up a bit in order to ride between them. “It seems as though we’ve been riding in circles.”

“Ask Taehyung. He’s the one with the map.” Jimin said, somewhat breathlessly from the hard ride.

I turned to Taehyung in surprise. “There’s a map to this knight’s location?”

“Well, no. Not really,” Taehyung frowned as he looked between the map and the dark expanse of fields before us, “more like rumors. Places marked down of where people claim to have seen him. Putting them all together, we can sort of guess where he might reside, but no one is certain.”

“And no one’s ever gone looking for him?” I questioned, my head shooting back and forth between the boys.

“A few have, but no one’s ever been able to find him.” Taehyung said.

“I wonder why.”

“He’s a phantom knight for a reason,” Jimin said, “if he wanted to be found, he’d come live down in the villages with everyone else.”

“Or,” I looked at each of them pointedly, “he simply doesn’t exist.”

“If I’d known you were going to be so cynical the entire journey, I wouldn’t have offered to take you along.” Jimin grumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “You need me. Admit it.”

Jimin sputtered but Taehyung merely shrugged indifferently. “You’ve been training with us since we were kids. The three of us work well as a team. It seemed smart to take you along. There’s safety in numbers, but there is even more safety in numbers who work well together.”

“Seems logical to me,” I pushed my horse a little closer to Jimin’s and nudged his arm with my own, “what’s got you so ruffled.”

“He didn’t want you along.” Taehyung answered for him.

“Why?”

Jimin groaned. “Because you’re my little sister. If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself.”

“I am not technically your sister.” I pointed out.

“You may as well be. My job is to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“You’re not getting it!” Jimin shouted, yanking his horse to a halt and facing me with wild eyes. “Out here, we’re not protected. If the knight never showed himself at the battle raging just outside the castle, he definitely won’t be here to protect us. If anything were to happen, if the moon dragon were to appear-”

“It won’t.” I quickly stopped him. “The dragon won’t appear.”

“Uhm, you may want to rethink that promise a bit.” Taehyung said, his voice small.

“Not now, Tae.”

“No really, you may want to just want to rethink that statement.”

“Look, I get it, there’s no proof the thing doesn’t exist, but that doesn’t mean it’s all just stories either. How are we to know if these things really exist? What if we’re just riding around in circles for nothing while our knights continue to die in battle?”

Jimin threw his head back with a groan. “The phantom knight is our only hope of survival. Can you at least pretend to care for a moment?”

“Guys?”

I scoffed. “I do care! Why else would I be out here arguing with you when I could be on the front lines helping to fight?”

“Guys.”

Jimin motioned in the direction of the castle. “Please, go fight. Perhaps you can talk them all to death as you try to convince everyone that the knight doesn’t exist.”

“Guys!”

I turned to him in annoyance. “What?”

He only raised a shaking hand to point at the sky behind me. 

I rolled my eyes and shoved his hand down. “Now is not the time, Tae.”

He shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. “Turn around.”

With a sigh, I did as he said and instantly, my breath caught in my throat. What looked to be a giant black bird was flying directly toward us – that is if a blackbird had the wingspan of the entire knights’ training grounds.

Jimin nearly fell off his horse. “Th-that’s a – that’s a d-d-” 

“Dragon.” Taehyung breathed.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d heard of dragons before, yet I had never seen one in person. They had nearly gone extinct over the past decade. 

Jimin cursed and I smacked the back of his head for it. We may be under attack from a dragon, but that didn’t leave cause for foul language. Namjoon was constantly reprimanding him for his dirty mouth. 

“Let’s not panic, shall we?” I said, attempting to keep my horse from bolting out from under me. “I’m sure he can hear the sounds of the battle and that’s what is drawing him out. We’re just three people. He’s not going to come for us.” My brows slowly sank into a frown as my words sank in. I’d said it to try and ease the boy’s anxiety, yet it had only managed to raise my own. What if I was right? What if it flew right past us and went straight for the battle? Our army was already losing ground. If a dragon were to join the fray, they wouldn’t survive. 

Despite telling the others to stay calm, fear began controlling my actions, unfiltered fear for our knights and our kingdom. I urged my horse forward, toward the approaching dragon. Jimin and Taehyung shouted after me, but I hardly heard them over the pounding of my own blood in my ears. My horse trembled under me as we raced forward, having put blind faith in my actions. Any other horse would have fought against me, but we’d been a team since she’d first had a saddle placed on her back. We trusted each other completely. In that moment, I truly questioned why. I didn’t even trust myself. Yet she did. 

The dragon didn’t even seem to notice my presence as we approached. I had to change that. I had to get the beast’s attention on me and away from the raging battle. How? How was I meant to draw its attention away from something much larger and more enticing than I was?

Taehyung was the first to catch on. He rode up beside me at a full gallop, winking at me before veering off the right and shouting at the top of his lungs. The dragon cocked its head but didn’t sway its course. Taehyung had the right idea, but it wasn’t enough.

“Jimin!” I shouted, swiveling around to find him still standing several feet away. His face scrunched up as he fought against himself for a few moments before pushing his horse into a gallop. He rode off to my left, joining Taehyung in his shouting match. With a small grin, I joined them.

Our three voices combined were enough to catch the beast’s attention. It screeched and circled above us a few times, its eyes surveying our tiny forms. I shouted for the others to scatter as the beast landed with a bound, its front claw barely missing Taehyung. 

“Hey, you large, scaly beast!” Jimin shouted, bringing his horse around to face the dragon head on. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“The only ones allowed to terrorize our kingdom are the three of us!” I shouted. Taehyung laughed. “We do that plenty. There’s no need for your giant scaly butt to get involved.”

The dragon eyed each of us individually, as if it truly understood our words and was weighing its options. It eyed each of us individually, before its eyes came to rest on me. My breath hitched in my throat. This wasn’t merely some dumb beast. Simply looking into its eyes showed it was likely more intelligent than I was. The large, dark eyes were surprisingly soft and held such a huge contrast to what I had been made to believe. There was nothing reptilian about them. In fact, they appeared almost human. The steam emanating out the creature’s nostrils, along with the large teeth that seemed to be permanently bared, gave the impression it was there for no other reason than to cause destruction and death. But its eyes - its eyes told a different story entirely.

The large eyes blinked, breaking the spell I seemed to have been placed under a moment ago. Taehyung’s frantic shouting broke through the haze around my mind as I was brought back to reality. Jimin’s eyes were wide and frantic as he raced toward the creature, his sword raised above his head. I didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late. With a cry of pain, the dragon swiped at Jimin who had managed to cut through his armor, sending the Prince flying off his horse and back several feet. What I assumed to be blood dripped from the wound on the creature’s snout, a dull golden color. 

The dragon shot its head back in my direction. It looked to the horizon where the sun was beginning to rise and then regarded me once more before spreading its wings and shooting off from the ground. I thought perhaps we were home free as the dragon turned back toward the direction it had come. Though I should have known we would not walk away from a dragon encounter so easily. 

I turned to Jimin with a sigh of relief. “See? I told you we would be alright.” Turning my attention back to the dragon, I watched as it circled above us. “Perhaps we should follow it? If the moon dragon is real, then perhaps there is some truth to the knight’s legend after all.”

Jimin shook his head. “There is no way I would let you ride after a dragon.”

At his words, the dragon’s head shot in our direction, locking its eyes on the three of us once more. As if taking Jimin’s words as a challenge, the dragon folded its wings and dove. Everything seemed to slow in that moment. Jimin screamed and leapt off his horse to tackle me to the ground. Taehyung unsheathed his sword and brought it up to counter the dragon, but it merely bounced off the hard scales. At the same time, I urged my horse forward, yet we were no match for the dragon’s speed. Before I knew what was happening, I was being lifted into the sky. A scream escaped my lips and I clung to the talons for dear life as we continued to ascend. Below me, Taehyung raced forward in an attempt to reach me in time, yet it was of no use. His horse was nowhere near as fast as the dragon and within seconds, he was completely out of sight. 

[snakemoltsiren]

Empty

Everything had gone wrong. It was going well. The plan - the ambush, Valka’s playacting, it was all effective. She thought. But Severine had made her missteps early. She’d made herself too much of a target. When she’d been drug out of the cart kicking and screaming the sound had barely left her mouth before she slammed into the hard-packed dirt of Thanalan and the air left her lungs. Otolin had interceded, attacking her attacker and Severine had barely made it to her feet to throw a messy healing spell towards Valka who already had an arrow sticking out of her. Severine had seen Otolin’s face when the woman had arrived. Knew without asking that it was his mother. She barely had time to process the words exchanged before that figure was a blur in front of her and something cracked her across the collar. Her vision had gone white. The next thing she knew, Breandan was checking her pulse. Severine keeled to her feet, struggling to stand, her head throbbing. She saw remnants of exploded cart and the streak of gore where Breandan had put someone to the lance. And she saw Valka slumped in the dirt. She’d staggered across the road to her friend, all the while wildly searching. He was gone. Otolin was gone. Not left, Breandan had told her. But taken. It had all been a blur after that.

Getting Valka stabilized had been her priority. They borrowed a cart from the Flames checkpoint up the road and got Viera back to the office so the Doctor could tend to her. The little Xaela checked over Severine, warned her she’d probably have a vicious headache and told her to stay hydrated. She drank more than her share of wine that night. Hydration achieved. Fear sat cloying in the back of her throat, souring every breath she drew and every word she spoke. She paced and flitted, checking in on Valka when she could, making sure word got to Adrian. They needed Valka’s help but Severine couldn’t bring herself to ask the Viera to track Otolin like she’d done before, not while she was still bedridden and healing. They needed to find him and Severine didn’t know where to start. Eventually Breandan told her to go home and she went outside for the first time in two days. Walked across the yard already back in order after the party they’d had the week before. When they and their friends had sat around the fire and floated in the hot springs and none of this had happened. She walked up the stairs and to the house next door. Otolin’s house. She let herself in and stood in the doorway, half expecting him to be there. Sitting at the kitchen table or in one chair by the fire, reading a book. The house was cold. Empty. She locked the door and moved through it in a daze. Like a ghost. She wondered why this had happened. What she’d done wrong. She wondered why they hadn’t all just been killed. Valka nearly had been. Emelyn easily could have killed Severine as well but had stopped at merely incapacitating her. If Otolin had gone down in a single hit from the pale-skinned Roegadyn woman that had subsequently hauled him away, then obviously he could have been killed there as well. Breandan had tried parlay and had been warned away. Surely Emelyn Stone had to know they would come for her. They would find where Otolin had been taken. Why would she leave them alive to do it? Without realizing it, Severine had walked through the quiet rooms of Otolin’s empty house. The little closet in his bedroom stood with one door half open, and she reached inside, pushed her hands towards the back. Going by touch alone. Tears had been constant ever since they’d returned from the failed ambush and she could feel her eyes stinging as her fingers closed around familiar fabric. She pulled and drew her arm back, patterned cloth draped over her arm. Otolin hadn’t worn his poncho much since he’d gotten his new coat. She’d thought maybe that he had gotten rid of it but there it was, curled in her dark hands. The patterns were faded into each other with wear, the trim around the collar limp with age. But it was clean. And soft. Severine bundled the poncho into her arms and carried it to the two reading chairs clustered in the corner. She folded herself into the left side one, legs drawn up beneath her. The last time she’d sat there Otolin had been in the chair next to her. She remembered the books they’d been reading - her an  intensely dry history of Limsa maritime laws and him some gormless crime thriller that he kept snorting at between sips of tea. He wasn’t there, though. And she didn’t know where he was. She balled the poncho up and tucked it beneath her cheek as she settled into the chair. The bed was across the room but that was the kind of empty that she didn’t think she’d be able to bear just now. Severine closed her eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead she willed her mind to that place she could send it to. She walked through the sun-dappled grove that housed her memories and experiences and sat by the stream. With her eyes shut she pulled memories up like blades of grass, flipping through them like picture books. The first job she’d worked with Otolin. The room in the Quicksand they’d shared for months. Each job, each story they’d told each other. She could tell herself she was looking for clues. For some idea of where he might be right now. But really she knew that what she needed was him. Her partner. She couldn’t go out and search for him so she’d have to find him in one place she knew he would always be. As fleeting as it was she would have to take comfort in that.

@witchesandlotuses @otolin-xiv @geimhleag

[popsicletheduck]

secrets written in our blood

A Sanders Sides Fantasy AU

chapter three: to catch the unsaid In which a prince, a bard, and a healer live, lie, and leave.

pairings: none chapter warnings: implied/referenced character death, blood mention words: 3092 check reblogs for link to AO3

When Patton woke up, he was cold. Not like what was around him was cold, but that he was cold inside himself. Like there was snowmelt settled around where his stomach and heart and lungs were. It wasn't an entirely pleasant sensation, but it was better than the constant aching burn and warring chill from before. Curling into himself, he groped blindly for some source of warmth. A moment later, he felt rough wool brush against his hand and the weight of a blanket spread on top of him. "Lie still," a stern voice said. "Your body requires rest after the trauma it underwent." Patton complied, mostly, but he did crack an eye and crane his neck to try and see where he was and who was speaking. The room was dark, with just a faint line of sunlight peeking through a set of heavy wooden shutters. The dark expanse of a sod roof stretched overhead, stone walls around. A few rough pieces of furniture were arranged around the single room: a long table, two chairs, a single cupboard, and the thin bed Patton was lying on. A long rack of drying herbs hung from the ceiling, the air suffused with their medicinal smell. A spare set of dark clothes on a peg near the bed, a few pots and dishes stacked on the mantle, barrels of provisions and neat stacks of wood in the corner. There was only one other person in the room, an older man sitting in one of the chairs near the embers in the fireplace. He was handsome in a severe sort of way, all sharp angles and corners. His hair had one likely been dark but was now speckled salt and pepper and carefully brushed back, save for a single strand that curled near one temple. A small pair of glasses was perched on his nose and a book sat open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. His rather intense gaze was fixed on Patton. "I told you to lie still," he said.

"I am, I just needed to see." He’d been pretty sure he hadn’t been dead, but it hadn’t hurt to check. If this was the afterlife, it wasn’t anything like what the tapestries and stained glass showed, so probably not, Patton thought with a scrunch of his nose. "You are in my home,” the man said, as if he could read Patton’s thoughts. “Your companion brought you here after your unfortunate run in with bandits." Patton let his head fall back against the pillow. "Is he okay?" "My assistant saw to him, I am certain he is fine." A strange little laugh escaped him. "You know, I didn't even get his name. He saved my life, and I don't even know his name." The healer shifted in his chair. "Any necessary gratitude can wait. You need more rest." "I can't even thank you?" With an abrupt snap he closed the book and stood, turning away to tuck it away deep inside one of the cupboards. "I simply did my duty as a- as a healer. No thanks are required." "I didn't know magic was part of the bag of tricks of ordinary healers these days." Patton saw the man stiffen, his shoulders tensing and the line of his back straightening ramrod straight. He didn’t turn around as he spoke, the words flat and lacking any sort of emotion. "Magic is illegal.” “I know, but-” “Do I appear to be of the criminal sort?” “Well not really, but-” “Then I would advise you to refrain from such accusations. Your wound appeared far more severe than it was. Please do not insult my skill by insisting on a supernatural explanation.” Patton let his head fall back against the pillow. “I didn’t get your name either,” he said softly. A long moment passed, heavy with a tension that Patton was far too familiar with. Uncertainty weighed like empty pockets and empty fists. “Logan,” the healer said finally. “And you are?” “Patton.” “You need to sleep, Patton.” “I know.” Already his eyes were beginning to grow heavy. Like magic. When he slept, it was deep and dreamless. But when he woke again, this time to an empty room, something lingered around the edges of his consciousness. An itch in the back of his brain, an awareness he didn’t have words for, a shadow where there hadn’t been any light before. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but was strange, and as Patton fiddled with the edge of the blanket, he wondered about laws and magic and empty buildings with barricaded windows.

Logan missed writing. Parchment was far too expensive all the way out here, and his homemade ink was poor quality. No longer did he have the luxury of writing to sort the thoughts in his head or recording any passing fancy. But he could not entirely leave his past behind, even if he was now forced to hide from it. So by the light of a single candle, he carefully opened to a half filled page in one of the three precious books he still owned: a gelaerath lachnun, roughly translated as a guide of healing. It had been luck he had been carrying it with him that day, the accumulated knowledge of several lifetimes, but as Logan recorded in precise shorthand his recent procedure and effects, he once again could find only the most bittersweet gratitude that the book remained in his possession. It was no longer meant to be his. “Who are you writing to?” Patton asked. Logan glanced up sharply. He’d believed his unexpected guest to still be sleeping since his home had been quiet, and Logan was quickly learning that the bard was only quiet when he was sleeping or eating. Indeed, his speech was slurred in the way that suggested he’d just woken, eyes blinking blearily. “Myself. Or,” he added, a touch bitter, “possibly no one.” “Why do you write to no one?” Logan set his quill aside, making sure the ink wouldn’t drip onto the table. The question had been an honest one, if a bit sleep touched, and honest questions deserved careful answers. “The preservation of knowledge for future generations is vital, even if no one reads it,” he said. “The act of recording is the important thing, connecting us to a chain that stretches back to the earliest humans exchanging information by oral tradition.” Patton was quiet after that, probably fallen back asleep, and Logan picked up his quill again. Patient appears to have suffered no ill effects, but continual monitoring will- “Have you always been this lonely?” This time Logan didn’t stop writing. “I am not lonely. My work requires solitude for a clear mind. Interruptions are a detriment. It is… better this way.” “Wouldn’t it be even more better if you could actually talk to people instead of writing to no one?” The memory of watching Jeul in the laboratory, deep in examination of a cadaver, the spark of investigation clinging to their fingers and fascination in their eye. “No. It’s better this way.” The best lies always contained a piece of the truth.

It was three days before Roman was allowed back on his feet again, under watch by a surprisingly stubborn Florrie and her equally watchful aunt, Imayn. Not that he was unoccupied during that time. Imayn was caretaker to all eight of her late sister’s children, and there was always something around the house that needed mending or fixing or scrubbing, and every hand was needed. But after a particularly disastrous attempt at sewing, Imayn had simply looked at him and shook her head. After that, Roman was put in charge of keeping an eye on the three youngest: Emelyne, who was five, Col, who was three, and Tom, who was two. Sitting in the sun in front of their small house, Roman taught them games he’d once played with his brother and told them stories his mother had once told him and smiled even when he felt like crying. The fourth morning, Roman woke in the dark hours before dawn, nightmares clinging to his skin like saltwater. But for the first time in fourteen years, it hadn’t been his brother’s dead face staring up at him with reproach. It’d been Patton’s. He’d asked, of course, when Florrie had tried to pull him away, tried to protest. But the girl had just set her shoulders and answered bluntly, “He’s gonna die. But my ma died two years back and he, Master Logan, don’t want me to see it again. So I’m looking after you and you’ll not complain.” And his heart had ached at losses new and old and he’d let himself be led away. Roman told himself he’d already known the outcome. He told himself he’d done everything he possibly could’ve. But in the predawn chill, the burn of his failure scalded. He couldn’t save anyone. And he was supposed to be king? Sick of the constant pricking of tears behind his eyes, Roman shoved himself up from the pallet in the corner. For a moment he thought his leg would give out again, but he steadied himself against the wall and the weakness passed. The hour was earlier enough that even his minders were still asleep, and he was tired of waiting. He’d say his goodbyes and he’d put this town behind him and he’d be the best godsdamn king Cerenth had ever seen, Merina fucking bless him. Stormheart nickered at him as he saddled her, stopping occasionally to lean against her to take the weight off his bad leg. “Shush,” he whispered, “Imayn will have my head if she knows I’m up. But we can’t stay here forever, can we?” The horse didn’t answer him, of course. But she didn’t make any more noise as he led her around the back of the village, cutting through gardens and struggling up the side of the hill when necessary. Roman didn’t exactly feel like announcing his departure. But there was one place he had to stop first.

In the gathering dawn, the symbol for a healer, one of the deity Gati’s ravens, painted in white on Logan's door seemed to nearly glow against the dark. Roman didn’t hesitate, knocking as loudly as he dared. He knew he would be waking the healer, but he didn’t care. He had to know what had happened to the body. A moment where he stood alone in the silence of the world, the only breathing thing in the stillness. And then the sound of movement from inside, footsteps on packed earth, and the door opened. Roman felt all the air leave his body at once. “Oh, hi!” Patton whisper shouted. “I’m so glad you came by, I didn’t get a chance to thank you before and I was worried you might’ve left town already.” Roman replied dumbstruck, “You’re alive.” He smiled, as genuine as when he had been bleeding out in the middle of the road. “I sure am! Thanks to you, and to Logan.” As if on cue the healer stepped up behind Patton, straightening his glasses. His prim mannerisms reminded Roman of stuffy, overly pompous nobles from his childhood, made even more ridiculous by his uncombed hair and nightshirt tucked into a pair of breeches. “May I enquire as to the nature of this visit? It is still quite early.” “Why didn’t you tell me Patton was alive?” He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, the flaring of a temper that had on more than one occasion led to a brawl in the inn yard. His heart clenched and his hands along with it. The bard’s eyes flicked quickly between him and Logan. “Why don’t we all step inside,” he suggested, “to have this conversation?” Logan nodded sharply. “A good idea. Close the door behind you.” Roman complied, even as every fiber of his being rebelled against being told what to do by some village nobody. But the pleading look Patton shot him had him biting the inside of his cheek and not quite slamming the door. Logan gestured for the two of them to take the room’s two chairs. Patton plopped into one, while Roman stubbornly remained standing, though his injury throbbed. Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, loosely steepling his fingers in front of him. “My apologies for not informing you on Patton’s condition,” he said, infuriatingly cool and composed, “I had deduced that the two of you had merely happened upon each other on the road and as such you had little to no concern for his well being.” “He nearly died in my arms! I would’ve at least like to know that he wasn’t dead!” Roman was trying to keep himself from shouting, but it was only halfway successful. He wanted to hit something, to shatter Logan’s stupid little glasses right off his face. A soft touch against his arm, like cool rainwater fizzling against hot embers. Patton looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve found you. That was an awful way to repay what you did for me.” “I don’t blame you,” Roman said, at the same time Logan remarked, “It would’ve been inadvisable for you to leave bed.” An unreadable glance passed between them, an acknowledgement neither wanted to acknowledge. Roman turned back to Patton instead, asking,“You really are okay?” The little bard put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. “Fit as a fiddle and ready for the road!” he declared. It was Roman’s turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You nearly died not even four days ago and you’re ready to go back to traveling alone, where you’ll be just as enticing a target for more bandits?” Patton had deflated as he spoke, and now glanced up sheepishly, scuffing a foot against the floor. “Well, since you’re here now, I was sorta hoping I could travel with you?” The feeling that fluttered through Roman’s chest was unfamiliar, a sensation he didn’t have words for, but decidedly not unpleasant. “Of course! That is, if you are good to travel.” Logan exhaled a long sigh through his nose. “More time to rest would be optimal, but if you are determined to set out today, you should take it slow and rest as often as you need. Do not push yourself.” “Thanks, Logan,” Patton smiled. “You know, you should come with us.” The abrupt change startled a “What?” from Roman. Logan appeared similarly puzzled, his brow creasing as he stared at Patton as if he could discern an answer by sight alone if he looked long enough. “I don’t even know where you’re going,” he said slowly. “I have a life here. I can’t just leave.” “You just seemed so lonely, and I thought that maybe…” Patton trailed off, as though a thought was finally occuring to him. Turning to Roman, he asked “Where are we going?” Oh. Oh. Why had he never thought of an answer to that? True, he hadn’t expected to have any companions on this journey, but someone had been bound to ask eventually. He should’ve prepared for this. “I have family in the Greyspines, and I just got word that my uncle died because there’s some monster out there hunting them so I’m going to help.” Not the worst lie he’d ever told. Probably not the best, either. Patton’s eyes were wide with sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry, you were already dealing with all of that and then I dragged you into this.” “No, no,” Roman hurried to reassure him, “I couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” His eyes flickered to Logan, and suddenly he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The man’s gaze was distinctly calculating. Logan knew, Roman felt with sick certainty, that he was lying. He waited for an accusation, for a demand for the truth that Roman decidedly couldn’t give. His hand tensed, straying towards where his father’s sword hung at his waist. He watched Logan’s gaze follow the movement, a shift in the healer’s expression that for the life of him he couldn’t read. “I’ll go with you,” Logan said suddenly, breaking one of the longest moments of Roman’s life. “You will?” Patton gasped with delight, hands flying to the sides of his face. “Yes,” Logan replied, absently straightening one of his sleeves. “Florrie is well trained enough in herbcraft to serve the needs of the village, and if the beast in the Greyspines is killing people, there will likely be those injured who need a skilled healer.” Roman wanted nothing more in that moment than to grab the older man by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know what was going on. He had been so certain Logan had seen through his lie, but if so, why double down on it? They were both near strangers to each other. What did Logan gain in helping him save face? “I do insist, however,” Logan continued, and here it was, some sort of deal, a price for keeping his mouth shut, “since we will be traveling together, that you tell us your name, since you have neglected to do so before.” “Oh. It’s Rey.” Logan nodded, apparently satisfied. Patton smiled at him again. Could it all actually be that simple?

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, He will slay you with his tongue, oh lei, oh lai, oh.” Patton’s clear voice rang out in the sunshine as he strolled and strummed his lute, somehow keeping perfect time even if he wasn’t quite watching where he was going. Logan walked just behind, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but every now and then he would reach out to nudge Patton away from a particularly large stone in the path. From atop Stormheart’s back, Roman could see the miles ahead of them, winding off into the horizon. But now the long stretch didn’t hold the menace it once did, the wind battered landscape no longer quite so dreary, and he found himself smiling. In the light of day with friendly faces at his side, it was easy to believe that everything would work out just fine. “There will come a ruler whose brow is laid with thorns, Smeared with blood like holy oil, oh lei, oh lai, oh lore, Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, Smeared with blood like holy oil, oh lei, oh lai, oh lore. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lore, He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh.”

[rowanwriting]

2, 10, and 18! 🙏 thank you! :D

Thank you so much @the-finch-address!

If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

Probably not! At least, not if I wanted to read what I had written afterwards. I have terribly messy handwriting, and I tend to press too hard with whatever writing instrument, as well. I do somewhat better with a fountain pen, so I use those a lot. (Who am I kidding? I couldn't stop writing if I had to chisel it into a stone slab.)

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Haunted has so many different connotations, doesn't it? This is a difficult question for me, I think. But my own writing does seem to haunt me a little. Old and abandoned WIPs that I keep going back to, and abandoning again. WIPs that I start over and over. (Also fanfiction that I keep getting kudos for from the fandom-that-shall-not-be-named, that I wish I could keep writing, but can't.) As for other's writing, it's difficult to say as I have a terrible memory and short attention span, the combination of which seems to lead me to forget things that I've read easily. In any case, I think it's the need to write that haunts me the most.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

This is actually from the most recent bit that I’ve written. Honestly. the backstory of this passage is fairly simple. I’ve  been trying different openings for The Beyond, and one is Emelyn going undercover to catch the target of a bounty, where she runs into the first alien of the book. It’s probably derivative of some experiences I’ve had or witnessed. I’m pretty sure nearly every person who is read as a woman has dealt with some kind of creep or another.

They made a noise that was like something from a harmonica, thought not quite, and Emelyn knew it was a laugh.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweetheart," the Ehlihg said, a condescending note in their harmonic voice. "I've had plenty of humans — and they've always left me more than satisfied."

Emelyn might have been unarmed, but that didn't mean she was harmless. She could see it in her head how things might go, almost feel the connection of her fist with the flesh of the Ehlihg's meaty stomach, see him bend over double with a groan, feel the sensation of bringing her knee up to collide with their sensitive carapace.

She was sorely tempted to do it, too. The anger, the rage, even, of her own recent circumstances filed her, and oh, how she wanted to take them out on this poor soul.

for the weird questions for writer’s ask game!

[takivvatanga]

nothing to be done.

A common complaint, for men past a certain age.  Nothing to worry about.  Worth investigating, probably. Just to be on the safe side. Probably nothing. No, not nothing. But that doesn’t mean bad, necessarily. Most likely benign.  Possibly benign. A small chance that it might be benign.  Hopefully benign.  Please, please be benign. Be nothing to worry about.  Breathe a sigh of relief and have a good laugh about all the trouble and worry you went through and forget about it. Not benign. Malignant. Metastatic. Nothing to be done.  __________

“How long?” Howard shakes his head, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  Howard knows him well. Good doctors are hard to come by, these days. Worth their weight in gold. Howard is a good doctor. Aubrey trusts him. How could he not, after more than twenty years? It makes it worse, that trust. If Aubrey could only doubt him, wonder if everything that should be done has been done, if there was a reason to seek a second opinion, then maybe there’d be hope, still. Something to hold on to, and if it’s only a straw to grasp at. But Howard is a good doctor, and Aubrey Reid has no reason, not a single one, to doubt his words. “Months. A year, at best. But more than likely only months.”

”I understand.”

Aubrey bows his head, looks down at his hands. His bones ache. His heart aches, too.

“You need to tell your family.”

“I will.”

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t say anything when he comes home that night, only hugs his wife and children a little tighter.

“How was your day, my Dear?”

Emelyne smiles, her eyes bright as she stands by the window, her fingers stained with pigment, silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun.

“Fine”, he says, hoping that she won’t notice the way his voice trembles. “It was perfectly fine.” He promises himself that he’ll tell them tomorrow. Sleep on it first, try to find the right words. How do you tell your wife, your teenage children, that you are going to die? Do the right words even exist?

A month passes. He still hasn’t told them.

The pain is worse, his bones feel as if they are broken in a million pieces, shattered like glass. There is a pressure in his chest, a wetness in his lungs. Aubrey Reid imagines himself like a decaying building, all rotten wood and cracked stone. Something grows inside, slow yet unstoppable. Creeping, crawling decay, a great big black thing that stretches out, wraps its tendrils around his organs, infiltrates his bones.  It will win, in the end. It has already won.

He is running out of time. And still, he won’t tell them.

Mary runs up to hug him, he clenches his teeth, braces himself against the pain that her embrace brings, both to his body and his soul. Oh, daughter. Who’ll keep you safe, when I am gone? Who will witness your triumphs, who will cheer you on as you rise and rise and rise, with your sharp mind and even sharper tongue? Oh, daughter, my daughter!

Jonathan announces that he wants to go to medical school. Oh, son. What a great doctor you’ll make. Why, you’d find a way to save anyone. Except for me. It’s too late for me. Is that what you really want? To be day in, day out, in the face of death, of suffering? Oh, son, my son!

Emelyne’s smile no longer reaches her eyes. There’s something there, like a veil being lowered, a curtain drawn across. Something hazy, distant, obscured. Does she suspect that something is wrong? If she does, she doesn’t show it. Oh, wife. You don’t deserve to witness this slow death. You deserve to remember me well. You deserve the world, and you deserve the truth. But how can I tell you, when I don’t have the right words? Oh, wife, my wife!

He cannot face it. He still hasn’t told them. He is not going to tell them.

Nothing to be done.

Nothing?

Aubrey Reid will do what he has always done. He will do this on his terms.

On the next morning, his last morning, he will rise earlier than usual. He will put on his coat. His gloves. His hat. He will not kiss his sleeping wife goodbye. He will not crack the doors of his children’s rooms open to cast a last glance at them. He will pull the door closed behind him without a sound, and his heart will be heavy like a stone. He will catch a train to the coast. He will walk into the churning waters, beneath the dark and stormy skies, his pockets filled with stones. He will not look back. But he will think of them. Of his family. He will think of them the entire time, until the current drags him under, until his lungs fill with water, until his vision blurs and blackens.

Forgive me, he will think. Forgive me, but it is better this way. __________ 

“Mum?”, Mary asks in a small voice. “When is Dad coming back?” It is the same question she has asked for weeks now. Emelyne doesn’t know what to say. She is running out of excuses, of reasons that her children may accept that will explain the sudden absence. The sudden silence. She is running out of hope, too.

She should tell them. She needs to tell them, but she hasn’t got the right words. How do you explain something you don’t even understand yourself? How do you explain that your husband, that their father has simply disappeared without a trace, without a word?  Emelyne forces a smile, puts her hand on her daughter’s shoulders, pulls her close. It’s not really a lie if you don’t know what the truth really is. 

“Soon, darling girl. Soon.”  

@starscorned suffer with me 

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

“And what... what do you see when you look at me?”

“The man who could’ve led us out of ruin.”

“I was... was never going to be that person.”

“Otolin.”

“... Yes?”

“If I had my way? You wouldn’t have had the damn choice.”

[set-in-stone-writing]

1. CRUX

Be careful what you center your world around.

It shouldn’t be something so fickle. 

The base concepts of a person are beneath you. 

You should be enlightened. 

The vices of this world are vast. You have no need for them.

Don’t embrace those who would cast aside their Personhood/Freedom to flock to you.

Grasp them. 

Clutch/Crush them tightly. 

Mold them into a form best suited to serve you. 

You/We will make them Yours/Ours.

Be careful what you center your world around, Otolin.

It shouldn’t be something fickle. 

You should feel elevated. 

Gods/Monsters are sometimes just concepts given much mortal thought. 

They are greater than the sum of their parts, the persons who believe in them, and the powers they have at their fingertips are vaunted.

It is because of this you should take care, my Son/Slaughterer. 

Soon, you will be the center of everyone’s World/Woe. 

[dragons-ire]

He'd fucked it up.

He thought about it like that as he stood in the office shower with half a bottle of wine still in his hand, dangling loosely

Being absolutely shitfaced felt like the best and most appropriate thing to do. He wanted to drown out the events of that entire mission. Actually, he wanted to drown out the entire week. It was like the universe had reached out to him on all levels to kick him in the face or the balls or wherever the hell the Forbidden Chakra Otolin kept goin on about actually was.

He assumed that actually meant being punched straight in the heart.

His week had started with what had probably been the hardest conversation of his life about the Dragonsong War and what his part had been in it. It had gone on to some strange and weird and mystical places on a black operations job up into the Churning Mists. The night before had been like a bitter reminder, like the ghost of a heartbreak from his youth come waltzing past and breezing right past him. The night before the job went great, but ended with just a little stab at things he'd sworn to himself he'd never let himself feel again.

That he's sworn he'd never let anyone make him feel again.

And at the end of it, he'd gone off on that job. And he watched a job go wrong in a way that he couldn't describe. Everything about it was wrong.

The wind that hurled him into the air should not have done that. By the time he was up on the cliff face he was gone. Frozen behind a numb mask of horror as he stared down at the Thanalan desert littered with the blown apart bone and flesh and fabric that had once been a person. His grip on his lance taut to keep his hand from trembling as he turned himself into the stone cold mask of rage that he'd been trained to in Ishgard to watch it unfold.

He tried not to think of fire spreading as Otolin had described it. Driven in by the point of a lance, rippling out in the the darkness of the underground. It flashed in his memory with awful clarity and it hit something hard in his soul on the way down. Some of the things that had started to shake loose inside him firmly back shut.

He watched it with a cold precision as it unfurled beneath him from on high. Watched things escape across the rear lines that he could have (should have) stopped and didn't. Watch Severine go done like nothing with a blink that betrayed nothing of what happened to him inside when he did.Watch Valka go bravely forth into battle without hesitation the way she would. Watched Otolin fall like he'd been stabbed, like the wind was out of him.

He hadn't known Otolin well at all when he'd been asked to partner in the firm they'd founded, the three of them. Something in the Ala Mhigan had chosen him out of any of the numerous people he knew better just because of his lack of connections to that circle. His connections with Severine. And he'd appreciated the chance to make something out of the ruins of his life after the war that could be meaningful, that could have purpose.

And he watched himself make a decision to try and break up an active melee rather than what he should have done which was stop them from taking him away.

He let Otolin Stone down. And he'd never wanted to feel that kind of failure

And he stared down the hard and remote face of Emelyn Stone, Otolin's mother when he landed on the ground to try and force a parlay. What happened next he was the only witness too, and even thinking about it brought a cold chill to his soul. As she looked back at him with an expression that was only cruel and mocking as she said some mean words pointed just at him and for his ears alone.

And just as quickly, he found himself staring back across the clear view of the carnage of the operation. The destroyed cart. The devastation beyond that he had to force himself not to think about again. Took it and swallowed it and didn't think what happened on the way down.

You fucked up.

You did it again.

When he finally let it go, he was tired, more than anything else. He was tired, and sad, and fucked up in a way that he had to drag through for the moment while he had to decide between Severine and Valka of who he'd rather see to. The choice was natural, of course, and they carried Valka back to the office and handed her to Dr. Haragin. And he sat with Severine and passed wine between them in the cool confines of her office and let her talk about what she needed. And when she finaly passed out, he took the remnants of the wine and crawled into the shower to wash off the events of the day. The events of the best and worst week of his life.

All the dirt and grime and blood. The guilt and shame. And he poured wine on it and washed it down the drain and then he asked it.

Okay, so you fucked it up:

What's the next move?