#in the cast had made Saint appearances before‚ many of them more than once (and Adamson and Fürst had actually appeared together in

[four-loose-screws]

FE7 Novelization Translation - Chapter 13 Section 4

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Chapter 13: Light (Section 4)

Having heard the end of Nils' story, Eliwood's army pressed onwards and made it to the entrance to the shrine.

That was when Athos finally appeared. "I apologize, it appears I am late.'

"You are late, Gramps!!" Hector shouted at him without thinking.

"...How did it go? Did you find some way to defeat Nergal?" Lyn asked.

"I did. …Use this tome." Athos offered them a spell book.

"What is it…?" Eliwood wondered.

"Aureola, one of the Legendary Weapons. It is the strongest light magic, wielded by Saint Elimine herself. So long as we have this, we should be able to remove Nergal's cloak of darkness, and put significant pressure on him. And then… these have also had a spell cast on them to make them more effective against him. Durandal will go to Eliwood…"

"Even far more so than when I first held it… It's…" Eliwood took Durandal from Athos, and trembled at the power the sword itself exerted. Through his hand that gripped the hilt, he felt that power, burning like fire, course through his body.

"And I think the Thunder Axe Armads is best for Hector, but…"

"What's wrong, Gramps? Is there a problem with it?" Hector asked Athos for the reason why he was hesitating.

His question made Athos take him a few steps away from Eliwood and the others before explaining, "This axe is a Legendary Weapon, but it is cursed. The member of the Eight Legends who used it to fight the dragons, Durban, was always searching for battle, and died while wandering the land to find his next fight. Once you take this axe, your life will not end peacefully. You will die in a place of chaos, surrounded by blood and steel. Are you ready to accept that fate?" 

At Athos' explanation, Hector's gaze shifted towards Eliwood for a moment.

Eliwood was looking his way, wondering why he had suddenly started talking to Athos in private.

Their eyes met.

They were friends born in the same country, and nothing could replace the time they had spent together. And then there were the citizens back home who loved him… To Hector, if it was for their sakes, a curse or two was not reason enough to hesitate. 

"...I don't care. I will help my best friend. I will help the people of my country. That is why I am here!"

Athos nodded in response to Hector's resolve, and offered over Armads. "I understand. Then you should take it."

"What amazing power… I know I can beat Nergal with this…!!" Hector grabbed the giant axe Armads, very likely as long as he was tall, and felt the strength course through him of a berserker and his lust for battle.

He became so warm that it felt as if his blood was boiling, and felt that if he did not start moving this second, then he would die. With a power so strong it made him that deluded, he understood that the curse was no lie.

Now that his conversation with Athos was over, the two returned to the group. Eliwood asked him what they had talked about, but Hector laughed to brush the question off.

Meanwhile, Athos turned towards Lyn and offered her a sword. "...And for you, Lyn, I have this."

"What is this sword…?"

It was a single edged sword that bore a striking resemblance to Mani Katti, and the blade shone with the same faint light that Mani Katti did.

"It is the sword in which the spirit opposite to Mani Katti resides… Its name is Sol Katti. Though it is not a Legendary Weapon, it is a powerful sword."

"Thank you!" Lyn bowed deeply and attached the new Sol Katti to her belt.

Athos looked at Nils next. "Nils, Nergal is inside here, correct?"

"Yes… I sense great power. …What's this? I have a strange feeling." Nils sensed a strange feeling he had never sensed before, and frowned. "...He should have lost most of his army in our last battle. So why…?"

Concerned by what Nils said, Athos also focused his mind and searched for Nergal's power. "......Hm. It is faint… but I can feel it, too. It is unquestionably very different from ever before. Proceed with caution. He… is exceptionally powerful!!"

"Understood. Let's move out, everyone!" Eliwood shouted to rouse up his allies' morale, then rushed into the shrine as the vanguard.

ー

"Nergal!" Eliwood shouted and raised Durandal against his sworn enemy.

"Hmph… so you have come. But you are too late. The gate has already been opened, and I have gathered quintessence greater than that of a dragon. And I have become a stronger, more perfect being!'

"How many lives will you take for your own power until you are satisfied?! What do you think of the pain and sorrow of not only those who have died, but also those left behind?!"

"I am me. I do not feel the pain nor sorrow of others. I only revel in their deaths. They provide the quintessence I gather. You will become corpses here as well. All for my sake. Rise now, my servants!" After responding to Eliwood's question with his darkest truths, he raised both hands and shouted.

His gesture summoned a huge teleportation circle in front of Eliwood’s army, and several morphs appeared, all looking like people they recognized.

First was Marquess Darin of Laus, then the Reed brothers Lloyd and Linus, alongside their father Brendan. Afterwards came Ursula, Kenneth, and Uhai… They were all people that Eliwood’s army faced and defeated in battle. 

"These morphs all have the same abilities as the original people I took quintessence from… and were created to look just like them, but I made them even more powerful. To hypocrites like all of you… especially you Eliwood, they are perfect, don't you think? Even though they were your enemies, you continue to hate killing them. Yet no matter the reason you kill for, it is all the same… Whether it pains you or you enjoy it, the result is the same!"

"They are not the same! If you do not suffer… and feel guilt over taking lives, then… You are not alive either!"

Nergal laughed mockingly at Eliwood's assertion. "Keh keh keh… perhaps weaklings such as yourselves cannot understand what in this world is most meaningless of all. It is the sense of right and wrong! It traps you, so you humans can never unlock their full potential. It is foolishness… Humans are all utter fools!"

"Nergal. It has been many years since then… but it seems that your ways of thinking have not changed." Athos said, his eyes filled with sadness.

They were once joined by a bond of friendship, and challenged each other to grow and learn. His words were full of the regret he felt because Nergal had strayed from that path and lost his humanity, and he had been unable to stop it.

"...Athos, you have not changed either! All living creatures take the energy of others to evolve towards something bigger and better each time. We found a path towards the pinnacle of evolution through the dragon's knowledge! Why don't you embrace it?! Why do you continue to reject it?!"

"I am not against the search for power. However… I will never forgive those who would take the lives of others to obtain it!"

"Keh keh keh… I remember. I remember it well! You said those exact words to me the last time you attacked me! When you conspired with the divine dragons to kill me!" Nergal said, then removed the black cloth wrapped around his head, revealing the right side of his face, so misshapen it looked like it had been severely burned.

"Just look at this wound! It is the wound that took the brunt of your magic! I miscalculated. You were the one person who understood me… I truly believed you were my friend! I never thought you would try to take my life! Keh keh keh… But thanks to you, I was able to confirm many things. That I was betrayed because I trusted someone… That I did not need the help of any friends to reach my grand ambitions…!!"

The moment he heard those words, Eliwood shouted in a frenzy, "Why can't you think of it in any other way?! When Athos attacked you, his friend… he must have felt something! Why can't you understand that?!"

"Eliwood…" Athos said, touched.

"Nergal! I will defeat you here! But what I feel inside myself is not hatred… but pity for someone like you, who was born human, but lost his human heart!!"

Nergal did not expect him to say anything like that. A jeering smile crept upon his face. "...Pity? Keh keh keh, what amusing words you speak! A weakling like you feels pity for me?! How amusing… Let us see if you have the skills to match… If you can defeat all of these morphs, that is!" 

"Everyone! I will fight here alone! Stand down!!" Eliwood shouted.

"Whoa whoa whoa, don't be stupid! We've fought our way this far together, right?" Hector said with a fearless smile on his face.

"That's right! We've been telling you this entire time, haven't we? That we all feel the exact same as you!" Lyn also had Mani Katti in her right hand, and Sol Katti in her left, as she smiled at Eliwood.

"Hector… Lyndis…"

"Me too, Lord Eliwood! And… I just know Ninian is supporting us, too!"

"Nils…"

And they were not his only allies ready to fight.

"Lord Eliwood, I will show you the spirit of our Knights of Pherae!"

"On the honor of the Knights of Ostia!" Said Marcus and Oswin, the ever loyal retainers.

"I-I… I'll do my best!"

"Those with crooked ideals of this world… I will straighten them with my bow!"

Next came Florina, fighting the hidden feelings in her heart; and Rath, encouraged by standing before the calamity he'd waited fifteen long years for.

"Leave it to me! I'll do whatever I can to help you out!"

"My my my, there's fools everywhere. Myself included."

Those were the words of the two that supported the army from the shadows, Matthew and Legault.

The rest of their large group of allies, in response to Eliwood, Hector, and Lyn's rallies, all raised their weapons and shouted a battle cry.

For themselves, everything they held dear, and everyone living across Elibe, they could not lose this battle.

"Everyone… Alright, let's go! We will defeat Nergal!!" With Eliwood's voice being their signal, everyone all started running at once.

☆

The members of the Black Fang resurrected as morphs, standing in front of Nergal…

They were not the only morphs present. Behind him stood many more. Their numbers were about the same as Limstella had with them in the previous battle, but Eliwood was very surprised to see that so many of them remained.

Still, his army could not hesitate here.

"Open a path for Lord Eliwood to push through! Show him the spirit of the Knights of Pherae!" When Marcus galloped his horse forward, lance in hand, both a fellow knight and his student were right behind him.

"Yes! Understood, Sir!!"

"I'll fight with all of my strength too!!"

Marcus charged into the morphs' front line, causing their formation to crumble. Both Isadora and Lowen followed after him, further opening up their ranks. The morphs, standing in perfect lines to attempt to absorb their enemy's attack, took the brunt of the knights' charge, and fell into a slight panic.

Next, it was time for the Knights of Caelin to launch their offensive. 

"Let's go, Sain! We cannot allow ourselves to fall behind!"

"Yes! The lives of all the ladies living across this land depends on us!"

His partner never changed, but this was the first time Kent laughed at that line. He then raised his lance, and not to be overshadowed, Sain swung his sword as well. The two worked in perfect harmony, unleashing attacks in rapid fire and taking down morphs one after the other.

But it wasn’t just the cavaliers hard at work showing off their skills in battle. The hardened warriors Bartre and Dorcas were also showcasing the extent of their strength.

“Grrraaaaaaaah! Come, you puppets! Bartre will destroy every single one of you!!”

“Hmph…”

In complete contrast to Bartre, swinging his axe with a mighty battle cry, Dorcas was silent as he fought their enemies. The two warriors were like a hurricane as they mowed down the morphs.

The hero Raven and swordmaster Guy also cut down their enemies, bringing pride to each of their respective fighting styles.

The work of Marcus and all the aforementioned were gradually starting to put pressure on the morph’s superior numbers. 

But while they were wreaking havoc on the front line, those bringing up the rear were also supporting them with an equal amount of strength.

“Shall we provide them some good support, Louise?”

“Yes, Lord Pent!”

Countless arrows rained down throughout the shrine, matched only by the number of fiery pillars being set ablaze. As the current mage general, it was no surprise that Pent put on a stunning display of powerful magic, and his wife demonstrated her own unparalleled display of archery.

Her unmatched accuracy and his exceptional spellcasting brought down yet more morphs, one after the other.

Rebecca and Wil also shot just as many arrows, and Erk and Lucius cast just as many spells, not to be outdone by the count and his wife.

However, they alone did not possess the power to defeat the morphs.

Serra and Priscilla were also indispensable, the two of them alone bearing the responsibility of keeping everyone healed.

And together with them as their guard was the Knight of Ostia Oswin.

“Even an entire swarm of soulless dolls is no match for me!” He shouted just before impaling another morph with his lance.

To prove his point, all of the morphs surrounding him, now nothing more than piles of sand, blew away at once. Countless morphs met their end at the hands of this powerful knight.

The morphs were all great fighters that attacked without the fear of wondering how many of their allies were already dead, and their numbers were great. Even Oswin became outnumbered and overwhelmed by their assault.

“Guh…! I cannot hold them back! Serra, Lady Priscilla, retreat!” He turned backwards to say, while using his lance to block the morph’s attacks.

Three morphs got past him, looking for easy targets, then lunged in one group. Their first target was Priscilla.

“I-I can’t!”

Sensing danger, she turned her horse’s head and tried to escape, but the morphs closed in on her faster, and turned their cold, glittering, gray blades towards her.

Priscilla closed her eyes at the weapons inching ever closer towards her, and accepted her fate.

'I’m so sorry, Father…! Mother…! Lord Brother…! And…'

The moment her adoptive parents in Caerleon, her brother Raymond, as well as one new person all flashed through her mind, she heard the sound of three objects hitting the floor.

She opened her eyes and turned towards the source of the noise in fear to see the three morphs all collapsing into sand, as well as one swordsman sheathing his sword.

“...Ah, Guy!” Her face lit up, and she ran over to him.

He said with a displeased look on his face, “You can’t fight. You should stay back! It’s safe next to Merlinus, so go over there.” Guy said, then immediately turned around and started to run off.

Priscilla panicked and stopped him. “Ah, please wait, Guy! Why are you here…? Aren’t you supposed to be fighting on the front line…?”

“...I told you before, didn’t I? It’s one of the laws of Sacae to help a woman in trouble! …Especially you.”

“Eh…?!” Priscilla’s eyes widened in shock. 

Guy left her there with that expression still on her face, his face completely red as he ran back to the front line. Priscilla watched him off for a long while before finally turning away.

[justicefanged]

peerlessscowl​:

Heigh-Ho, High-Ho

These aren’t your typical caves and tunnels. As you move from one burrow to the next, exploring myriad animal-made (and animal-sized!) tunnels, you must watch not only for territorial creatures but the potential for a cave-in. And what are you here for, you ask? Simple: your weapons didn’t shrink with you and you don’t know how long you’ll be stuck like this while you and your allies search for the perpetrator. You’ll need materials for weapons. Among the caves are crystalline mushrooms found only dark, tight spaces that release magical spores when touched. Be careful, lest you wind up with a few other maladies.  [ Grants Axe +1 ]

(starter for @justicefanged)

It had been a mistake to let himself get sucked into the Golden Deer’s afterparty, he saw that now.

“Hey,” he grunted, kicking half-heartedly at Linus beside him before rolling over and rising to his feet. “Get up. It’s bad.”

Bad was an understatement, he thought, keeping his gaze on the spider that came to his knees. It shifted back and forth, tilting its body in a way that seemed almost curious, its mandibles clicked in a manner that was wholly upsetting, and Raven’s fingers flexed, patting his waist gently, slowly, all around for a moment before the cool realization settled on his shoulders: he didn’t have his sword. Where the fuck was his sword?

In the distance, he saw light shining through a small opening - presumably into the Golden Deer’s classroom? Impossible to tell at the moment, given the spider. Raven ground his teeth, casting a quick glance about the area - a tunnel the burrowed deeper into the ground. Not ideal, but he wasn’t about to fistfight a spider.

His gaze flicked to Linus, who didn’t appear to have any of his kit on him, either, then behind them once more, desperate for anything that could be used for defense.

“Am I gonna have to drag you?” Raven hissed, inching backward. “We need to move.”

Their house might not have won the whole mock battle thing, but they could still throw a party like they had! Linus may grumble about his position here, but a good party was a good party, and who could stay mad about a loss when you had good food and some decent drinks to go around?

It was all fantastic! Until, like, right now.

Linus snorted awake at the kick, groggily blinking the fuzziness of sleep out of his vision as he stretched out, yawning loudly-- and blinking with a bit more awareness, if confused, as the noise bounced around the room they were in. Or...well, not really a room...it looked more like a tunnel? Or a cave? Hard to tell when he was just shaking off sleep, but who the fuck had woken him up--

The distinct sound of clicking and chittering had him sitting up, and then the sight of whatever the fuck that was, sitting big and bulbous in the only substantial source of light. 

The fucking hell was that, what the fuck--

Linus scrambled to his feet real quick after that, doing much the same as Raven and immediately reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Where the fuck’s my shit--” he growled, casting a suspicious glance back at Raven for a moment but seeing that he was equally disarmed as well. His attention returns to the giant spider blocking their way.

“Am I gonna have to drag you?”

Linus almost laughed at that, a sound half caught between a chuckle and a snort of disbelief. Maybe he’d take Red up on the offer another day. Instead of backing away from the way too big creature, as Raven was doing -- which was probably smart, let’s be real here -- Linus squared up and shouted at the thing, planting a boot right in the middle of its face. Or...between its big pinchers. Saints, this thing had a lot of eyes, why did it need so many eyes?!

The spider made a truly awful noise in reaction, drawing back and slightly inward with -- ugh, so many legs, whywhywhy -- plugging up the hole out even more effectively than it had been before. 

“Uh...”

Well, that backfired. And it got worse! Despite the semi-darkness, there was an eerie glittering to the spider’s many, way too many eyes as it seemed to lock on him. And then it stretched back out. Joints creaking in this horribly organic but still alien noise that made a shiver run up Linus’ spine.

And then it skittered right at them, mandibles clacking away in what must have been anger.

Linus spun on his heel and started shoving his unfortunate accomplice further into the tunnel. “Move, move, move! That did not go how it went in my head!”

Heigh-Ho, High-Ho

These aren’t your typical caves and tunnels. As you move from one burrow to the next, exploring myriad animal-made (and animal-sized!) tunnels, you must watch not only for territorial creatures but the potential for a cave-in. And what are you here for, you ask? Simple: your weapons didn’t shrink with you and you don’t know how long you’ll be stuck like this while you and your allies search for the perpetrator. You’ll need materials for weapons. Among the caves are crystalline mushrooms found only dark, tight spaces that release magical spores when touched. Be careful, lest you wind up with a few other maladies.  [ Grants Axe +1 ]

(starter for @justicefanged)

It had been a mistake to let himself get sucked into the Golden Deer's afterparty, he saw that now.

"Hey," he grunted, kicking half-heartedly at Linus beside him before rolling over and rising to his feet. "Get up. It's bad."

Bad was an understatement, he thought, keeping his gaze on the spider that came to his knees. It shifted back and forth, tilting its body in a way that seemed almost curious, its mandibles clicked in a manner that was wholly upsetting, and Raven's fingers flexed, patting his waist gently, slowly, all around for a moment before the cool realization settled on his shoulders: he didn't have his sword. Where the fuck was his sword?

In the distance, he saw light shining through a small opening - presumably into the Golden Deer's classroom? Impossible to tell at the moment, given the spider. Raven ground his teeth, casting a quick glance about the area - a tunnel the burrowed deeper into the ground. Not ideal, but he wasn't about to fistfight a spider.

His gaze flicked to Linus, who didn't appear to have any of his kit on him, either, then behind them once more, desperate for anything that could be used for defense.

"Am I gonna have to drag you?" Raven hissed, inching backward. "We need to move."

[lostysworld]

Where did you put...? - Kaz Brekker x reader

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Being a friend of Kaz Brekker is a hard job, especially when he starts acting like a child

A/N: I know, that Kaz is probably the most organized person ever. But I only thought of the idea of him trying to find his things, and here we are.

Since you've appeared in the Slat and made your way towards the Crows' hearts, you always did that thing.

Every time when Kaz leaves his documents in his office in the Crow Club to finish his paperwork later, he finds them laying in different order. Different order from his own. Even if it means, that they are sorted into groups instead of being scattered all over the desk.

Every single day Brekker sees the same thing, and every time he knows, that it is you. Annoying you doing annoying things in his office while he can't see.

Once he comes in the room, he finds you sitting in the chair next to his desk. Well, you don't even run from your crime scene after all.

– For how many times have I told you not to move anything on my table?

You lazily raise your head, tearing your gaze from the book on your lap.

– Every time, actually. I stopped counting, - after watching him trying to reorganize what you've done, you roll your eyes. – Come on, Kaz! You'll find your things faster, if I just continue to do them.

– I was doing fine without your organizing, Y/N. And I had every thing on its place.

– And guess why?

You arch your brow speaking about the obvious, than only makes Brekker angrier. Not to drive him mad more, you decide to continue with your book.

But every five minutes nervous rustling from the table side and quiet swearing draw your attention.

You cast a glance to him. It was an early evening, and sun rays coming through the window on the opposite wall light up the desk along with its owner.

Kaz is in hurry, and his hair is a bit disheveled with strands falling down on his face gracefully. You can watch him for hours.

– What are you looking for, Kaz?

– Nothing, - you want to punch him for being so grumpy and angry with you. Everything was fine until this moment.

– Can I help you to find-

– You've already helped!

– Saints, Kaz, stop shouting at me.

You two argue a lot, but every time it ends up with you trying to calm him down. Because if you don't stop the war, it will become a disaster named after Kaz Brekker.

You are his best friend and even with your unrequited feelings towards him, you still want the best for the man.

– Then maybe you should work more and stop messing around here? - you can't be truly angry with him, knowing he tells is out of rage.

– Keeping your desk organized helps to keep it all in you head. In order. Everything is connected, - you are still looking at him with that silky gaze. –Things. Mind. Body.

– Mind. Business.

– You are my business, Kaz.

He falls silent, but you know that his blood is literally boiling inside of his veins. His jaw is clenched tightly and he goes on speaking with you through greeted teeth.

– Just...leave me.

Saints, he can be so stubborn sometimes! You turn to go away, looking over your shoulder at the doorway. Kaz still tries to find something, turning everything on his desk upside down.

Now with all of your attempts to keep this place clean rapidly falling down, you just shake your head and finally leave him.

If this man can pretend he will be better without you, so be it.

The second day in a row you spend in Nina's favourite bakery. The second day in a row you don't come to the Slat or the Crow club. Forty eight hours have passed since the moment when you saw Kaz.

But don't see doesn't mean don't communicate.

'Where is the contract with the merchant about that painting?'

'Did you see my letter to the appraiser?'

'Where did you put my maps?'

In your first day you lost count of small notes, that Kaz sent with his messenger to you. You always answered the same moment and sent the boy back.

Every time Brekker asked if you saw one or another document of his. Today is the second day, and you finally stop doing it. After all he asked you to leave him. That is the exact thing, that you are going to do for the next days.

Finally in the evening you leave the bakery, making your way to one of your friends' house, where you currently stay in.

When the early night falls on Ketterdam you are almost there, when someone's steps behind you make you halt on the spot.

You won't be a member of the Dregs, if don't catch another sound except of these steps. A barely audible clicking. A cane clicking.

You sigh tiredly and turn around facing Kaz in front of you. In the flesh. You just throw your arms up in annoyance.

– Should I help you to find another-

– Come back.

His voice is tired, but firm. And you can say he's serious like never before. You are just staying on your place without a single move towards him. Instead he comes closer himself.

– Come back to the Slat, Y/N.

– Why? To do the work you don't appreciate? Or to argue with you every single day?

He lowers his glance on a moment, and you can catch a strange sparkle in it. Obviously this visit isn't easy for Brekker.

– Kaz? - you shake your head and come up to the man. Now he really behaves like a moody toddler. – Is your office too messy without me?

You chuckle lightly. You could only imagine what a mess he made while searching for what he needed.

– It's too empty, actually.

You can't hold back a sigh of relief. Honestly you hate quarreling with Kaz, and now when he is not angry anymore, you can say, you're happy.

Brekker extends his gloved hand to you, waiting for your response.

– Come back to me, Y/N.

With a small smile on your lips you take his hand in yours and finally shorten the distance between you two. The man's lips slightly turn up in a grin as you two walk towards the Slat.

– When we are there, will you help me to-

– Oh, are you doing this again, Kaz? I can't believe it!

You playfully shove him in the shoulder, and continue you way hand in hand with him.

@tranquilitymoon

[floral-force]

Knight in Beskar Armor: Chapter 1

Audience with a Hunter

words: 2.9k

series master list | read on ao3

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“Wake up, Princess! You have a long day ahead of you.”

The familiar voice of your maid drifted into your ears, waking you from your slumber. You groan and open your eyes, then hiss and recoil when the bright Coruscant sunlight hits your tired eyes.

“Maker, Nelly! Did you have to open the curtains all the way?” You growl, your voice hoarse. You tug your bedsheets over your head and groan again, even though you know Nelly won’t give in to your fit.

There’s a soft thump and you feel weight tug down on your mattress by your feet. A sigh follows, and you can picture how Nelly must look—forehead wrinkled, pinching the bridge of her nose, thin lips pursed—as she tried to find a solution to your stubbornness. Silence envelopes both of you; all you can hear is a lone morning bird chirping faintly outside as you wait for her to respond. You slowly peek out from the sheets and see Nelly perched on the end of your bed, the morning light highlighting the lines on her face and making her frustration into a divine portrait like that of a saint.

And if anyone was a saint, it was Nelly. She had been your nursemaid initially and then remained your maid after you refused any other nanny or maid presented to you. Nelly was there when you were brought into the world, and she was there for your first words and steps. Nelly kissed your childhood wounds and dressed them with gentle hands, whether it was bandaging a scrape on your knee or holding you after you overheard your parents arguing. Nelly guided you through your anxieties about womanhood and all that it brought with it, physically and mentally. She was the one who helped you accept your future role as Queen of Naboo.

You slowly sat up and reached out to touch her hand where it was resting on her lap. She heard your movement and looked at you, and you could have sworn you saw a weariness in her eyes that you hadn’t seen before. She took your hand and squeezed it, smiling weakly.

“Oh, Nelly, forgive me. I—”

“Hush, Princess. I know you have been anxious about this day for a long while now,” She squeezed your hand and leaned in closer to you. “I’m sure it didn’t help that I let the sun blind you.”

You chuckled. “Not really. But I’m more awake now.”

Nelly rose, outstretching her other hand to you. You took it and she pulled you out of bed, just as she had always done since you were a toddler. You were a bit taller than the short maid, but not enough that she had to strain to look into your eyes; when Nelly kissed your forehead, you had to slightly tilt your head so her lips could meet your skin. The routine gesture was something you had never received from your own mother, and the more you reflect on it, the more you realize that Nelly provided the comforts your own mother could never give you.

“Let’s get you ready—you have a long day.”

You nodded and followed Nelly into your boudoir, then sat in front of your vanity and started fixing your hair as Nelly prepared water for you to rinse your face with. As your morning routine progressed, you felt yourself awaken more and more. While Nelly was tightening your corset and fixing your gown, you stared at yourself in the floor length mirror. You were then consumed by your own thoughts and anxieties, both about yourself and the day. You’d spent your entire life being prepared for your future, and now that it was approaching, you were terrified. All of Naboo would have its eyes on you, as would the other planets in the system. The weight of the kingdom would soon fall on your delicate shoulders.

The touch of cold metal around your neck snapped you out of your anxious trance, and you watched as Nelly placed a simple silver necklace around your throat, centering the modest teardrop diamond to fall right between your collarbones. It complimented your simple sapphire blue gown, the silver in the necklace matching the thin silver belt that accented your waist. The lace on the square neckline was the only detail you disliked about this gown; it made your chest itchy, and you had no way to relieve that itch until the end of the day. Flowing out under the belt in a centered upside-down V was a simple floral pattern embroidered in white. The hem of your gown had the same pattern, and you adored how delicate it looked.

Nelly carefully put a simple bandeau tiara on your head, making sure not to disturb the hair you had pinned back and away from your face in a simple low bun, a few pieces framing your face. In the center of the tiara was a gorgeous oval sapphire that perfectly matched the hue of your gown. You stepped into a pair of pointed slippers that matched your gown, finishing your daytime outfit.

You thanked Nelly, and the two of you left the boudoir and your chamber to walk to the garden for your breakfast. Whenever it was sunny, your palace staff knew to set your breakfast outside; you loved the way the garden looked in the morning, and it was your favorite place to be on the palace grounds. After a silent walk through the palace’s winding hallways, Nelly opened a door and you stepped outside and into the fresh Naboo air, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath through your nose, immediately feeling relaxed when you exhaled and opened your eyes. Nelly rubbed your back and guided you to where a mug of hot tea and warm food was waiting for you, your chair set to face the expanse of bright flowers and the lush foliage. You gave Nelly a kiss on the cheek, and she left you to enjoy your morning by yourself.

The morning was the only time you felt at peace. The nighttime was good; you were by yourself and could read by candlelight, stargaze on your balcony, relieve stress through pleasuring yourself, or you could put yourself to sleep with fantasies about a different life. The morning, however, never began with stress. The night was when you had to cope with the day’s stress, but the morning was when you enjoyed your last moments of peace before being subjected to whatever your day brought with it. There was beauty in these intimate and peaceful moments that were reserved purely for you, and they let you connect with yourself and clear your mind.

You listened to birds sing their morning ballad as you ate, the sun warming your skin. After you finished your meal, you sipped your tea and admired the flowers. You heard the door click open, and you recognized Nelly’s soft footsteps. She asked if you were finished, and when you nodded, she walked over to you and you stood, linked arms with her, and left your paradise for the confines of the palace.

“Nelly?”

“Yes, Princess?”

You looked down at the floor, watching it pass your feet as you gathered the courage to speak. “I-I’m nervous.”

You felt a tug when Nelly stopped walking, and you stopped as well, eyes still on the floor. Her free left hand cupped your cheek, and you lifted your eyes to look into her green ones. She was frowning, sad and concerned. It wasn’t pity—you knew Nelly didn’t pity you. It was the face of a mother worried for her child. Nelly had always told you she still saw you as the little girl she tended to, and you realized she must be a bit scared for your next chapter in life just like you. She breathed out your name, a soft motherly sigh, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“You are more than capable for this, for your new duties, for your life. All that is soon to come, you will handle with grace.” She smiled gently at you. “I know it.”

You smiled back at her, placing your hand over hers. “Thank you, Nelly.”

She simply smiled, dropped her hand, and you both started to make your way to the throne room, where your challenges would begin.

Upon reaching the throne room doors that were flanked by two knights on either side, Nelly unlinked your arms to turn and face you, and squeezed your hands. She rubbed your arms, centered your necklace and tiara, remarked your beauty, and then left you to finish her morning duties. You took a deep breath and nodded at the silent knights, letting them open the doors to where you’d be spending a majority of your day.

You saw your father and mother sitting at the very end of the elegant room, seated on ornate thrones atop a high marble platform that rose from the floor. Your feet gently tapped the ornate rug that stretched all the way from the doors to the foot of the platform’s marble steps, casting a shadow on it as sun poured through the arched windows on the east side of the room. Portraits of former Naboo monarchs lined the opposite wall, and as you approached your parents, your heart started beating faster. The royal blue banner of the Naboo crest behind your parents seemed more ominous than it had ever appeared to you before, and you tried your best to ignore it and focus instead on maintaining your posture and keeping your head lifted. Your parents could not see you stumble or slip up, especially today.

Finally, you reached them, and you gave them a deep curtsy, awaiting their words when you rose. Your mother seemed to be judging every aspect of your appearance, even if her gaze didn’t show it. You could see the wheels turning in her head, and you felt your mind begin to race with critiques about your body, the way your dress looked on you, your face, your hair…everything. You were brought back from your internal critiques when your father’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Daughter,” he gestured to the empty throne at his right side. “Come. Sit.”

You obeyed, feeling like a village dog after your father’s commands. Every day, you hope he’ll ask about your morning, or how you’re feeling, or even just smile at you. You read once that insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result. Maybe you were a fool for hoping your father would finally show you a tiny bit of affection, but the small girl within you constantly hoped for it.

He didn’t have to tell you what would be filling your morning; you’d sat through many audiences before. Commoners from all across Naboo entering the throne room, airing grievances, asking for help with their villages’ needs, some even sinking to their knees and begging for help with a dire situation. Over time, you’ve learned to suppress visible emotional responses, focusing instead on your father’s responses. Someday soon, it would be you making these decisions, speaking with your planet’s citizens, and you had to learn to put your emotional nature aside in favor of practicality and logic.

The morning turned into afternoon, and you felt yourself getting restless. Luckily, a recess was called, and you exited the throne room alone, walking to the gardens again. It was refreshing to step outside and breathe in the scent of flowers after spending hours inside a stuffy throne room. You walked along the path, meandering deeper into the gardens, brushing your hand against the flowers, grounding yourself with the touch of petals and leaves. Finally, you reached the pavilion, where you could get a clear view of Naboo’s gorgeous landscape beyond the gardens. You smiled, looking up from the flower bushes, and your breath hitched when you caught a glint of armor across the pavilion.

There weren’t normally knights here; why was he here? However, he couldn’t be a knight, he wasn’t wearing the same armor that Naboo’s Royal Guard donned. You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of every breeze and every pebble under your slippers. He seemed to be staring directly at you from across the pavilion, and even though his face was hidden by his helmet, you could feel his gaze piercing you. It unnerved you, and you felt your blood freeze. Your backward steps picked up in speed until you turned around entirely, nearly jogging to get away from the unknown knight.

When you were approaching the marble patio, you noticed a glass of water and a plate of fruit, cheese, and biscuits were left out for you. Scared that the knight was following you, you scarfed it all down, and then hurried inside back to the throne room. You had never wanted to be stuck in a stuffy room with your parents before now, but it was only because some strange knight frightened you in your safest place in the palace.

The afternoon audience carried on in the same fashion as it did in the morning. This time, however, your father allowed you to respond to some commoners, adding on when he saw fit or deemed your response inadequate. Although he never addressed you or gave you explicit instructions or tips, you sensed that he was guiding you in the only way he knew how. You watched as candelabras and sconces slowly began to glow automatically, a product of your planet’s advanced technology. Finally, the herald called forth the last case, and you felt your heart stop.

It was him. He approached the platform, and as he came closer into view, you noticed his broad shoulders and the blaster holstered on his thigh, the ripped cape trailing behind him, and the signet on the right shoulder of his armor. You weren’t close enough to make it out precisely, but you were confident you didn’t want to ever be that close to him. He knelt when he reached the base of the platform, dropping his head.

“Rise, Mandalorian.”

Mandalorian. You remember reading about Mandalore during your lessons; you thought all remaining Mandalorians were either dead or hiding in the Outer Rim. You felt silly for not realizing the stranger was a Mandalorian—you should have remembered the distinct helmet style from your readings. In fairness, you were frightened and not paying attention to detail, just on putting distance between you and the ominous stranger.

Your father continued after the Mandalorian rose to his feet, his gaze now directed at your father. “I trust you bring news on your latest quarry?”

“Yes,” the Mandalorian said, his voice modulated through the helmet. “The quarry is outside of this room.”

Your father nodded. “Very well. Sir Morn, give the Mandalorian his pay.”

The Calamari treasurer appeared seemingly out of nowhere—he must have entered the room at some point, and you didn’t notice it because your entire body was frozen on the Mandalorian—and presented the Mandalorian with a bag of credits. He pulled them out, examining them in his gloved hands. Maker, your father paid the Mandalorian handsomely; at least 500 credits were in that bag. Satisfied, the Mandalorian cinched the bag closed, and Sir Morn walked away.

“Mandalorian, I have a proposition for you.”

“If it’s another quarry, you know what my answer will be,” he stated, tucking the bag away in a satchel at his hip.

“Join my Guard.”

Your eyes widened and your head snapped to your father, who had a straight face, his chin lifted. He was exuding confidence, but it terrified you. He was crazy to believe a Mandalorian would join the Royal Guard.

Without hesitation, the Mandalorian replied, “I work for no one.”

“I already reward you for hunting the threats to Naboo.” The king shrugged, resting his elbow on the throne’s armrest. “Why not make it official?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet turned slightly to the right. Was he intrigued? You couldn’t tell. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you waited for his modulated response.

“I refuse to ‘officially’ work for anyone. This is The Way.” The Mandalorian’s words sent a chill across your skin, and you felt the tension in the throne room increase.

Your father sat back in his throne, nodding. “Very well. In that case, I suppose we shall continue to conduct business as we have been.”

The Mandalorian nodded, and turned to walk away, but your father’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“But Mandalorian, seeing as this quarry was particularly difficult—I’ve fought plenty of those wretched Barabels in my time—I welcome you to rest in my palace tonight.” He paused, then added, “I can also see to it that my bay crew fix your ship.”

The Mandalorian paused, considering the deal. “No droids.”

Your father smiled. “Of course.” He rose, and you and your mother followed suit, trailing behind him as he descended the steps to meet the Mandalorian. “I’ll have one of my stewards show you to your chamber for the night.”

As you exited the throne room with your parents and the Mandalorian, your mind was racing, still terrified, but now you were…intrigued. Your curiosity was getting the better of you, turning your fear into stupid interest in the mysterious Mandalorian.

When the steward led the Mandalorian down the hall, you could have sworn he was staring directly at you, eyeing you up like one of his bounties.

next

[twh-news]

How Loki Shapeshifted From Nordic Folklore to a Marvel Icon

by Sara Durn

There are more than 800 years between the stories of Viking god Loki first being written down and his arrival (in the superb Tom Hiddleston) in the Marvel cinematic universe in 2011’s Thor. The new Disney+ series Loki, set to be released on June 9, is primed to explore more antics of Thor’s trickster brother as he attempts to fix the timeline he helped break in Avengers: Endgame. Among his many talents, Loki has cheated death a few times in the MCU, but that amounts to child’s play for this god.

In Norse mythology, Loki causes just as much confusion as his Marvel iteration. Though there aren’t any stories of him outwitting death, there are plenty of myths where he shapeshifts, swaps genders, or tricks gods into killing other gods. In the Marvel universe, he’s quite prone to allegiance swapping. Let’s dig into this troublemaker’s journey.

What is Loki’s origin?

The legends surrounding the Norse god are first documented in writing around the 13th century, primarily in Iceland. There are two versions of these legends that enter the historical record around the same time—the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda. The Poetic Edda is an anonymous collection of Old Norse poems that are mainly pulled from an Icelandic medieval manuscript known as the Codex Regius (some of the poems date back to 800 CE). The Prose Edda is an Old Norse textbook for composing poetry that was written by a single author, Snorri Sturluson, a colorful Icelandic historian, scholar, and lawspeaker.

“Within the myths, you can see Loki moving from being just mischievous to being absolutely evil. If you think of him as only being mischievous, he’s actually a creative force and often ends up getting the gods much of their magical possessions, like Thor’s Hammer, through his cunning.”

“Pretty much everything we know about Loki came from Snorri Sturluson,” Viking scholar Nancy Marie Brown, author of Song of the Vikings: Snorri and the Making of Norse Myths, told io9. Brown says this was very appropriate given that “Snorri was quite a trickster figure himself.” While calling him the “Homer of the North,” Brown also acknowledges that Snorri spent a lifetime “double-crossing friends and family… scheming and plotting, blustering and fleeing”— a life that eventually led to his unheroic demise in a nightshirt where his (supposed) final words were “don’t strike!” In both Eddas, Loki is always portrayed as a cunning trickster. In the Prose Edda, Snorri describes Loki as “pleasing and handsome in appearance, evil in character, very capricious in behavior. He possessed to a greater degree than other [gods] the kind of learning that is called cunning.”

Besides appearances, Loki is always getting the gods into trouble and then cleverly extricating them from the mess he’s made. He fathers the Midgard Serpent destined to bring about Ragnarök, the end of the world in Norse mythology. He convinces the blind god Hodr to kill the beautiful and favored god Baldur. He kidnaps the goddess Idun to save his own hide from a furious giant. The mythological character is constantly switching sides—sometimes supporting the gods and sometimes their enemies, the giants. In the MCU, Loki is both hero and villain—in The Avengers he opened a wormhole in New York City releasing alien monsters and in Thor: Ragnarok he helped Thor save the Asgardians from Hela’s wrath.

Thorwald’s Cross, a fragmented runestone depicting Odin being consumed. Image: Public Domain

Loki might have begun as a Norse god of fire—fitting considering how fire can be both “helpful and destructive,” said Brown. Fire can both burn down your house and cook you dinner. It’s tricky that way—like Loki. As Brown puts it, “You can see his two sides there [reflected in fire].” Brown also explains that there was likely a transformation in Loki over the centuries. “Within the myths, you can see Loki moving from being just mischievous to being absolutely evil. If you think of him as only being mischievous, he’s actually a creative force and often ends up getting the gods much of their magical possessions, like Thor’s Hammer, through his cunning.” Again, it’s just like Marvel’s Loki, who sometimes helps the other gods out, like when he teamed up with Thor to escape the Grandmaster in Thor: Ragnarok.

What is Loki’s relationship with the Devil?

In the long, slow conversion of the Vikings to Christianity that took place between the 9th and 12th centuries, Loki became a parallel to the Christian Devil. The creative, positive elements of him fell away leaving only the god favored by the Father (Odin/God) before getting cast out. (It does sound a bit like Lucifer, right?) Christianity paints a world that is far more black and white, good vs. evil than the Norse pagan religion—here’s little room for a grey, ambiguous figure like Loki. As Brown puts it, “The Christian religion insists that you’re either with us or against us. Whereas in what we understand of the pagan Viking religion, there were a lot of shades of grey. There was a spectrum on which you could move back and forth. You weren’t all one thing or all the other. You weren’t all female or all male. You weren’t all good or all evil. It was more human.”

Loki always moved fluidly between those two polarities—helping Thor in one story, causing an overthrow of the gods in another. In one tale, Loki shapeshifts into a mare, becoming the mother of Odin’s great 8-legged horse, Sleipnir. In another, he fathers the wolf Fenrir. The Church couldn’t really handle all that grey area Loki liked to inhabit, and so it eventually cast him as the devil himself. “[Monks] had to sort the gods into saints and devils, and Loki by being sexually ambiguous and also morally ambiguous falls into the devil [category],” explained Brown. Though Marvel’s Loki certainly channels a bit of the devil at times, we’ve luckily yet to see him become both mother and father to world-ending, multi-legged monsters in the Marvel Universe. But, there’s still time, especially with the new Disney+ series hitting the small screen.

When was Loki’s Revival?

After the Viking conversion, the Norse myths started to fade, and Loki with them—until the 1600s, when medieval manuscripts like those containing the Prose and Poetic Edda began to be translated. “The reason [these myths] became popular was because of nationalism,” Brown told us. “In the mid to late 1800s, there was the idea that what distinguished one nation from another was its cultural heritage.” This spurred Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm and Wilhelm Carl Grimm—known to many simply as the Brothers Grimm—to go “collect the stories of the local people to prove that Germany was a nation, not a collection of states. You had the same thing happening in Ireland to prove that they were different from the English and you have the same thing happening in Iceland, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.” This eventually gave rise to the Nazis appropriating Norse myths in their twisted pursuit of alleging Aryan supremacy.

Following the Civil War, the United States also looked to the Middle Ages to redefine the country’s fractured identity. As Chris Bishop, author of Medievalist Comics and the American Century, explained to io9, “[the Middle Ages] offered an aesthetic that was individualistic (think: the knight errant, Robin Hood, etc.), given to interpretations of exceptionalism (Camelot, the once and future king), venerable (where old equalled established and respectable), and (unlike Classicism) Christian.” The Middle Ages, or more accurately the remixing of the Middle Ages known in academia as “medievalisms,” appealed to many Americans obsessed with ideas of American exceptionalism and singularity in the 19th century. Eventually the U.S.’s obsession with the Middle Ages made its way into comic books starting with Prince Valiant in 1937, a comic strip created by Hal Foster set in and around the legends of King Arthur. Other medievalist comics followed eventually leading to the inclusion of Norse gods like Loki, Thor, and Odin.

First appearance of Loki in the 1949 Venus comics. Image: Wikicommons

When was Marvel Comics’ Loki introduced?

While Loki first appeared in the 1949 comic book Venus styled after (you guessed it) the devil, the modern-age Loki didn’t hit the comic book scene until co-writers and brothers Stan Lee and Larry Lieber adapted him in 1962’s Journey into Mystery #85. It’s in that issue where Loki “becomes Thor’s enemy/ally/brother/adopted brother/etc,” said Bishop. The mischievous personality of the Norse god remains largely the same in the Loki of the comic books and films and even retains the ability to swap genders at times.

In the comics, Loki is raised as Thor’s brother in Asgard—somewhere the Marvel stories diverge from the Norse mythology. It’s Loki and Odin who are sworn brothers in the Norse myths, not Loki and Thor. As Brown explains, “Loki and Odin are blood brothers, which means they are even closer than real brothers.” In the Viking world, two people who swore a blood oath to one another formed a bond that went beyond kin, and so went the Norse Loki and Odin’s relationship. As Bishop points out, the Loki/Thor dynamic of the comics and movies is a “classic, formulaic archetype.” Thor is the “big, hunky, handsome (but slightly dumb) hero” and Loki is “his slight, quirky but super-smart frenemy. Loki is the dark, misunderstood, vulnerable shadow that audiences can relate to, reach out to, care for. Thor is that dumb jock who everyone looked up to at school, but Loki was that cool, quiet kid who went on to found a tech-empire.”

Why is Loki called a Trickster?

What does remain consistent with Loki is that he always plays the trickster. He is the manifestation of psychologist Carl Jung’s archetype: The trickster disrupts the individual and/or society causing either growth or destruction. Social scientist Helena Bassil-Morozow points out that when it comes to Loki, “despite the fact that the narrative details between the medieval Loki stories and their contemporary versions vary, the main idea remains the same—the trickster mercilessly attacks those in power and nearly causes the end of the world.” Both in the Norse myths and in Marvel, the world needs saving from Loki. He acts as the catalyst for a whole lot of upheaval—upheaval that in the Norse myths causes Ragnarök.

Loki “functions as a locus of salvation (literally, a prodigal son).” Loki just might be a savior. He’s someone audiences can look at and think “if Loki can be redeemed, so too might I.”

Perhaps that’s where the two narratives differ the most. In the Norse tales, the end of the world at Ragnarök is inevitable. Odin and Thor will die. Everything will change. Vikings lived with the knowledge that their world would end. In the MCU, we don’t know how the story ends, plus Ragnarök took place already and yet the Asgardians live on. There’s still hope that Loki will prove to be good and that the other superheroes will save the world from whatever mayhem he’s caused, or so we can hope in the upcoming Disney+ series. As Bishop puts it, Loki “functions as a locus of salvation (literally, a prodigal son).” Loki just might be a savior. He’s someone audiences can look at and think “if Loki can be redeemed, so too might I,” explains Bishop.

While the Vikings’ Loki caused the end of the world, today’s Loki might just save it. Or maybe not. And, perhaps that’s the fun of the trickster—you never quite know what they’ll get up to.

[saphirered]

Every Second Counts

A little Mollymauk x acrobat!reader that’s been floating around my head. I hope it turned out well. 

You’d been with the circus for a while. You’re part of the family. You are the prime example of agility over strength in appearance but that doesn’t take away from the fact you have muscle control some may ever only dream of. While you are less of a contortionist you’re still very flexible. You could say you’re more of an acrobat. Your circus family is also aware you have an affinity for being sticky-fingered. Your light and quick movement has helped you lighten the pockets of individuals many times before. You have the face of a talker. Attractive as your tongue is quick and you are not afraid to put that charm to good use. All these traits gained you the interest and undivided attention of Mollymauk Tealeaf. 

The man knows little shame and doesn’t hold back when he’s actually telling the truth. He was never shy to make his attraction to you clear but never put pressure on you or have expectations. If you liked him, then you did, and if not so be it. If you told him you liked him, great, if not, that’s fine. If you wanted him not to be affectionate towards you, hug you, sit close to you, pull you into his lap or sit down in yours, he won’t. Molly is aware there’s a difference between pushing the line and crossing a boundary. He’s respectful of those hard boundaries and won’t cross them. 

You’d catch Molly sitting in the audience section of the tent while you were rehearsing for the night when he wasn’t on duty for something. When he was, and Gustav would find him he’d be scolded and told to go back to work, many things to be done before the shows. You’d blow him a kiss when Gustav would threaten to get Yasha or Bo to drag him out, a threat the man would make good on and therefor Molly had to leave one way or another. He’d prefer to leave with his dignity somewhat intact. 

Whenever he could, he’d enlist you to go into town with him to attract an audience for the show. If you had other things to do priorly, they’d somehow already been done or someone else would be doing them by the time you were ready to do them. You had to compliment Mollymauk’s efforts just to spend more time with you. Trickery, bribery and other methods of persuasion were not out of the question to reach this goal. You had to compliment his efforts. 

You never minded any of these things as you enjoyed spending time with Molly. The only hindrance standing in your way had always been your responsibilities and him changing them so they would align, had to be a blessing. Whenever he was successful persuading Orna, one of the most difficult to persuade to switch with, he’d pick you up and spin you around proclaiming proudly he had done it again. 

Your relationship is very organic and in the moment. You’d say you’re in a relationship but neither of you would say you’re boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, partners, friends with benefits or anything alike. You’re you and he’s him. You care about each other, love each other, you spend time together, hug, cuddle and kiss. You’re affectionate, sleep in the same spaces, and sleep together. You do all the stuff couples would do but neither of you ever cared to define your relationship. You’re you and he’s him and that’s all that mattered. This arrangement works for both of you and neither of you feel the need to define or change it.

You’re practicing as the tent is being set up by the heavy lifters. Camp is already sorted so you found yourself with some free time you put to use to warm up a bit. Using one of the smaller tall poles secured you climb up onto the top. You stand on one leg the other parallel to the ground, jump and switch legs, one leg up straight into the air moving your body down until your palms touch the pole. You move your balancing leg up as well and shift the weight to your arms, kicking legs forward, backward and repeat one-handed. You switch to balancing on your lower arms and keep going through the motions to warm up. You hear a whistle. 

“While I’d hate to interrupt, Gustav says you’re with me, dear.” The familiar lavender tiefling smiles looking up at you. You sit down one leg over the other and smile back at him.

“Oh really? Gustav said so? How much did that cost you?” You say innocently. 

“Only three days of dishes and I washing Desmond’s costume after closing night.” Well, at least that wasn’t the worst. 

“Did Gustav tell you I’m free until tonight or did he forget to mention that.” Your smile changes into a grin as Mollymauk frowns.

“That bastard…” You hear him whisper under his breath at the realisation he got roped into cleaning duty for nothing. 

“Come on, let me make good on your deal.” You wrap your legs around the pole and lean backwards. Molly lifts his hands above his head high enough for you to grab them. You hold on and release the pole balancing solely on his hands as he takes a few steps back before you flip over and land on your feet on facing Molly. 

“Thank you. Shall we?” You kiss his cheek grabbing his arm and pulling him along towards the town. 

——————————————————————————

You’d been informed the town houses some dirty rich folks and it’s noticeable by the fine silks and flashy jewellery. Good reason to have increased the ticket price for the shows. Molly and you go around talking to groups and individuals alike, handing out flyers and persuading them to come see the show. You managed to get some excited folks to come see the show but for some more hardheaded individuals you had to throw your charm into the ring. A husky voice, fake interest, a touch of the arm and a bat of the eyelashes got you very far. 

One rather grumpy individual took a bit more to persuade and neither of you were willing to put in the effort after the good round you’d already had. But you did catch a flashy ruby ring and golden bracelet. With their attitude you found yourself justified to relieve them of these possessions during your pitch, for their own good of course. Only later the mention of that person’s name confirmed them to be an entitled asshole day and night, justifying your actions even more in your mind. Molly knew you took something on your little field trip but didn’t know what and you intended to keep it that way.

The night after the show Molly is cleaning dishes with the water from a nearby stream. You make your way over inspecting the stack of clean bowls, plates and cups.

“Came to see my good work?” He scrubs another bowl, checking it and putting it with the pile. 

“No. Desmond told me some of them want a second round after all so they need their dishes back. Mollymauk groans, takes the towel and throws it at you. You catch it before it hits you. 

“Rude! I’m just kidding, well half kidding. I managed to persuade them to leave the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow to spare you more dishes.” You take a bowl from the stacked clean dishes and begin drying it. Molly bumps his hip into yours. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re the real devil between the two of us.” Molly hands you the next dish stealing a kiss. 

“Oh shush. You know I’m a saint.” 

“A saint of thievery, deception and trickery.” He points an accusatory finger at you and you slap it away.

“But a saint no less.” You counter grabbing the pointing finger. Molly pulls you closer and kisses your hand giving you one of his trademark charming looks.

“Are you going to tell me what you took earlier today?” He leans in close placing one hand on your hip and swaying slightly in a dancing motion. You deliberate for a second before you hold his chin between your fingers until he’s millimetres away from your face.

“Back to the dishes Mollymauk.” The demeanour drops and you the victor of this little game between the two of you as you take a step back, pick up the cloth once more and continue drying the dishes. The accusatory finger returns and pokes your side.

“Hey, it was a team effort so I have a claim to fifty percent of what you got!” You innocently continue your job, or well, Molly’s job.

“Whatever you say, darling Mollymauk.” You grin as he flicks water at you. 

“You are infuriating.” He exclaims as you finish the dishes and return them to their place.

——————————————————————————

The next few days consisted of Mollymauk continuously bringing up ‘his share’ of the find but you played along innocently talking around in circles. You had plans and when they’re completed you’ll share them but for now, a secret they will remain. He had tried going through your things when unpacking some things for you, something not done secretly but you humoured him and let him try anyway. Coming to the conclusion it wasn’t among your things and definitely not on your person, or he’d definitely have known, he tried to interrogate you to see if you had given it to someone else to hold onto. Gustav, Yasha, Kylre, and even little Toya told him anything. The downside of your little family; they lie for their own if they have to and are experts at keeping their mouths shut. 

You’re going off into town to check on your project. Sneaking away was successful with the help of Yasha keeping Molly busy for the day to the point where he couldn’t get out of it. You’d make sure to pick her up some flowers on the way as a thanks. 

Next stop; the jeweller. You had melted down the gold and taken the ruby out of its setting but you didn’t have the tools to cast anything let alone make moulds so you had to outsource. Luckily the jeweller was more than happy to help you fashion what you wanted made for a generous price, one you were willing to pay to get what you want. Today you got to pick it up. It came out exactly how you had hoped it would. Paying and thanking the jeweller you picked up some flowers and gathered some from the road on your way back. 

Back at the camp you saw Yasha and Molly sitting together while he played with his cards. You approach them handing Yasha the bought bouquet and gathered one.

“Thank you for keeping him busy for a bit, Yasha.” 

“No problem. Thank you for the flowers. They’re very pretty.” She gets up, picks up her sword and goes off to see what else needs to be done leaving the two of you alone. 

“So I have to do dishes for 3 days and clean Desmond’s costume and you get away with a bouquet and some wildflowers? You sure you’re not the one with the devil’s tongue, love?” You give him a wink. 

“I’m off to practice. Can you behave and entertain yourself for the next hour or so?” 

“Of course I can but I make no promises that I will. Have fun.” You kiss his cheek walk backwards and give a little wave as you go towards the big tent to practice your set for the show. 

——————————————————————————

Warm up went well, your usual set too but the new one you’re working on is still a bit tricky to figure out. You don’t fall or anything and your moves are on point but it’s still lacking a sense of consistency and fluidity. You’d have to blame your thoughts being elsewhere. You try for the so-many-eth time you’ve lost count. Cartwheel flip centre stage, pointe landing, bow, aerial flip forward. Good. Entrance on point. Reach stage left, stage right, pirouette pointe spins, silk ropes lower, wrap arm, and up. 

You continue your routine, twisting and turning, dropping and climbing using the silk ropes, swinging around, performing intricate and impossible moves for eyes of the untrained individual. When you’re practically upside down in a split towards the end of your time you watch Mollymauk enter the tent and plop down. You continue your routine regardless making brief eye contact with him. He claps whenever you finish a set like the audience would. 

Final move you drop down from the top of the aerial silks but stop just before you hit the ground. You vault back up until your feet touch the ground and take a bow ending your set. Molly claps again and you’re about to climb up when he rushes over so you halt. 

“So have you decided yet? When I’ll get my share? I’ve been wanting to buy something but am short on coin. I could really use it.” He tries to persuade as you step up close to him. 

“Patience dear. When you’re ready I’ll give you your share.” You give him a light peck that he turns into a deeper kiss. Deciding to use this opportunity you stealthily begin wrapping the silk around his waist. You break the kiss and stroke his cheek. 

“I think I’m ready. Isn’t that worth something?” You laugh at his attempt. You know he isn’t really interested in the gold. His own curiosity is just getting the better of him and making him antsy so this whole thing is more of a game to him than anything else and he still thinks he can be the victor. Little does he know… At the minimum this could be considered a draw, at the most, your win. 

You begin taking steps backward away from him towards the stage entrance of the tent. He steps along with you. At least he does until the silks hold him back. You laugh as Molly looks confused for a second until he realises what you did. 

“Very funny love.” You reach into your pocket producing a couple of gold coins and hold them up in front of him just out of reach. 

“Are you, love? You seem to be a little tied up.” You tease watching him untangle himself. Once he does a comes for you reaching for the gold. You side step out of the way. 

“Try again.” 

“Missed me.” 

“Almost.”

“Oops.” 

You speak through giggles as tries again and again to get the coins but you’re much faster. Having run enough circles you climb up the rope just out of his reach hanging upside down, the coins just inches from his finger tips. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this Mr. Tealeaf. Imagine what people might think.” You gasp sticking out your tongue.

“You and I both know neither of us care what people might think. Now you’ve had your fun. I concede. You win. I admit my defeat.” You take the coins back and put them in the pouch and allow yourself to slide down and right way up again in a split between the two silks. You reach into a different pocket and hold your hands behind your back.

“I said I conceded didn’t I. Or would you prefer me to beg at your feet too?” He jokes as you take your sweet time. 

“You don’t sound opposed.” You blow him a kiss. 

“Never.” He stands close enough for you to lean a hand on his shoulder. 

“Close your eyes Molly. I have a surprise for you.” Molly closes his eyes but you see him peak so you flick his nose. This time he closes his eyes proper. You take out the trinket you had made from the bracelet and ring; a beaded gold chain with a rayed sun and ruby centre stone, and begin attaching it to the other jewellery around his horns. You give him a kiss to signal he can open his eyes. 

“What did you-“ You flick at the new addition to his collection. 

“A little gift. I thought you’d prefer it over the coin. Though if you need the coin you can borrow mine.” Molly inspects the sun and recognises the ruby cut. 

“You little-. Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He peppers you with kisses as you lower yourself out of your split and to the floor. 

“Many times but I don’t mind being reminded of it.” You give him a smug smile as he pulls you in a deep kiss. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When you pull apart Mollymauk places another kiss to the top of your head and you lean your head against his shoulder living in the moment. You stand in each other’s embrace for what feels like an eternity, yet still an eternity too short. Every second is as valuable as the next so you bathe in each moment you get. You’re you and he’s him and that’s all you’ll ever need. 

[julemmaes]

The Seven Of Us

Cassian and Nesta Archeron modern au - morning cuddles

A/N: THIS. WAS. HAARD. AS FUCK TO WRITE. BUT IT IS FLUFF. A LOT OF IT. AND IT’S FOR MY ONE AND ONLY GIRL, NINA. I LOVE YOU HONEY AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN, I HOPE THIS DOES SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECCIATE YOU AND GUYS SEND PROMPTS FOR THIS AU CAUSE I’M ALREADY IMAGINING EVERYTHING POSSIBLE IN THIS UNIVERSE SO YEAH, ENJOY!!

Word count: 3,584

Nesta liked to sleep in late on the weekends. Especially on Sundays, when she was sure they wouldn't be busy and she could lounge in bed, under the comforter, without the dread of hearing her phone ring at any moment.

What Nesta didn't like was her insistent husband of no less than sixteen years caressing her bare side at an hour far too close to dawn after he'd had the audacity to keep her up all night for a good time.

"Cass." Nesta gave a first warning. She heard him chuckle behind her, but kept her eyes closed.

When the feather-light touch didn't stop tracing its path across her skin, tickling her side, she sighed, "Cass, stop."

She felt him move closer and the warmth radiating from his body was already starting to wrap around her. She could have fallen back asleep in half a second, but he had other plans. Her hand snapped to grasp his wrist and Cassian chuckled again, saying in a sleep-filled voice, "Sweetheart, you're squeezing too hard." with that he moved his fingers over her skin applying more pressure and up to her armpit, where she was particularly ticklish and Nesta jerked, accidentally making the back of her head collide with her husband's nose.

The reaction from both of them was instantaneous. Cassian grunted, turning away from her, bringing his hands to his nose, while Nesta whimpered, raising herself up on one elbow so she could glare at him.

He burst out laughing, trying not to make too much noise, but when he turned back around, his eyes were glazed with tears and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger.

Nesta felt a little guilty. But only a little.

"I get that you like pain, but I thought you'd be a little more forgiving after tonight," he joked in a muffled voice from his hand, with an amused glint in his eyes. Nesta knew there would be an arrogant grin under that hand, showing the purely male satisfaction for what they had done.

The frown on her face deepened, but her cheeks flushed nonetheless at the memory of him blocking her airways to prevent everyone from hearing her come for the umpteenth time even down the street.

After all, as he had reminded her several times during their little game that lasted hours and hours, they weren't alone in that house either. She still insisted after so many years on receiving those lonely and sacred hours together with her husband, and Cassian always told her that they both deserved it, that with all the work they did during the week, they needed to feel the hands of the other on their bodies without anything or anyone disturbing them. The fact that they had to take advantage of the nighttime hours between Saturdays and Sundays didn't mean they would ever give up sex.

Nesta pressed her lips together in a thin line, "I would have been more forgiving if you hadn't decided to wake me up by torturing me," she whispered.

Cassian made a bewildered face, chuckling softly, "I was giving you an under arm massage, no torture." he pretended not to understand. Then he moved his hand to her side once more, pulling her flush against him, and that cocky smirk appeared on his lips, "Although you didn't seem to mind the torture so much last night either. I don't see what the big deal is about doing it now."

He was teasing her and she knew it.

Nesta let her head fall forward, pushing her forehead against his chest now resigned that she would never sleep through that morning, "Please stop."

His other arm wrapped around her waist as well, pulling her even more until she was completely lying on top of him. Nesta pouted upon feeling that he'd put on his pajama pants and, casting a quick glance at her body from over her shoulder, she noticed she was wearing a tank top and underwear.

She turned around smiling shyly at Cassian, "Thank you for putting clothes on me."

It often happened that their recreational activities would end up exhausting her and she would fall asleep soon after, too tired to even slip into a pair of panties and t-shirt for the night.

He smiled back at her, "I would never want anyone to walk into the room and be traumatized for life by seeing us naked and tangled under the covers."

She looked away, beginning to trace the lines of his tattoos, "Although," she brushed one of his pecs with her lips, "right now I would love for you to be naked."

Her mouth left faint kisses and bites in the places she knew were sensitive, and as she began to slide lower, with a clear goal in mind, she felt Cassian catch his breath before releasing the air through his nostrils.

His hands began to caress her back, in a very different way from what he was doing a few minutes before, "We can't." he murmured with a longing voice, taking her hips and blocking her thrusting movements.

Nesta lifted her head, breathing irregularly despite the fact that they hadn't even come close to her goal, and when she met his gaze, she knew what he was thinking. She sulked again, groaning, "I just want to be able to have sex whenever I want, how long until all this shit is over?"

Cassian's chest jerked repeatedly beneath her as he laughed, "Legally speaking, in fourteen years, my love." he pulled her up until their noses were touching. He caressed her cheek, brushing her mouth with his, "Realistically, it'll never end."

Nesta shook her head, "I hate you when you use logic." she whispered, kissing him properly. His lips parted and he moaned against her when Nesta made their tongues collide.

They broke away suddenly when they heard a laugh coming from down the hall. Cassian cackled as he saw Nesta's terrified expression, "If you hadn't been so sure of yourself eleven years ago, the sex would only be three years away now," he murmured, hurrying to speak when the sound of three pairs of rushing feet began to echo throughout the house, getting closer and closer.

Huffing annoyed that Cassian was right again, she pulled herself up on his lap, pressing her hips against his just out of spite and he groaned, biting down on a fist and closing his eyes. She smiled in satisfaction, shifting from on top of him.

The second Nesta settled back into her side with her back against the headboard, the door swung open and three little girls came screaming in excitedly. A beaming smile spread across the woman's face as she opened her arms wide, ready to welcome her daughters.

"Mommy!"

"Dada!"

Andra, oddly enough, was the first of the group and was the first to reach the bed, but with her only four years of age, she was still too short to make it onto the bed and Cassian, who was smiling mischievously at her and was ready to get up and help her, thanked every saint in heaven for his third-born, Nora, when she pushed her onto the mattress.

Celia, the second of the girls, was already at Nesta's feet and was now climbing through all the blankets to reach her mom.

"Come here, Lia," Nesta said to her, extending a hand. The little girl's tiny fingers tightened around hers and then the two were hugging each other in a bone-crashing hug, "Good morning mommy." murmured the little girl. Nesta kissed her forehead over and over again.

Nora was still helping Andra to walk on that unstable ground when Cassian pulled himself up to sit down - too impatient to wait until they would get to him on their own - and grabbed them both by the waist, pulling them onto him. The two little girls burst out laughing immediately when their daddy started giving them the same attention their mother was giving Celia.

"I had the strangest dream daddy!" cried the oldest one.

Cassian's eyes lit up at those words and as Celia settled herself astride Nesta's legs and laid her head between her breasts, wrapping her hips with her short arms, Andra had managed to escape her father's grasp and was smiling at her mom. She extended her little hands toward her and Nesta reached out to take the latest addition to the Navarro-Archeron family as well and settle her behind her older sister on her lap, but not before showering her with kisses.

"Oh yeah?" asked Cassian, turning Nora around so that she was looking at the other three as well, "Nothing bad I hope." he joked, looking at them all quickly with a funny grimace on his face.

Celia giggled and Cassian's head snapped in her direction. His smile grew even bigger and Nesta suddenly remembered why she had asked her husband for a second child almost eleven years ago. And then another. And another. And another.

Because of that look the man of her life reserved for each and every one of their children.

"You didn't give me any kisses, cutie," he pointed out to her. Celia pulled away from Nesta's chest and leaned in just enough for Cassian to leave a kiss on her nose. When everyone was back in their seats, Nora nodded excitedly.

"We were supposed to have a competition," she began, "and I was in the group with Ezra, Lia, and Dad, while Andra, Mom, and Cal were on the other team."

Now that the commotion was over and no one was moving on the bed, Nesta could get a good look at them. All three of them had what they called the barely-awake-wig on and she felt like laughing, but she restrained herself because she knew full well that if she even made a sound, Nora would start over to tell the dream.

In the common language it could be translated into "my hair is so tangled and knotted that it looks like a bird's nest" and the sight of their three daughters entering their room every Sunday looking like a bunch of strays never ceased to put a smile on Nesta's face.

"...And then Ezra called these huge animals that flew though they had butterfly wings and of course we got there first." she said proudly, high-fiving Cassian who had just raised his hand.

Nesta shook her head, "I'm sorry honey I didn't get where we were going?"

Nora huffed annoyed, crossing her arms over her chest and wearing a twin expression to her own, "To Terrasen, Mom."

Cassian nodded beside her, giving her a faux-offended look, "Yes, Nes, to Terrasen of course."

"Sorry potato, mom's just really tired," she brushed a hand across her face, "because dad kept her up all night," Nesta reminded, widening her eyes slightly at her husband.

Celia pulled herself up sharply, knocking Andra off balance who was leaning over her and fell over Nesta's legs, "Did you have a sleepover?" squealed Celia.

Cassian chuckled, reaching out to grab Andra and the little girl smiled at him in amusement. She started crawling towards him and Nora, "I don't have a dream." stammered the littlest one.

"Me neither baby." said Cassian to reassure her as he sat her down between him and Nesta.

Celia waved her little hands in midair, risking hitting her mom in the face and getting everyone's attention, "Why do you guys always have sleepovers and we never get to?"

Nesta frowned, "What do you mean you never have them?" she asked in amazement, "You're always at Aunt Gwyn's and Uncle Azriel's house." he pointed out to her.

Celia shook her head, snapping her tongue against her palate, "Yes but we never have them with you." she pouted, "Can we have one tonight?" she asked hopefully. Nora and Andra began to nod frantically as well. "And let's watch the princess and the frog!"

"I don't think so," said a voice from the door, "We own the television tonight and we have to watch that new movie on Prime."

"Good morning guys." Nesta smiled affectionately at her two sons, both obviously just waking up with their eyes half closed, as they leaned on each other for support.

Cassian burst out laughing at his daughters' shocked expressions.

Celia was shaking her head indignantly and stood up on the mattress to retort to her brother.

Nesta already knew how this was going to end and casting a quick glance towards her husband, she knew Cassian was thinking the same thing.

"Noooo!" shouted Celia. Andra stood up in turn, keeping a small hand on Cassian's shoulder so she wouldn't risk falling. "The TV is ours."

Ezra yawned as he stepped forward into the room and sat down at the bottom of Nesta's feet, before falling face forward onto the mattress and muttering something incomprehensible.

Cal had remained standing next to the bed on his father's side and was looking at his sister with an equally combative expression, ready to defend his and his brother's TV night, "No, Celia," Cassian grimaced at the use of his full name, "It's Sunday and TV is ours to have. You girls got it last night."

"I want to have a sleepover!"

Cassian loved all of his children equally, but Celia's tone of voice was too high for her to be allowed to speak on Sunday mornings before ten o'clock and if he didn't intervene, that high-pitched squeal would turn into a cry and he knew it wouldn't take them even half a second to throw themselves at each other's throats.

Casting a quick glance at all the children, he saw that Andra seemed just as convinced as her older sister and Nora was sighing so frequently that it didn't take a genius to figure out that she, too, didn't want to hear them fight so early. Ezra seemed to have fallen back asleep with his head in his mother's lap and Cassian felt a surge of affection for his son.

They were the perfect family picture.

When Nesta had told him she'd gotten pregnant almost sixteen years ago, he hadn't believed it. They had only been married a few months and weren't exactly trying to have children. Not that they were taking precautions to avoid it, but it had been unexpected. He had cried at the prospect that in only nine months he would be a father.

Then Ezra had been born, his hair the same shade as his mother's and his gray eyes the exact copy of those of the woman he loved, and Cassian had fallen completely in love all over again. In love with that tiny little creature who already had so much power over him and who he would have died for without a blink. And he hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking that he wished he had more. That if Nesta wanted, they would give Ezra a brother or sister as soon as possible.

As he had held him for the first time, crying as if his life had just begun, Cassian had thought that the love he felt for his son was too much, that the feeling would overwhelm him one day if he didn't find a way to share it and give it to others. For that reason, when Nesta had announced her second pregnancy to him three years later, he had been relieved that he would finally be able to share his love for Ezra with a second child.

He'd been wrong.

Cal was born when Ezra was four and was the exact physical copy of his father. Dark eyes and hair the exact color of Cassian's and the love had only doubled and totally crushed him. He had become as much a slave to the feeling as an addict to the next fix.

Nesta had joked that they were finally even, one child each, a genetic copy of both of them, and for two years all had been calm. Cal and Erza were growing up as fast as any other child and to Cassian it seemed like life was perfect, complete.

He'd been wrong again.

Nora had arrived three years after Cal and Celia only the year after Nora and Cassian had cried for days. Crying in front of those beauties so pure. And they were his and Nesta's. It was he and Nesta who had given life to those little balls of black hair and dark eyes that jumped on their bed every morning, welcoming them into the world every day with love and affection.

However, Nesta had never seen Cassian cry as much as he did the day Andra was born.

Andra, the last of the girls in the entire family, even smaller than the children of their brothers and sisters, had been born only four years earlier, three years apart from Celia.

Nesta had been shocked to see Cassian's reaction when he had first held the baby girl in his arms. She had been seriously worried when his body had started to shake with sobs and she had had to beg him to tell her it was okay, to give her a sign that he wasn't about to die choking on his own tears.

Cassian had looked at her amidst the crying and smiled, sniffling, "She looks just like you."

At that point, even Nesta hadn't been able to hold back her tears and had joined him in the land of the hyper sensitive parents.

It was true. Up to that point, for ten years, only Ezra had acquired physical features from his mother. The other three, though from a character standpoint they were the farthest thing from their father there could be, were the exact physical copy of him. Cal, Nora, and Celia had been mistaken for twins more times than Nesta could remember.

And although Cassian saw his wife every time he looked at his children, especially their first child, when Andra had arrived, the resemblance had been such that he'd simply burst.

Now they were complete.

A frustrated scream interrupted his train of memories and he felt Andra's tiny hand squeeze his shoulder.

He focused all his attention on Celia, who was trying to climb over him to reach Cal with her arms stretched forward - surely intending to rip her brother's face off.

The son had a grin identical to the one Nesta had when she teased him, and he took a deep breath, thinking that no one would really blame him if he accidentally knocked all his kids off the bed.

A smack on the arm made him turn to Nesta, who was looking at him hard, "Either you stop dreaming about throwing your kids out of bed and make yourself useful by stopping the upcoming fight or next Saturday no sleepover for you." then, before he could retort by saying she could stop them just as easily, she pointed to her legs pinned down by the growing body of their fourteen-year-old son, who seemed completely undisturbed by the sisters' high-pitched screams as they circled Cal, "I'd do it, but I'm stuck."

Cassian sighed as he stood up, making his way through the three little girls who seemed to be chanting some satanic ritual and picked up his son, saving him from what would have been certain death. The boy wrapped his arms around his neck and smiled down smugly at his sisters.

"That's enough." he instructed in the authoritative tone that only a father could have, "We have three TVs in this house." then he turned to the three pink and white girls, each with an adorable pout on their faces, "Tonight it's Cal and Ezra's turn to use the one in the living room and I'm sure you can all watch whatever they choose together." he took a deep breath, "But just in case not, you can come over to mom and dad's big bed and watch the princess and the frog here, okay?"

Celia looked on the verge of tears, always the most temperamental of the five, but she nodded once.

Nora took her hand and told her to follow her to their room and Cal wriggled out of Cassian's grasp, following them silently. Surely in five minutes he would have to get up and split them up again, but he cared little as he scooped Andra up off the floor and lay down on the bed holding the little one in his arms.

Nesta was stroking Ezra's hair absentmindedly and looking at him with such feeling in her eyes that Cassian only realized an in later that he had spoken.

"I love you, too," she replied, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Andra flapped her small hands laughing, "Me too."

Cassian looked at her smiling widely, "Come here baby."

The little girl burst out laughing, begging her daddy to let her go and Ezra stretched, extending one arm towards his mom and the other towards his dad.

He looked confused when he opened his eyes, but grunted something gibberish and closed them again soon after.

Nesta's hand stopped in his hair, "What did you say love?"

Ezra pulled himself up on his elbows, looking at her with eyes bright with amusement and Cassian knew immediately that whatever was going to come out of his mouth, he wasn't going to like it.

"Next time you have a sleepover, remember to close the window as well."  

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[osleyakomwonkru]

Octavia as The 100′s Jesus Figure, Part 4: Bardo, The Crucifixion and Second Coming of Octavia Blake

So we’re back for a fourth part of this series, which I started after season 6, because wouldn’t you know it - there’s more to be said.

In Part 1, Origin Story and the Meeting of Two Saviours, I discussed Octavia’s origin story as the Dark Saviour and her relationship with the show’s other Saviour Lincoln, and how with his death he invested her with the mission to save all of their people.

In Part 2, Saving Humanity and the First Passion of Octavia Blake, I talked about Octavia finally accepting and understanding her mission as the Saviour, redeeming the sins of humanity, and her first Passion narrative, which was left incomplete, and thus she lived.

In Part 3, Planet Alpha and the Second Passion of Octavia Blake, I wrote about Octavia’s second Passion narrative on Planet Alpha, which led to her road to Golgotha at the Anomaly, from which she is resurrected (the Crucifixion narrative still remaining a mystery) and then meets those she knew once again, before her ascension as the Anomaly reclaimed her in the last seconds of the S6 finale.

So now, Part 4 - Here we will get into that missing Crucifixion narrative, as well as the events that come to pass with Octavia’s Second Coming, the Judgment of Humanity, and how things may have played out differently had it been Octavia who walked into the glowy ball of light instead of Cadogan, Clarke and Raven.

From Dark to Light

Before we return to that missing Crucifixion narrative, which takes place on Bardo, Octavia, along with Diyoza and Hope, land on a different planet for ten years. This planet also has its purpose in our Saviour narrative, because while the show starts on dark themes, and thus needed Octavia as a Dark Saviour, in season 7 it began to shift to a theme of light and transcendence.

Enter the appropriately named Penance.

Octavia spends ten years on Skyring/Penance/Planet Beta, healing from her pain and darkness, and thus is no longer the Dark Saviour the narrative needed her to be before to bring salvation to her people, now she can be the Light Saviour who will save all of humanity.

Her new demeanour - though I hesitate to say new because it was born of ten years of peace, plenty, family, and healing, it wasn’t new to her, merely to those who used to know her for whom time had been much shorter - is evidence of her new Light. It confuses many, because they hadn’t had the same time and healing as she had, but it is evident in every move she makes. Rather than the tornado of righteous fury that she used to be, now Octavia is the steady and calm voice of reason - to Echo, to Hope, and especially to Clarke.

But back to that crucifixion narrative.

Every Noble Crown will be a Crown of Thorns

Her peaceful world torn asunder, Octavia is taken to Bardo, and thrown into M-Cap at the first opportunity. Others have mentioned how the M-Cap headcap looks like a crown of thorns, and they’re quite right - this is where Octavia’s Crucifixion narrative comes to fruition. No one spends as much time in that crown of thorns as she does.

She fights it, at first, but when acceptance is what will provide salvation to her people (or person, in this case, being Hope), she accepts her fate and faces her past - brutal days of reliving her history as the Dark Saviour, to firmly close that chapter of her life (a symbolic death rather than just her regular baptism-rebirth cycle).

She’s freed from her crown of thorns when Hope comes. Hope, the symbol of her new Light, and the Light that she will carry with her as she returns to Sanctum to be resurrected among those she once knew, those who had believed her to be lost, but who dearly needed the Light she was to bring them.

Revelation and The Second Coming

There are a lot of different moving pieces involved in the apocalyptic scenarios of Revelation, and how these come to play in season 7 of The 100 isn’t any different. So let’s take a look at some of the other key players and how they connect to Octavia’s story.

The False Prophet, The Dragon and The Beast

Now, in my Part 3 of this series (written after the S6 finale), I predicted that Bellamy would have a large part in the revelation of Octavia’s Saviour narrative. Obviously, that part didn’t come to pass, because of Bob’s absence from the show, but you can still see hints within the narrative that suggest he would have been a part of it before Bob pulled out (most notably, the Hesperides flashback in 7x04 - this flashback is pretty pointless in the context of Hope telling Echo and Gabriel that story, but if you imagine Bellamy being there to hear about how his sister raised Hope in much the same way he raised her - then it becomes way more meaningful).

But the narrative as it played out also presents interesting Biblical allusions, by casting Bellamy in the role of false prophet, fighting on the side of the Beast (Cadogan), instead of on the side of Christ (his sister).

The false prophet is said to be the second beast to rise in Revelation 13, who has “two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon” (Revelation 13:11) who is given the authority to speak on behalf of the first Beast (Cadogan), to deceive the people so that they will worship this Beast. The false prophet having the appearance of a lamb is relevant here, because Jesus is often referred to as the Lamb of God - thus, the false prophet (Bellamy) resembles the true Saviour (Octavia), not coincidental since they are in fact siblings and thus do bear some physical resemblances.

So who is The Dragon - that is, Satan? It is easy to say that the Dragon is Sheidheda, for it is the Dragon who is imprisoned, only to be released to deceive and wage war before being finally defeated. But it goes deeper than that - The Dragon is the dark side of the Flame itself, Sheidheda’s only the last prophet of that darkness. It is the Flame that gives Cadogan, the Beast, the power he needs to rule over his people - the glimpse of the idea of Judgment Day as something for the Disciples to work towards - “The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority” (Revelation 13:2) - even when the good side of the Flame, the Humanity that Becca believed so vital, wanted to keep it from him.

The Children of the Kingdom of Heaven

Jesus says “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Octavia’s always been tied to different children throughout The 100 narrative, first as the child herself, and then others such as Gavriel, Ethan, Madi, Rose and Hope. But the important children for the purpose of this post are the three that are the “next generation” so to speak of the leading trio of the show, and their important roles in the final battle.

There’s Jordan, the Head-centered, who takes over Clarke’s role as John the Baptist, the prophet who bore witness to the Light (Jesus) so that others would believe. His testimony shows that the Final War is instead a Test, and he’s instrumental in making sure that Octavia can stop the war and pass the test to grant humanity eternal life instead.

There’s Hope, the Heart-centered, who takes over Bellamy’s role as Saint Peter, the disciple who becomes the leader of the church after Jesus’ ascension. Hope is Octavia’s grounding force, her new rock, and her love gives her strength to continue her journey.

And then there’s Madi, the Soul-centered, who is Octavia’s next generation counterpart. It’s made clear from the start of Madi’s introduction in season 5 that Octavia is her favourite, that Octavia is the one she looked up to, and even in season 7, these parallels are there, as Madi is ready to sacrifice herself to save the others, and in more peaceful ways too, like when she’s hiding in the reactor with her two new friends, reminiscent of season 1 Octavia and her friendship with Monty and Jasper. Madi, too, meets her Crucifixion in the M-Cap chair, in an even crueler and more vicious manner than Octavia did. But when Octavia saves humanity, this liberates Madi’s soul and grants her eternal life as well.

I am the Way, The Truth and the Life

Wonkru falls apart in Octavia’s absence. There’s no other way to say it. Wonkru crumbling in 7x03 is made even more conspicuous by the fact that they don’t even mention Octavia, because they’re still denying her, despite everything she brought them. They don’t realize that she’s the one to save them all, they don’t realize that, as Jesus says, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 4:16) - something that they will finally come to understand in the climax of the final episode.

But it isn’t time for that story yet. First we must turn to Revelation to see what happens to Wonkru and the others on Sanctum while they’ve chosen to deny her and follow the Dragon and the Beast instead.

Here we see the different plagues that strike the unbelievers - both in Revelation 8-9 and 16.

The first to come are “ugly, festering sores [that] broke out on the people who had the mark of the beast” (Revelation 16:2) - the radiation sickness that is a marker of the broken nuclear reactor in 7x03, which claims as James as one of its first victims. If you don’t remember who he was while watching that episode, look back to 6x02, where he’s one of the people attacking Octavia in the Eligius IV mess hall. He breaks faith with her, and here suffers the consequences of that.

The second and third plagues speak of both the seas and the rivers turning to blood - references to the rivers of blood created by Sheidheda’s massacres, first of the Faithful and then of the Children of Gabriel.

The fourth plague, the sun scorching people with fire, takes us to the eclipse in 7x13, where the sky is red with the eclipse. This leads to the fifth and sixth plagues - the kingdom being plunged into darkness as Emori kills power to the reactor to bring down the shield, which makes it possible for “locusts [to come] down on the earth” (Revelation 9:3) and devour those “who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads” (Revelation 9:5).

It is only the final plague - “rumblings… and a severe earthquake… [where] the great city split into three parts” (Revelation 16:18-19) - that strikes where Octavia is, with “a loud voice from the throne, saying ‘It is done!’” (Revelation 16:17). This line from Revelation calls back to what Octavia says to Hope in 6x13 before her Ascension - “Be brave, tell him it is done” - a sign that Octavia is needed elsewhere again. And soon enough she does depart to Bardo, alongside Clarke. Meanwhile, the survivors remaining on Earth have to reunite the three groups split in the bunker - those in the rotunda (Hope, Jordan, Gaia, Indra, Miller), those in the rec room (Raven, Murphy, Emori, Jackson) and those in the bunkrooms (Echo, Niylah) - to prepare for the final war and judgment.

The Fall of Babylon

Before Octavia can bring light to the world and grant humanity transcendence, there is still one more key part of Revelation that must come to pass, and that is the fall of Babylon: That is, in this ‘verse, Clarke.

Throughout Biblical narrative, Babylon stands in opposition to Jerusalem and its righteousness, just how in The 100 narrative Clarke and Octavia have always been set as foils to each other. Now, Clarke isn’t evil per se, but she’s always been set in her ways and doubles down when questioned about her past deeds - as we see both in how she faces the Primes in 6x03 and the Judge in 7x16. She doesn’t learn, and so she fails. Clarke, like Babylon, is locked out of heaven for not learning the patience and humility that Octavia did: “For her sins are piled up to Heaven, and God has remembered her sins. Give back to her as she has given, pay her back double for what she has done.” (Revelation 18:5-6).

With Clarke fallen, it is now time to begin the Final Judgment.

Final Test and Judgment

After Clarke’s fall, someone must step in to advocate for humanity, to guide the Judge’s gaze to the righteous, to the Saviour - Raven steps through the glowing orb to do so. So which figure in Revelation is most suited here? None other than the writer of Revelation themselves, historically considered to be John of Patmos, who is given these visions by the angels as a warning for humanity.

Raven bore witness to a number of the plagues, and while not always a believer in Octavia - in fact, out of all characters around for all seven seasons, they’ve shared the least screentime with each other - but they’ve still fought on the same side. Also of relevance here is that Raven’s been granted visions in the narrative of the show, like John of Patmos has in Revelation - though hers came as a result of ALIE.

While the Judge takes Raven to the battlefield in Bardo to prove humanity to be unworthy, this battlefield is instead where Octavia proves humanity to be worthy. Indra and Wonkru follow Octavia’s lead, finally recognizing that their only way to salvation was through her (see John 4:16 above), and after the Disciples too laid down their weapons, humanity is deemed worthy and the Judge grants them eternal life in the form of transcendence - rising to the heavens in the manner of the Rapture, “We who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air” (1 Thessalonians 4:17).

Where is the Judgment of the Dead?

Now, one thing missing in season 7 compared to the Book of Revelation and Jesus’ Second Coming is the Judgment of the Dead and welcoming those worthy into the domain of Heaven.

A longstanding phrase in The 100 has been “May We Meet Again”. This is part of the Traveler’s Blessing of Skaikru, and one that they use frequently with one another even in non-death contexts. So with that phrase, a lot of people expected that the dead would also be able to be part of transcendence somehow, and that beloved characters would then also be present on the beach in the final scene as they rejected transcendence to live mortal lives.

I believe, given everything in the past posts about Octavia, that had she been the one to go into the ball of light to face the Judge personally, rather than saving humanity on the battlefield, that this would have happened.

While logically I believe the best form for the Judge to take for Octavia would have been Diyoza, since Diyoza was her greatest teacher, her mind would be more likely to choose her greatest love, Lincoln - who, if we go back to Part 1 of this series, we remember is the other Saviour of this show’s narrative.

That would have been a reunion even more epic than the Clarke and Lexa reunion that the show gave us, for Lincoln and Octavia were far closer and together for far longer. And if the Transcendents possessed the powers that they do - instant genocide by crystallization at the wave of an arm, transcendence through the blink of an eye, restoration of healthy and whole bodies if those souls reject transcendence - then surely raising the dead would’ve been a simple task.

The only reason that couldn’t happen was extratextual - there was no way Ricky would work with JRoth again, and so this extra dimension, this aspect of the narrative that could have made things so much sweeter and less bitter, had to be put aside.

Now, that doesn’t diminish Octavia’s Saviour narrative in the least - she did still save humanity. She did still bear the sins of the human race, she was still mocked, cast out and sent to her crucifixion by those who denied her. She did still return from that symbolic death, resurrected, then ascended. When she faced Wonkru again - remember, that battlefield in 7x16 is the first time the bulk of Wonkru has seen her since 5x13 - it was in her Second Coming to bring the Final Judgment to them. The trials they’d faced in Sanctum in her absence showed them the truth - that they had to believe in her again to achieve their salvation.

She was the Way, the Truth and the Life of The 100 universe, and no one would have reached transcendence except through her.

[chrysalispen]

#2 - Aberrant

Nero tol Scaeva/G’raha Tia. NSFW. 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83652457 He is not sure what to think of the imperial capital, all told, other than he is embarrassed to admit how small it makes him feel. Many things make Nero Scaeva feel small, in all fairness: he is a rail-thin twelve-year-old boy, freshly arrived in the city from one of the poorest rural provinces in the Garlean Empire (and his family is poorer still). He is far more aware than most of his dull-witted peers of the world beyond his tiny village, a world that is vast and open and waiting for him to make his mark upon it. It does not take him long to decide - although he has enough of a survival instinct to keep it to himself - that he does not care much for his Emperor's city. It is uniform in its stark grey ugliness, and it sprawls for malms south of the high mountain pass that leads into the upper reaches of the Ilsabardian tundra, as if winter has unhinged its maw to vomit ceruleum, iron, and Solus zos Galvus' manifest destiny onto the rest of the continent.

All that being the case: his first sight of the Imperial Magitek Academy's administrative building is one Nero has dreamed about for the last two years. It is a fresh start and he is determined to make the most of it. A cursory glance is all Nero needs to know he is comfortably the youngest boy here; he can feel surprised stares from the older boys boring into his back as he lunges up the wide steps two at a time, a smugly confident smile spreading his lips and his favorite book clutched across his chest. Part of him worries at the fact that his robe is handmade rather than store-bought, patched in several places, and as ill-fitting as the threadbare jumper and breeches beneath them. The other students at his tiny village school had often derided him for wearing his sisters' hand-me-downs. But he will have to cross that bridge when he comes to it. He is far more likely to be teased for his age than his clothes, or so he hopes.

"Seven hells, there goes another one," he overhears the derisive scoff on his way into the foyer. "I didn't realize the Academy was starting an engineering initiative for nursery school."

Nero knows how to ignore inane remarks like that and simply does not react to it, but once he's passed out of sight of the two upperclassmen he ambles behind a hefty column to eavesdrop. Anyone who happens to glimpse him- if they notice him at all - will assume he is simply reviewing his upcoming class schedule.

"Another one?"

"You didn't hear? Word is Midas nan Garlond's son will be joining us this year. Smarter even than his old man, so they say. The most brilliant prodigy the Empire's ever seen."

Something in him rankles sharply at that. Just as with the state of his clothing, Nero is all too conscious that his village is poor and small and so is the rest of his province, relegated to some of the most inhospitable lands in the Empire save for one thin stretch of arable land: little grows there other than root vegetables and pigs. He would prefer not to be reminded of his fundamental disadvantage, pitted against some privileged highborn boy he has never chanced to meet. 

Most brilliant? Oh, we'll see about that, Garlond. We'll just see about that.

From this moment on, he vows, he refuses to be anything but first. ==

Nero tol Scaeva, former tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion, now just another nameless imperial deserter (albeit one with a handsome price on his head), is honest enough to acknowledge that he has outfoxed himself. There is one major thorn in his side frequenting the Saint Coinach encampment. This one Nero cannot even blame on Garlond, for he has brought this particular circumstance (and conundrum) down upon his own head thinking to use her as readily as her allies. As amusing as it has been to watch Cid's cheeks turn crimson with suppressed anger every time Nero takes an opportunity to insinuate himself with the Eorzeans, the engineer finds he is often distracted from any given purpose, or scheme, or tomestone study, by the errant toss of honeyed hair and the herbal spiciness of a lavender sachet. One of these days he's going to dig that blasted bag of flower petals out of her bedroll and toss it into the godsdamned lake, to hell with the consequences. "You too, eh?"

He manages, somehow, not to jump. The interloper unfolds his arms and straightens his posture from its leaning position against a nearby wall, long since crumbled beyond recognition. A rueful smile plays upon the Miqo'te's full lips as his tail swishes idly from side to side."

Don't look so surprised, Tribunus," he says. "Nearly every time I see you, you're watching her. Someone was bound to notice eventually."

Like himself, G'raha Tia is an outlier- an outcast and misfit with a knowledge of Allagan history and folklore nearly as comprehensive and encyclopedic as Nero's own. And just as with all those long years ago upon his arrival at the Academy, his competitive nature is instantly irked by a sense that this upstart boy is stepping on his toes. Certain aspects of the man's personality -- his friendliness and his quick japes, his willingness to accept most people at face value -- remind him so much of Garlond that the sight of him sticks in Nero's craw almost as badly as though he were Cid given feline form. And yet every time they share a space, G'raha invariably treats him with the easy familiarity of an old friend. He is often the only one who does so. It is confusing, and Nero does not like to be on the back foot in his dealings with anyone. 

"Not that I begrudge you for it, of course," G'raha continues. "She's absolutely fascinating."

He makes a sound that he hopes is a disinterested grunt but the younger man doesn't appear to have noticed his own dismissal. His eyes, one crimson and one a deep teal blue, seem to sparkle in the feeble light of the afternoon. Nero groans inwardly.

"I wager she presented you and yours quite the puzzle." That smile has never once left his lips. Moreover, it has taken on a sly cast, and unaccountably Nero feels his hackles rise at the sight of it. That this boy would presume to know anything about him-- "A Garlean who can use magic? One they call the Warrior of Light, no less? Your emperor would no doubt take great interest in such an aberration."

Remarks he had made to himself not so very long ago, in truth, but hearing them from another's lips pings the edges of Nero's temper like the sting of tiny pebbles. He grits his teeth.

This is your own fault for teasing her the way you did, a part of him chides. Now you can't let it lie.

"I do not recall asking for your observations, paltry and superficial as they are." He draws his dignity about him like a cloak. "And I would prefer not to trifle with such distractions. There is still much work for us to complete ere Garlond's useful little friend finds her way to the top of the tower."

"Come now, Master Scaeva, it's all right to admit it, you know." 

"Admit what?" His grin, brash and insolent, seems to split his face in twain with his mirth. 

"You like the Warrior of Light."

Nero scoffs, "Lies and vicious slander."

"Is it?"

"I detest her."

The man only laughs, the sound of it light and melodious and infuriating. "No need to dissemble, Nero. I assure you none here would think less of you for your infatuation-"

"Seven hells, I am not infatuated with the woman!" 

"-as from her deeds I personally find her to be a lady more than worthy of your high regard."

Thoroughly annoyed now, Nero retorts: "So then, what brings you to speak to me thus? Have you come to have a jest at my expense?" 

Once again he is on the defensive. His usual humor seems to have deserted him now that there is no Garlond present to visibly and loudly scorn, and it is in that moment Nero realizes just how emotionally taxing it has been to conceal his bitterness. It has festered for years, as he watched lesser men laud the 'young prodigy of magitek' all the more for his desertion and sometimes even misattributing Nero's own accomplishments and inventions to the damnable man. He hadn't really meant to let all those years of suppressed resentment pour out of him at the Praetorium in front of anyone present to listen, but it seems that once let loose there was no stopping his anger. Now it seems to be trying to fly free at every turn despite all attempts to maintain the jester's mask, his pride be damned.

What surprises him, when his eyes meet G'raha's, is the raw sympathy he sees there rather than censure. 

"No," the Miqo'te says. "But I did come to ask if you'd like to join me tonight."

"Why?"

The question is out before he can stifle his surprise. G'raha shrugs. 

"Why not? For one, I'm in the mood for company - your company, specifically. And you seem like you could use the 'distraction,' so-called, for all you insist otherwise."

==

He isn't sure why he agreed to it, even now. Extroverted as he seems, Nero tol Scaeva is both an iconoclast and quite content with his relative solitude.

And yet here he is, folded on his knees across the rough homespun bedroll with his fists curling into the linens and his deep groans vibrating against the lumpen pillow, the corner of which sits clenched between his teeth, and the only sound in the closeness of the tent beyond their heavy breathing is the wet slap of bared flesh. For all his diminutive stature, G'raha Tia is not a small man and even with his preparations the stretch of his girth burns, teetering just on the pleasurable side of uncomfortable with each rolling oil-slicked thrust. It makes Nero think of other nights, cold nights buried beneath blankets with a hot mouth on him and biting down on his knuckles to stifle the noise when-

Fingers dig furrows into one of his lean flanks and break the skin with their scratching. The sharp sting of it is a pleasant counterpoint to this hot and tightening ache, especially when G'raha tilts Nero's hips and adjusts his angle and the wide, flared head inside him grinds against his prostate. 

Nero spits another muffled curse into the pillow.

They are not taking many pains to be discreet, as he is well aware. He is just as aware that Rammbroes or the eikon-slayer could walk in at any time and see him like this: arse up and face pressed into rough hemp and saliva soaking into G'raha Tia's pillow, his face deeply flushed and his hair a sweat-dampened, tousled disaster. It's a distinct possibility and one he doesn't currently give a single damn about whatsoever. He is so hard it hurts and each heartbeat pounding through his temples echoes itself in the heavy, ponderous throbbing between his legs. 

He unclenches one fist from the bedding to squirm beneath his weight, then swipes his fingers hastily over his own leaking head and along his shaft before taking himself in hand. The angle is somewhat awkward and if he stays that way too long his arm will go numb, but Nero is undeterred in the heat of the moment. He rocks his hips back to meet the Miqo'te's powerful and increasingly rapid thrusts while stroking himself as best he can manage. 

It is over in what is probably moments but feels like years of drowning in steadily increasing pressure, the tightness in his balls and heat spearing down his spine and into his cock in the brace of seconds before he spills. Seed spurts over his clenched fingers and drips into the bedroll, and in a matter of moments he hears G'raha moan and his pace stutters and slows before stilling entirely. Neither speaks for long moments as they try to catch their breath. Nero relaxes his grip, then frees his arm just before the pins and needles sensation begins to set into his fingers.

"Let me get you something," G'raha mutters hoarsely. "You're-"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence but it still hangs between them as he sits back on his haunches to rummage in a nearby knapsack. Nero rolls onto his back with his ears still ringing and his heart beating as furiously as if it were the aftermath of a skirmish, and accepts the scrap offered him with a brief nod. Right now they're both too nose-blind to take note of the combined scent of sweat and musk. In a few minutes, he will collect his clothing and go find a likely place for a late-night wash before retiring to his own bedroll as if this had never transpired.

But that will come later. For the moment they lie next to each other, hip to shoulder to knee (as much as their notable height difference will allow), staring at the peaked corners of the tent. Nero is the first to break the silence.

"I don't think my head has been this empty in years," he says, and G'raha chuckles. 

"Your thoughts are your own worst enemy. I understand the feeling." His tail, draped over Nero's knee, beats a soft and lazy tattoo against his calf. "I suspect Aurelia would too if she knew."

"I doubt very much the eikon-slayer would care enough to commiserate."

"Why do you say that?"

Nero drawls, "Attempting to capture her on multiple occasions while using her as a test subject for Project Ultima will not have endeared me to her good graces, I suspect."

"You should give her a chance."

"History would indicate that course of action to be unwise. She despises me."

"Ah, so it's not that you despise her, you think she despises you." G'raha props himself up on one elbow. His brows lift and drop, and that wry half-smile returns. "That shouldn't matter. I took a chance on you tonight," he says, "and I was clearly right to do it."

"So you say," Nero's retort is dismissive on its face, but G'raha seems wholly unaffected by his scorn. 

"You're very unusual. A strange man indeed," he says. "Not at all what I would have expected of a Garlean. Cid isn't either, but you're a cut beyond even him. And as such, I wager you're well familiar with what it means to be alone- but so am I. So is she." Sadness lurks in the depths of his eyes, narrows the corners of his smile. "Everyone needs friends, Nero. Even you. And Aurelia... well, let's just say I don't believe the two of you are so very different." 

He almost objects but something stays his tongue. Entertaining tumble or not, easygoing demeanor or not, G'raha does not know him nor his history. He does not know what it is to live off the Empire's dregs, to scrape one's way to the top while leaving parts of oneself behind. Carving away the bits that don't quite fit into the gears, and even the rough shape made acceptable enough to fit can still never run as smoothly as the rest of the machine. 

Nero tol Scaeva has done perfectly well these last thirty-four years by himself. His scraping and cutting and striving earned him a career and relative renown. He doesn't need to complicate matters with friends. He doesn't need friends at all, not to get what he wants.

And watching as G'raha Tia's features relax and he drifts off into a contented doze, Nero almost wishes that were untrue.

[justice4harwin]

Light’s Corruption-Chapter X

Summary: With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty.

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Rating: 18+

As usual, the tags are in the comments; if you no longer want to be in the list or wanna be added, please don’t hesitate to let me know :)

Click here for chapter 9 in case you missed it :)

Chapter 10: I haven't met the new me yet

 "Again!"

Maybe this wasn’t just training; maybe he was punishing her for her demonstration at the Fete. He had said nothing about the event during the last few days, but Alina knew, somehow, that it was on his mind, and she was nervously waiting for the grenade to go off.

Alina heaved a breath, calling her light and pushing against The Darkling's shadows, but it was to no avail. She couldn't fend them off.

She had her questions, but was a bit afraid to ask. He seemed rather…cold, that particular morning, but she dismissed it as being pissed at the waste of time the Winter Fete was.

"I can't." she struggled to get the words out.

"Do you know what your problem is?" he asked. She couldn't see him, and his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, as if the shadows themselves were talking. Oddly, this didn't scare her at all.

"What?"

"You do not fully understand light."

Alina snorted.

"I call it and then I lit or melt things. That's it."

"I am disappointed, Miss Starkov." his cool voice made her heart shrink. She didn't want to disappoint him.

"I am an idiot."

"Alright. Enlighten me, then." she said.

He didn't seem to catch the joke, or maybe he just didn't find it funny.

"A real idiot."

"When you light up a lantern, what do you have?"

"Is this one of those instances where the question is so obvious, I'm not even supposed to answer."

"Tragically, no."

She huffed.

"You get light."

"Right. And what does that light casts?"

Alina didn't even have to think about it.

"Shadows."

"Correct. So, that means-"

"I've been trying to destroy your shadows instead of pushing them away?"

"You could destroy them, but let us leave it at pushing for now, yes."

"Oh! I think I get it now."

She closed her eyes -even though it made no difference in the infinite darkness he had casted-, and summoned.

Slowly, she pushed her light to meet, not fight, the shadows, and gently ushered them back, little by little.

When she was done, she could see a giant orb of black and gold around them. Just like the rose he had given her a few months prior.

Alina looked at Kirigan, and something akin to pride shone in his eyes for a moment before it turned off into nothing.

"Good. Again."

Their world went dark once more, but this time, Alina was more excited about it. 

Later that day, Alina shyly sat at the Corporalki table next to Nina. She wasn't sure if the woman was expecting something from her after the events of the previous night, but when she smiled and leaned in to kiss Alina's cheek, she felt herself relax.

She looked over at the Fabrikator's table and frowned.

"Do any of you know where Lada is?" she asked, taking a bite of their awful breakfast. Really, even in Keramzin, with so many mouths to feed, the kitchen staff managed to produce much better things than herring and rye. "I've been wanting to talk to her about those new keftas she's working on."

"She left to go visit her grandmother." Fedyor answered, covering his mouth to speak. "She's ill, I think, and The General gave her permission to go say her goodbyes."

"Oh, that's so sad." she said, sincerely.

"She should've been back a few days ago." Michail added, the only one who seemed to enjoy their meal. "The General will send a party to go find her if she doesn't show up soon."

Nina shifted in her seat and took another bite.

"Do you think something happened to her?" Alina asked, almost concerned for this woman she barely knew. She was Grisha as well after all.

"Maybe." Michail shrugged. "Drüskelle, Shu Han agents, desertion, slavers-"

"Desertion?" Alina asked in disbelief. "From The Second Army?"

Fedyor and Michail moved uneasily in their seats.

"It rarely happens." Fedyor said in a hushed voice. "And The General doesn't like to talk about it. He does it when he has to but…"

Alina nodded, storing the information away.

Desertion from the First Army she could understand. They lacked plenty of things and life was tough in pretty much all the senses life could be. Many times soldiers would go to bed with a half empty stomach, scooting together with a group in an effort to fend off the cold. Many times, Alina would hear them waking up from nightmares with screams that would make a volcra shrink, or seen them in pieces as she passed by the infirmary.

The Second Army however, faced almost none of those complications. They lost soldiers, and a few soldiers even lost a limb or two, but they were well taken care of at the Little Palace; The General always seemed to find something new they could do to occupy their minds. Sure, Alina was learning the game of court, but she'd rather risk her neck behind the Little Palace's walls than risk being taken by the enemy, which desertion would leave you vulnerable to.

"I'm sure she's fine." Nina dismissed with a wave of her hand. "She's never been exactly punctual. And if you want to discuss the keftas, you can always go to David or Dima; they've had a part in the process as far as I know."

Alina settled for that answer.

She would speak to David. She had to talk to him anyways. Genya had delivered the gloves made by him which she rejected, and she wanted to make sure he wasn't offended. Besides, maybe, just maybe, she could help her friend gain some ground with him.

Still, as she ate her breakfast in relative peace, the thought of Lada not appearing at the Little Palace unnerved her. They weren't friends, and maybe she didn't truly have a reason to care at all besides being Grisha like her. Still, something didn't sit right with her.

"Six languages?!" Alina asked Nina as they shared some tea, leaning over the table.

The Heartrender shrugged, her legs resting on the Summoner's lap.

"Yup." was all she said as she took a sip and placed the cup on the carpeted floor.

They were sitting by the fire, and they had been talking most of the early afternoon away. Well, …there had been a little bit more than talking from their mouths, but Alina wasn't duelling on that at the moment, too amazed by the woman sitting next to her.

A few days had passed in a similar manner. Genya was too busy at the Grand Palace to come over, and between her sessions with Botkin and The Darkling, Nina took her chances to spend all the time she could with Alina. The Sun Summoner found herself beginning to form an attachment to the woman, and she was­…content.

"H-how?"

"Part of the job." Nina shrugged.

She bit her lip. "Will I be expected to learn six languages?"

"Probably."

At this, she began to feel her nerves stirring. Nina seemed to sense it.

"I can teach you a little if you want."

"Would you mind?" Alina asked almost too quickly.

Nina smiled. Alina wanted to lean in and kiss her again, but there had been more than enough distraction already from the Heartrender's attributes.

Or had it not?

"Of course not." crossing her arms over her chest, the brunette woman began to ponder. "I'm thinking either shu or fjerdan, for obvious reasons." she said, a finger running under her chin. "But I think fjerdan will be the best choice. Their way of writing is not that much different from ours; the shu language it's much more intricate in that aspect… and every other one."

"Saints." Alina uttered under her breath.

"Oh, no. It's a beautiful language, just hard to learn."

"Good to know." was her dry reply. She sat straight. "So, how do you say 'Grisha' in fjerdan?"

"Drüsje." Nina said, sourly. "It means 'witch'. 'Wej' if they're nice about it, which doesn't happen a lot."

The mood seemed to dim a little.

"Maybe we should've started with something simpler," Alina tried to cheer her up. "Like, 'hello' or 'please, no more waffles'."

"I'll never teach you to say that second one." Nina replied, her voice smooth and fast, making the Sun Summoner laugh.

"He wants you to go riding with him." Genya said promptly, walking in without knocking. She stopped dead in her tracks upon the sight before her, but her face gave indication of nothing.

"Hi, Genya."

"Nina."

The women smiled at each other, and Alina couldn't help but bitterly notice that Nina was one of the few Grisha who didn't look at Genya with disdain.

She smiled. Nina kept on gaining points.

The woman stood up, as did Alina, and eyed the outfit the Tailor held in her arms with one raised eyebrow.

"Well, sun bean, you don't wanna keep Kirigan waiting." she breathed out, coming over and planting a loud kiss upon Alina's lips.

Alina felt herself blush under the presence of Genya, but returned the kiss and gently cupped Nina's cheeks.

When they parted, her heart was beating fast. The Heartrender winked at her.

"See you later, Alina." she nodded to the waiting friend behind her. "Genya."

"Bye."

The woman left, and ever so slowly, Alina turned to find Genya staring at her with worry in her eyes.

"What?" she asked, exasperated. "Nina isn't up to your standards?"

Genya almost smiled, placing the clothes on top of the bed.

"It's not that." she said, fumbling with the fabric. "Just…be careful. For both of your sakes."

Alina was about to refute, but then Genya looked up, blue eyes so full of concern that she took a step back as the words died in her throat.

She didn't question her further and let her friend work on her silently.

 "What do you see?" Kirigan asked as they leaned over a forgotten fountain. The gardeners had clearly disregarded the place, but Alina found that she liked it the way it was. It seemed more natural than the beautifully perfect maze and flower roads.

"A version of me."  Alina tilted her head, watching the water oscillate as the coin sunk in. "A new one. But she's kind of blurry."

"Maybe she is still taking form." The General answered, pulling some branches off of the water and throwing them aside. "One cannot change from one day to the other…most of the time, anyways."

Was he making a joke? Alina wondered, trying to supress her smile.

She turned, elbows on the stone as she watched the snowy picture. It wasn't much, but its wild simplicity appeased her.

"Did you bring me here to berate me?" the question had been on her mind ever since Genya helped her into her blue and gold riding habit and boots. He had said nothing about the matter during the past few days while he trained her, but she had been expecting it at some point.

"Berate you?" he asked, turning towards her, his face questioning.

"About the Fete." Alina offered as an explanation. "I know you were expecting a different type of demonstration, and gloves, and a black kefta but I-"

"Allow me to interrupt you, please." he requested, to which Alina sheepishly nodded. "I did wonder why you would reject such things and suppress your power that night, but after what you told me once the presentation finished…I understood." he said, the last two words solemn as he looked her in the eye. "I must congratulate you, Alina. You truly are a fast learner."

She couldn't help but beam at his praise, heart thundering inside its ribcage, something warm blossoming on her stomach, an odd sensation pulling her towards him, so strong she almost closed the space in between and embraced him, burying her face in his chest.

Had she done a demonstration that was up to her level, the stupid king would make a stupid decision; had she used gloves, the nobility would think her weak. Concerning the black kefta, as much as it was a sign of power and protection, it was also a target, one she didn't want on her back yet. Besides, she didn't think she deserved to wear Kirigan's colour; she wasn't up to his level for now and doing the small show she offered while wearing his colour might slander his name and thereof all the other Grisha.

Blue it was for now, until she felt secure enough of both her powers and station.

"Thank you." she answered, her voice a mere whisper. "I meant it, you know."

"What?"

"When I said I wanted to help you;" he opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "It's true, what you said to me. There's no one else like us, so it would only make sense to share some duties, have each other's backs …if you don't mind, that is." she added the last part quickly, feeling how she was about to lose her nerve. "It could make things less lonely."

General Kirigan watched her closely, head barely tilted to a side, and finally nodded.

"I think that is a good idea, Alina." he then did something she had never seen him do before, and smiled. It was small, and if she didn't know better, she'd say it was tentative. Her heart made a strange jump at the sight, and her cheeks threatened to gain colour but she pushed the feeling away. S

Saints damned that man.

His eyes returned to the waters, so hers followed the same path. "Look. Not so blurry anymore."

Alina looked down, and sure, although the water still undulated, her reflection was slightly clearer.

[artemisdesari-blog]

Why I Find Tauriel Problematic; An Essay On My Thoughts, Feelings, And Why Ambivalence Has Turned Into Frustration and Distaste

Although I have only been back on the fanfiction horse for about two years, and what a wonderful two years those have been, my brief stint writing fanfiction for The Hobbit has shown me a great deal about the fandom, and one of those things is that Tauriel is something like Marmite. For those unfamiliar with Marmite, it is a British salty yeast extract spread that is either utterly delicious or utterly vile depending on the tastes of the one eating it. The marketing slogan for it is “You either love it or hate it”, so even the manufacturers are aware that enjoyment of their product is a very subjective thing. Tauriel seems to polarise the fandom almost as much as said yeast extract, although there is a little more mid range ambivalence towards her as well. For me, personally, I prefer to pretend that she never existed in the movies at all, something that I will get into at a later date. That ambivalence has, sadly, shifted to distaste.

It is no secret that in popular literature and culture there is a very glaring absence of strong female characters. To the extent that when your Captain Janeways, Samantha Carters, Natasha Romanovs and so on pop up they become worth commenting on. Tolkien, of course, is no saint where this is concerned. It is glaringly obvious that for every Lúthien, Galadriel, Arwen and Eowyn there are dozens of male characters who play far greater roles in the saving of the world. In fact, The Hobbit is without strong female characters entirely, being a novel completely dominated by the male Company of Thorin Oakenshield, including the title character. Considering who Tolkien is supposed to have originally written the tale for, the source myths that he referenced and prevailing attitudes of the time, it is unsurprising. In fact, that characters like Eowyn and Galadriel pop up at all, not discounting Lúthien whose romance with Beren was said to have some inspiration from Tolkien’s own marriage, is impressive all things considered. 

With that in mind, let us consider the matter of Tauriel. She was not in the book, and while I can see why the studio wanted her added to the film they later made decisions about her which sat, and still do sit, very poorly with me. Generally speaking, as a writer, I prefer to try ignoring the fact that she exists in the movies, even if I reference the movie appearances of the dwarves to avoid writing about too many bearded males with white or blue or blond hair. If I do reference her it is usually in passing and with no intention to do anything further with her other than acknowledge that she was added to the cast. Frequently, however, I get asked the questions “Will Kíli and Tauriel be forming an attachment?”. “How do you plan to handle the romance between Kíli and Tauriel given the relationship you’ve been building with X character?”, “Why do you dislike her so much?”. I’ve even been accused of disliking her from the misogynistic view point of “the evil female who corrupts the helpless males,” which is frankly offensive and not at all the case.

To the first two questions: she is not book canon, I do not need to address the so-called romance because there is nothing in Tolkien’s canon to support her existence and thus the romance. To the last question… well, that one is a little more complicated and requires an in depth examination of her introduction, actions and interactions with Kíli, as well as his personality as established over the course of the films since we have precious little to go on in the books.

First, let us look at Kíli. He is a flirt. We know that, we see him flirting with various elves during dinner in Rivendell. Beyond that, however, we see very little of his tastes or preferences, although it is probably fair to assume that he is probably something of a romantic as well. As much as he is a main character, he is still more of a background character compared to Bilbo and Thorin. It is, after all, about the hobbit of the piece. He is young, either just about to turn 77 or not long having done so and that makes him young enough that we get the impression that he and Fíli both are still of an age where it is perfectly natural to idolise their uncle and be desperate for his approval. We see that the few times he is dressed down he feels it very keenly. We also see that he is playful and open, perhaps the most playful and open of all of them except, maybe, Bofur. He is curious, perfectly capable of giving his all when it comes to a fight and Gandalf refers to him as one of Thorin’s best alongside his brother and Dwalin. 

We also see him flip from open and loving, though perhaps infatuated is a better word, to cold and murderous in a moment, so we can probably include passionate in all things in that as well.

Now, let us look at Tauriel. Unlike Kíli, we have no set age for her. We know that she is young for an elf, but the ages given range from somewhere around 600 to 1,400. There is one quote placing her at 1,347 but it is in a sea of conflicting information. Regardless, she is young, she is idealistic and curious. She has never left Mirkwood and has dedicated much of the last few decades to attempting to curb the influx of giant spiders which are spreading from Dol Guldur while arguing with Thranduil; who wants his borders kept clear but refuses to deal with the source of the threat. An attitude not unfamiliar to many of us, sadly. She has the friendship of a prince of Mirkwood but is declared not good enough for him. Also, not an uncommon attitude in those who could be thought of as nobility.

She, like any being that has literally had hundreds of years to practice, is incredibly good with her weapons and pings and flips around like the others of her kind. Given her youth and position we can conclude that she is considered unusually skilled for her age but she still has the advantage of living forever, unless she tires of life or is killed, to keep improving her skills.

Finally, let us look at the history between elves and dwarves. It is not a pretty one. They come together for the sake of occasional trade, or to face the threat of Morgoth, and later Sauron, and their armies, but otherwise they keep to themselves. The dislike is clear on both sides and occurs well before the day Smaug arrived in Erebor, during the First Age in fact. So it will be difficult for this young pair to overcome millennia of bad feeling between their people, some of whom actually remember the events that set the dislike in stone. Legolas and Gimli are later understood to be among only a very, very, few who become close enough to be considered great friends. Much of fandom would probably cheerfully have them be a great deal more given Legolas snuck his dwarf into Valinor after Aragorn’s death.

To the shoe-horned in romance, and I do mean that in the literal sense. Evangeline Lily has been heard in interviews to say that she was wary about the fan reception of Tauriel from the start and that she signed on under the explicit understanding that there would be no romance or love triangle. And at the end of the initial shoot there was not. When they came back for studio shoots and reshoots, however, she was presented with a list of scenes that had been added and some that needed to be reshot to accommodate, you guessed it, a love triangle. She was signed in, she had taken the money, done the work and was boxed into a corner. The love triangle went in and it became the part of the films that polarises the fans the most. Besides, if we want to ship something, we do not need to have it spoon fed to us. Bagginshield is the most popular ship in the fandom and we only get the odd hint towards it here and there. Then look at the multitude of other ships. We did not need to be given something we can make up for ourselves.

That out of the way, let us look at their meeting:

The Company is beset by giant spiders, destined to be dinner, confused and disorientated and more than a little desperate, weakened due to lack of food and the weird miasma of Mirkwood which has been playing havoc with their minds. None of them are in good shape but, as they do, they fight on anyway. They need to survive and reach the mountain so that they can take back their home. Enter the elves, arrows whistling, blades crunching into thick spider exoskeletons, performing all manner of acrobatic leaps and twists to avoid getting bitten or killed. It is impressive, eye-catching even to the older dwarves, and would likely be even more so to a pair of young dwarves like Fíli and Kíli. We do not see Fíli’s reaction, he is too busy frantically looking for his missing brother who has been cornered by a spider. 

Enter Tauriel, who refuses to give him a knife to defend himself with and help her deal with the stragglers because she believes he may well be an enemy. She is, in fact, somewhat derogatory towards him. I would not say that Kíli is charmed, although he is certainly impressed, because were he charmed I do not believe he would have such a massively discontent expression on his face as she takes him back to the others. I suspect that, much like in Rivendell, he would have put more effort into turning on the charm. 

As the dwarves are led away, we get the first indication that Tauriel has noticed him; she comments that he is not entirely unattractive for a dwarf due to his lack of beard and the fact that he is tall for one of their kind. Legolas is unimpressed, but we expect that.

Once they reach the cells we see the dwarves desperately attempting to avoid being locked up. Most of them are attempting to force their way free, Fíli appears to be in the process of having yet more knives removed from his person while he huffs and sulks, and Kíli is watching as he is taken to a cell of his own. A solitary one at that. Fíli and Kíli, it could be argued, are a little bit co-dependant. Not horrendously, but they have been watching out for one another over all the rest from the start, they are brothers after all, and in the life of a dwarf five years is not all that much of an age gap. So we can assume that Kíli does not really want to be locked up on his own, he is a social person regardless it would seem and I suspect that being alone would be a special kind of torture for him. He tries stalling. 

“Aren’t you going to check me? I could have anything down my trousers.”

I’ll give Tauriel this, she is quick witted and this is possibly one of my favourite exchanges of the films. Her reply; “Or nothing” is cool, a little bit cutting and gives no indication of any sort of interest at all. If anything, she seems a little exasperated with all the fuss the lot of them are creating and she simply wants to be done with it. Away Kíli goes and off she goes to report to her king.

Who proceeds to compliment her on her good handling of things so far, order her to make it better faster, reject her proposal for exterminating the source rather than simply dealing with the fallout and then tell her that no matter what else she has done, she is not good enough for his son. Oof. She hesitates before replying, stumbles her way through a response and seems genuinely upset about it. Regardless of whether her feelings for Legolas are of friendship or if she had been hoping for a little more as well, being told something like that had to hurt.

We next see Tauriel patrolling the cells. Some of the dwarves are making noise, most seem pretty resigned, Kíli is fiddling with his promise stone. Which he promptly drops and loses through the bars, only for it to be stopped by Tauriel who demands to know what it is. As you do. Kíli, as you do, replies that it is a curse stone and any who is not a dwarf who looks upon it will suffer greatly. I forget the exact quote, I could look it up but I’m not feeling quite that dedicated to making my point here. Tauriel hesitates. I will not say that she is alarmed, she seems to take his words with a pinch of salt, but she is definitely wary and we have to remember that she is a very young elf who has spent all of her life in Mirkwood. She has not interacted with dwarves, has no reason to have done so and so she has no idea if what he is saying is true or not. And we have no idea how many of the old stories about elves and dwarves she has heard, although we know it is enough for her to have a generally low opinion of them. Her hesitation is enough to cause Kíli to come clean, perhaps fearing that she will take this precious memento of his mother from him. You can see the moment that Tauriel decides to return it, the flicker of surprise that a dwarf would mention a parent with such apparent fondness and it makes me wonder what stories she has been told about dwarves and their emotions. Regardless, she gives it back and the two begin a conversation which starts with Kíli’s opinion on starlight and moves on to become centred around Kíli’s travels. 

It is a good, safe, sensible conversation which would ring no alarm bells. In fact, the only thing that hints towards the idea that we should be looking for a romantic angle is the shot of Legolas looking down upon them with a disgusted sneer. 

This is where I began to feel uneasy with the direction the story was taking. Legolas is clearly jealous, Tauriel has clearly been hurt by the callous words of Thranduil and there was, perhaps, a little bit of flirting going on between the bars. This is Kíli after all. One thing we forget, however, is that she is his jailor. She is in a position of significant power over him. Let us flip the genders. The one behind bars is female, the one who holds the keys and is showing a marked interest in her is male. This is a familiar trope, and one which many of us shudder back from due to the power divide and the vulnerability of the female character, no matter how kind the male one seems. Why, then, do so many of us ignore the reverse scenario? Why is it alright for a woman, or elleth, in a position of power over a male, and especially a young one who might well be looking for a way out and a way to keep his friends and family safe, to pay such marked attention to a male captive?

The answer, of course, is that it is very much not alright, but we let it slide because it is not the reverse and society seems to have this thing for women in power seducing helpless males.

So, they have got their flirt on, spent an unspecified length of time languishing in the cells and now it is time to escape. The book would have us believe that they spent a month or so in the cells and rode their barrels out with relative ease. No gates, orcs, arrows or chases through the rapids. I can understand the movies needing something a little more dramatic. It would have been a dull escape otherwise, but we can already see the shift in Tauriel when the dwarves escape, even though she has known them at most a month, and the film makes it seem like they have only been in there a day or two which is what makes her actions later make even less sense than they would had she known Kíli a month. She hesitates. Her prisoners have escaped, her king is going to be very displeased, and still she hesitates.

I refuse to get into the thing with the morgul arrow, I find it very hard to believe that Sauron would have allowed the use of those and thus tipped others who were not Gandalf, Saruman, Galadriel and Elrond off to the fact that he was on the move. I am not even entirely sure they were a thing in book canon which is neither here nor there. It is believable that Kíli would have been hurt, that is a risk in every combat situation, and I will leave it at that.

The dwarves escape and head to Lake Town with Kíli in increasingly poor shape, Tauriel and Legolas take an orc to Thranduil for questioning which results in the elf king ordering the gates sealed. He wants nothing to do with whatever quarrel is between the orcs and dwarves. I hardly blame him. Legolas and Tauriel both object at different times and get shut down, and Legolas goes to obey his father’s orders, only to realise that Tauriel has already run off after this bloke she hardly knows.

I love Kíli, I do, but at this point he holds about as much of a permanent place in her life as the bloke I started to play Dungeons and Dragons with three months ago does in mine. And she probably knows him about as well as I do that guy.

She is idealistic, young, desperate to see the world. I get that. It is as good a reason as any to want to go out there and save it given that she is, to borrow from Guardians of the Galaxy, one of the idiots who lives in it. But saving the world, or that corner of it, was not what set her off in Thranduil’s throne room. Being told that Kíli was going to die slowly and painfully was. As much as the scene argues that she is going out there to save the world because she believes that they have a responsibility to do so, she has also already shown that Kíli is one of her primary reasons.

Four years ago, my then four year old, looked at this whole mess and said “But Elsa says you can’t marry a man you just met”. Where she got the idea Tauriel wanted to marry Kíli, I do not know, but that observation stuck with me. 

Anyway, because this is getting rambling, stuff happens, the dwarves have a feast, Kíli gets left in Lake Town with Fíli while the rest go on to Erebor and Tauriel fights her way into Bard’s in time to get some athelas to heal Kíli, although not without a little bit of dithering about before hand as she tries to work out what, if anything, she can do to help him. It is not the first time we see the calm, collected and confident character we were introduced to take a backseat before she pulls herself together but it is quite prominent. Kíli, while being healed, spouts off some romantic gibberish about him and Tauriel being worlds apart from one another and wondering if she could have loved him. 

It is very sweet. It is also delirious ramblings. I have said some things while feverish and sick that have had my Significant Other raising his eyebrows at me. It is not meant to be taken really seriously. For all we know, five minutes before he might have proposed marriage to Óin or been hallucinating a fight with Smaug. It is sweet and romantic, as we might believe Kíli to be, but can it be considered a true declaration?

Incidentally, this part is one of the changes that makes me really quite angry. Fíli and Kíli were always supposed to be at Thorin’s side when they entered Erebor. He leaves Kíli, and therefore Fíli, behind with barely a twitch, and callously does so after making him struggle his way to the dock and the waiting boat in front of the population of Lake Town who are waiting to see them off. It raises questions about whether the gold obsession that plagues the line of Durin had already started to set in, but I think it was a decision made to give a greater sense of peril to the scenes in Lake Town when Smaug is razing the place. 

Either way, I do not like it. 

The morning after the night before dawns, Kíli seems none the worse for wear after his near brush with death, though we know that Frodo was heavily weakened after his own such encounter in sixty/eighty years, depending on if you book or film timeline it. He is saying goodbye to Tauriel and effectively tells her he loves her by calling her “amrâlimê” which most of us here know means something to the effect of “my love”. Watch Fíli behind him, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as though this is not the first time he has seen his brother act like this. Fíli is the Darcy to Kíli’s Bingley, except maybe this time it really is not love at all and Fíli is right to be wary and frustrated. It is also the time we see Kíli go from adoring puppy to murder hound in about 0.6 seconds with the arrival of Legolas. This time he is clearly infatuated, but I would still hesitate to say “in love” for a couple of reasons. The first is that they really hardly know each other, and while love at first sight is a wonderful idea it is not necessarily the strongest foundation for a relationship. Especially one with such incredibly strong Romeo and Juliet vibes. The second is that she has saved his life twice at this point. It is a known phenomenon that when someone does such a thing gratitude can be mistaken for powerful love.

In fact, Aidan and Evangeline have both reported to have said that had Kíli survived the pair of them would have very rapidly recognised that this is not love at all. It is gratitude and infatuation and not something which could withstand the judgement of both of their peoples.

Here, they separate, and neither mentions the other at all. Tauriel is cast out of Mirkwood, Legolas vows he will not return without her which is a whole other host of problems on its own, and they go forth to Gundabad to see what the orcs are up to. 

It is bad news, but then these things usually are.

Things go horribly wrong in Erebor, words and Arkenstones are exchanged, hobbits are nearly flung from very high places and battle commences while Dwalin attempts to knock some sense into a gold consumed Thorin. You can see why Kíli will not have had time to think about Tauriel at all.

With the battle joined, it is fight or die. Kíli is unaware that Tauriel is anywhere on the field, or that there is a trap waiting for him in that bloody tower and Tauriel… well she panics. Seeing that Thranduil is intending on withdrawing for the good of his people she stands before him and pulls a weapon on her king demanding that he stay and fight and help the dwarves. If not for the fact that Legolas comes and takes her toward Ravenhill I think Thranduil probably would have crossed a line into kinslaying right there and then. There is only so much disobedience and, frankly, treason one can endure from a subject before something more permanent needs to be done about them.

They get to the tower, Fíli is already dead and Kíli is desperately trying to hold his own against an ambush so that he can avenge his brother. And Tauriel, for some unfathomable reason, races through a tower full of orcs screaming his name. That… that is not how you do these things. At all. By doing that you draw the attention of every creature that is currently free to track you down and kill you. 

Moving on.

Watch them fight against Bolg together. They do not do it well. Kíli is fabulous next to Fíli, and probably Thorin and Dwalin and any other dwarf for that matter. He probably would not do too badly with one of the Men beside him but the elvish style of combat and the dwarf style are very different and it does not mesh well for these two who barely really know each other. Legolas and Gimli fight in many of the same battles, but rarely side by side and they are certainly more in tune with one another than these two are. In this case, Tauriel is definitely panicking and I wonder if she would have done the same if it had been Legolas she was fighting with. 

Somehow I doubt it.

Anyway, eventually they are overwhelmed, longing looks are exchanged and Kíli is killed. Tauriel breaks down to Thranduil who declares that it was clearly real love.

I just, there is so much wrong with this I hardly know where to start. 

A lot of time is dedicated to this addition. It drives a wedge between Thranduil and Legolas that we had no reason to suspect existed, it deprives him of one of his loyal guards and it does absolutely nothing at all to affect the outcome of the quest for Erebor in a positive way. It adds nothing to Kili’s death, it does not make it any more of a tragedy than it is in the book. In fact, if anything I think it takes away from it a little bit. For those not in the know, in the book Thorin is felled on the field, fatally wounded by Bolg who is then crushed to death by Beorn. Fíli and Kíli, who do not wish to see their uncle’s body taken and desecrated, and likely hoping that there was some small chance he could be saved, fight over him as guards until they are overwhelmed and die side by side before help can come. It is, ultimately, a terrible waste of their lives. Thorin lives long enough to apologise to Bilbo in one of the healing tents, much as he does on the side of the mountain in the film, and then he dies. 

So Tauriel has made no positive impact upon the outcome, it could be argued that her moment of hesitating to threaten Thranduil could have been the moments where she and Legolas might have reached the tower fast enough to save possibly Kíli, perhaps even Fíli, we will never know. What we do know is that the addition of the love triangle added extra time which could have been given to any of the rest of the Company, most of whom were given very little at all to do other than carry on in the background. We could have spent more time with Bilbo, who got shunted aside for the Legend of Legolas parts and, of course, the love triangle additions. We did not even get the funeral in the theatrical release!

It seemed to primarily be, well, filler. And the studio’s bizarre opinion that they were not going to get female viewers if they did not stick some form of romance in there. It seemed to almost be an attempt to mirror the Arwen, Aragorn, Eowyn triangle from the Lord of the Rings, except they missed the mark there spectacularly. Arwen knew very well what she was giving up in marrying Aragorn, and she ultimately made the same choice that her uncle had made thousands of years before as had her very nearly ultimate grandmother (bar Melian) before that. Tauriel could have had no concept at all of what she might have been tying herself to. And that does not even get into the political ramifications of it had Kíli survived, or if he and any one or both of Fíli and Thorin survived. 

This next is, of course, speculation, because we have no real way of knowing. 

Tauriel has sacrificed everything, her home and position for some dwarf she hardly knew. They think it is love, but in the coming weeks with Kíli dedicated to the mountain, whether alone as king or with his uncle and/or brother, distance begins to grow. Tauriel is an elf, she may have fought in the battle but she is still not completely trusted. Rumours from those who might have seen her interaction with Thranduil during the battle start to surface. Kíli might overlook them for himself, but could Thorin or Fíli? If they were to send Kíli to do something that Tauriel would not like, could they trust her not to do the same to them as she did to Thranduil? She owes them even less loyalty than she did him and she threw it all to one side in a heartbeat. If Kíli is the only one of the younger two who survived, where does that leave the succession? If he and Tauriel cannot have children together the throne is not secure, even if they could with all the millennia of bad blood between elf and dwarf will the general populace really accept a half elf on the throne? Especially one who might live forever. The answer there is very likely to be no, which will cause more problems further on and puts Dáin and later Thorin III Stonehelm on the throne again. So there was no point saving Kíli if the original timeline would come to pass anyway, if with a few more hurdles and a heap more unrest thrown in. In other words, it would cause a lot more contention than it would solve.

If they did grow apart, as the actors have stated they would, I think Tauriel would have come to resent Kíli for his role in her decisions, even though she was a grown elleth and perfectly capable of reasoning out possible consequences for herself. Evangeline says that Tauriel went back to Mirkwood after the battle and I suspect Thranduil forgave her out of pity and because he knew she had learnt a terrible lesson. I doubt, though, that she ever regained his trust, and I very much doubt she ever rose to any real position within the kingdom again. If Kíli had not died, I suspect her reception would have been less forgiving and more in the nature of “well if it isn’t the consequences of your actions” before being thrown from her home in disgrace.

Either ending is unhappy for her.

This whole diatribe actually makes it sound like I quite like the character, and there are some small parts of her that I do like. The film needed a strong female character, and this is perhaps one of the reasons that one of the more popular genderbends in the fandom is female Bilbo. Because either way, the story still works. And all the initial stuff with Tauriel worked. Her early interactions with Kíli, that snappy comeback which is actually a favourite because as a response to someone intending on unsettling her it is perfect, even that little bit of wanderlust that she lets seep out. Where it falls apart, and where my dislike stems, is the introduction of the love triangle, the huge power imbalance between them when it begins in the dungeons of Mirkwood, the fact that gratitude and love are allowed to blur over the line with no one questioning it. Except, perhaps, Fíli, who is the long suffering older sibling accustomed to his brother becoming infatuated with this or that pretty face or great warrior.

Had it been left at the wanderlust and the whole bit with the delirious confession been done away with, she could have still been great. Had she kept her head a bit better upon seeing Kíli fighting Bolg or even had a material effect on things for good I could possibly, possibly have overlooked how it all began. But that moment in the cells set my squick metre off and coloured my opinion of it from there. And even repeat watching has not helped me to see it in a positive light. It was filler, time wasting, and I find it hard to like a character who was introduced as someone that girls could look up to, and who became, instead, every cliché female love interest that I feared she would. They set her up, let her and us down, and as a result I prefer to pretend she never existed, or gloss over her entirely. 

And because people are always asking me what my problem with her is I’ve grown to despise her. 

Kíli is a grown dwarf, he is perfectly capable of making his own decisions and thinking for himself. Tauriel does not manipulate him into having feelings for her, she seems to be made uncomfortable by the confession in fact, but just as he is capable of thinking for himself, so is she. And I question every decision she made from the moment she locked him behind those bars, because that is where the Tauriel that Kíli met in the spider’s nest begins to vanish. 

She could have been a great character and she did not need a love interest, or to become one, for that to happen. The studio handled her poorly, and that is why I would prefer to ignore the fact that she, and that stupid love triangle, ever existed.

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - CHAPTER 1 (VERGIL X NERO’S MOTHER)

Summary: Vergil arrives in Fortuna and crosses path with a rebellious lady dressed in red. But even if he doesn't want pay attention, Fortuna seemed determined to intertwine their lives.

(PROLOGUE)

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda’s past

Author’s note: So, let me introduce you to Elissa aka Nero's mother. I've decided to make her rebellious and quite feisty to mirror Nero's impetuosity. After all, that kid had to take after someone, right? So why not mummy dearest? I know the story might seem slow to start but I need to set up the scenery for the events to come. Hope you like it anyway.

It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue. The cobbled streets were empty, the shops and cafes all closed, for all the inhabitants were gathered inside the Cathedral whose majestic dome overlooked the nearby Renaissance-style buildings, a sacred beacon calling the devotees to pray. But the religious establishment was nothing in comparison to the partially-veiled giant-like idol standing tall and massive within the ramparts of the city, a figure made of stone and marble with the face of Vergil’s father. It didn’t look very resembling to him. Sparda never had such delicate features, not in his son’s memories at least. But it did not matter. The young man wasn’t here to judge some clearly distasteful architecture. He was here for the answers and the promises of power that island kept in between its walls.             “The Order of the Sword, huh? They worship a demon as a god?” This reality sounded foolish, incomprehensible even. His father was no god. He knew that better than anyone. But what was religion if not idealisation, divinisation of a flawed man? Humans …

***

“Elissa!” A fearful whisper pronounced the girl’s name but it would take more than a whisper for her to stop her mischief. “Elissa! Come dddd-down!” The girl named Elissa smiled, enjoying the risk she was definitely taking. Degrading the Savior? Not her first time. But she had never climbed that high before. “What if sss-omeone sees you … sss-ees us?” She rolled her green eyes, weary of the perpetual anxiety shaking the already very trembling voice of her friend. “Agnus! Stop being such a pussy!” She shouted-murmured, not really knowing why she was murmuring at all. “Everyone’s at church!” Agnus fidgeted even more as he saw the young woman taking her time spraying blue paint on the statue, the tip of her rosy tongue out, an adorable display of her concentration and perfectionism. “Does it look like the Guard’s symbol to you?” She demanded, observing her rebellious art from all possible angles.     Agnus sighed and looked up, regretting to have left his lab for this childish yet dangerous adventure. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He even had a woman and a baby daughter waiting for him at home. So why wasting time playing vandals with Elissa? He knew why. “You’re not looking under my skirt, are you?”          The man blushed, terribly uncomfortable. “What? Of cccc-ourse not!” But he was a scientist and scientists were curious beings. That’s what he was telling himself each time he was thinking about what was hidden underneath Elissa’s crimson clothes.The Cathedral bells rang loud, signalling the end of today’s mass. Soon, the people of Fortuna would invade the streets again to come back to their boring daily occupations. “We’re definitely gonna get ccc-caught.” Agnus told himself. “What am I gonna tell Marcus?” A suspect noise stopped Agnus in his alarming thoughts. It was coming from a few streets away. Squeals and growls of fury and pain. Demons? “Ddd-did you hear that?” Elissa listened carefully and recognized the screams. She had heard similar ones in Mitis Forest recently. She had shut a lot of them up too. They were demons alright but not the worst kind. “Just a few …scarecrows.” She tried to reassure Agnus but realised he was already gone. “Such a pussy.” She shook her head, slightly exasperated but not surprised. Agnus was not famous for his bravery, quite the opposite. He was a coward but Elissa was okay with it. After all, he had been providing the Guardians with very useful information concerning demons for a few years now, all that thanks to his natural talents as an alchemist. The girl jumped off the statue and, in order to remove the beige dust from the fabric, shook her old red dress typical of Fortuna fashion, one of the few clothes she had kept from her past life in the Order and that she now used to blend in among the Fortunans each time she would venture in town. She then cautiously pulled up her skirt to reveal a thigh belt hidden under the white petticoat and strapped the spray can, right next to a sharp curved dagger she kept in a thin leather sheath just in case.        “Hey! You!” Did we say cautiously? “Shit!” Time to run.

***

Yamato shone in the sun, casting a shadow on Vergil’s young face that even this small fight hadn’t manage to fluster, and once again the blade made one with the saya with a perfect clink that echoed like a lethal musical note in the demon-cleared street. “Just what are your true intentions?” He wondered out loud as he wrapped his blue frame under a linen cloak that looked foreign to anyone who would take a look.Elissa took a look, green eyes staring with curiosity from under her white hood she had carelessly thrown above her head in precipitation to cover her soft locks of fiery ginger when she had left the place of her previous mischief as fast as she could, successfully escaping the angry guards shouting at her.           She took a look, knowing exactly what this stranger had just done as she watched him crossing the crowd with purpose, alone, going up the street towards the Cathedral while everyone was walking down, their minds still lost in religious psalms.             She stopped in her track for a second to admire him, wondering who he was and where he came from. She imagined a distant city at first, somewhere far away from here, crowded with people who hadn’t been indoctrinated by the Order’s promises. But then, as she noticed his bearing, so stately and yet so lonely, she thought he wasn’t from a particular place but from many places. A wanderer, traveling the world, someone who held knowledge, who had seen what was beyond the horizon of Fortuna.            He probably noticed her stare as he concealed his face even more under his hood and slightly hunched his shoulders. So, out of respect and despite her devouring curiosity, Elissa walked away, certain that if Sparda wanted her to meet this mysterious strange again, then their paths would cross one more time.Vergil quietly made his way in the main avenue where the marble giant was standing and slowed down when he noticed a small crowd gathered by the statue’s feet. Everyone was gasping in shock, hands over mouths as if they were the witnesses of the worst sacrilege, the most terrible infamy.       Wondering what the fuss was all about, the Son of Sparda peered over everyone’s shoulders from a distance but close enough to spot a graffiti plastered on the leg of the thing the Fortunans seemed to call The Savior. It was a symbol of some sort, a pair of winged arms with sharp claws protecting Sparda’s horned head. It had been drawn with turquoise paint that was still running down the immaculate white stone and that was leaving a heavy odour of solvents in the ambient air, identical to the one Vergil had smelt when that girl who had stared at him with insistence had walked past him, an odour indicating Vergil when the degradation had been made and who had done it.He scoffed briefly, amused by the political provocation and the over-dramatic reaction of the bigoted crowd, and after glancing one last time at the spray-painted symbol, resumed his exploration of the city.       “Looks like appearances can be deceiving in this city after all.” Vergil said as he thought about the rebellious girl in saint clothes who didn’t seem to be new in the graffiti drawing business according to the devotees’ wrath. “Those rebels again! Soiling the image of Sparda with their belligerent propaganda. Hope the Order will find them soon.” They agreed with each other with angry nods. “They are worse than demons! They probably hide in shadows like the rats they are.”     Had Vergil just stepped in the middle of a civil war?

***

When her holy hood fell back on her shoulders, Elissa sighed in relief, glad to finally feel her soft ginger hair finally liberated from that awful religious cage of white cotton she couldn’t stand wearing anymore. Few more minutes and she would also get rid of that ridiculous dress that constricted her like a straitjacket. But right now, she had a meeting to attend.      Summoned by her leader, probably to claim responsibility for her new roguishness that had caused such a big turmoil in the city this morning, she pushed the door of Guardian Marcus’s office without an ounce of fear or apprehension. She knew full well she would not be reprimanded. She never was.  “Elissa! My child, come.” The white-haired old man welcomed her with wide opened arms and showed her a seat before him where she sat in silence and waited for him to say what he had to say.At first, he just stared at her, without a word but with half a smile and a look of amusement he couldn’t keep to himself. And finally he spoke with a cheerful tone. “You should have painted it red.” His loud laugh echoed in the room and he took a huge sip of the red wine waiting to be drunk in a fancy chalice next to his velvet armchair.            Elissa had a timid respectful smile; unable to act casual with this man who, even though was distant family, had been leading the cause she was fighting for for so many years, since even before she was born. “How did you find out?”           “Agnus told me.” He admitted and gauged the girl’s reaction who seemed more disappointed in herself than surprised. “Should have thought so.”    “Be careful who you surround yourself with, Elissa. Offering someone your trust can be as dangerous as any blade. Believe me, I know.” He traced the large scar along his wrinkled face, a reminder of an old betrayal that had made him lose, in addition to his left eye, a man he used to call brother and who was now leading Fortuna thanks to his lies and his dark secrets. Sanctus. “I shall remember your advice, sir.” “But you know what surprises me the most? It’s that Adel didn’t try to talk you out of this. After all, he follows you like a shadow … an enamoured shadow even.” Marcus smiled, trying to build complicity with this young lady, the granddaughter of the brother he had lost long ago, a child he loved like his own. Elissa smiled in return and shook her head, having trouble to believe she was having this conversation with her leader. “And yet you seemed keen on refusing his advances. May I know why?”        “I didn’t know this was a matchmaking appointment.” Elissa humoured, definitely amused by the situation. “I’m old and I’ve been at war for most of my life. So let’s say, the frivolity of youth and the burgeoning loves are like peaceful songs to my heart.”        Elissa sighed and her heart, in spite of this new attempt at making it yield to a man she didn’t love, once again refused to see Adel as nothing else than a friend. “I’m just not interested. Enamoured shadows are not my type.”         “ And what, pray tell, is your type?”

***

Vergil had visited many places in his short lifetime. Perpetually on the move – he refused to say ‘on the run anymore’ for running was for the weak – he had seen so many cities, so many different landscapes, some in shades of blue, some in shades of green and other in shades of gold, so many colours most men would have forgotten but that he had somehow always cared to remember. But there was something about Fortuna that made her unique, different from all the things he had had the chance to see.         Perhaps was it the anachronistic almost medieval atmosphere that had shaped the city architecture and the inhabitants’ lifestyle or perhaps was it because every edifice seemed to hold secret knowledge about his family.  Whatever it was, Vergil was sure of one thing; what made Fortuna special were clearly not the city’s filthy underground bars from Port Caerula, well hidden under the docks, away from prying eyes that would be easily outraged by the debauchery they held between their walls. That kind of place he was familiar with, despite his revulsion for them and the people frequenting them.           “Hello, sugar. You’re a new face.” An eccentric woman declared as she tried to take a peek under Vergil’s cowl, her voluptuous body leant against the bar. “And a handsome one. I would lower my price for a face like yours.” The young man glanced at the woman, shortly but long enough to see how she looked, the embodiment of repulsive tragedy that once looked beautiful.             Her makeup was smeared and barely hiding the bruises and the cuts on her young face and she was wearing a church outfit ripped at the thighs and purposely unbuttoned to reveal her generous cleavage. And in her velvet purse, she kept a wig made of dry artificial ginger hair some despicable men had certainly asked her to wear more than once.       “Not interested. Now leave.” Vergil’s tone was curt and cold but she insisted anyway.        “You’re sure? I make the best blowjobs in all Fortuna. Isn’t that right, Captain?” She nodded towards a young charismatic brown-skinned man carrying a crossbow on his back and drinking sitting the stool right next to Vergil. When he heard his name, he spared a glare at the prostitute and at the Son of Sparda as well for no particular reason but because he hated his occasional obscene deviations to be exposed. “He just looooves some naughty church girls. Do you like them too?” Vergil ignored her and focused again on his drink, lying untouched on the bar. He didn’t like drinking. “Or do you prefer them innocent and prudish? I can be either.”  “Quit with your lies and just leave, Pomona².” The dark-haired man ordered with a strong voice that made her smile.       “ Ha! Looks like I finally have my name back. See you around, sugar… Adel.” She winked and left to sell her body to someone else that would accept it in exchange of a bit of money.“You should not visit that sort of bar if women like Pomona bother you, stranger.” The so-called Adel warned before drinking from his tankard. He, just like everybody else here, could tell Vergil was not from around. All they had to do was looking at him. After all, everyone knew everyone else in a small reclusive island like Fortuna. “It’s sometimes the loudest, worst people that give all the information a man looks for.”     “So you’re looking for information then. About what?” Vergil was a curious man but he despised curiosity in other people, especially when he was the subject of their curiosity.            “Nothing a man like you knows about.”        The answer surprised the Moor who hadn’t expected such arrogance coming from a stranger. “Well, piece of advice. If you want information in Fortuna, there are two ways to get them. Either you don’t behave like an arrogant asshole or you pay for them.”     Vergil smirked slightly under his hood as he already knew how to react to such pathetic insult. Adel was not a difficult man to read. “Just like when you want a woman’s love, am I right?”             The provocation burnt and stang like the most vicious hot poker piercing through

Adel’s dignity and ego. It pushed him to stand up and grab his crossbow in retaliation.         But his weapon, as precise and strong as it was, was useless in close combat and it instantly met the sharp blade of a magnificent katana that would make any swordsman worth the name grow pale. And with a dexterous swift move, the crossbow flew across the room as if it was a paper plane.But the clients in the bar didn’t gasp at the legendary Yamato. They gasped at the silvery-white hair adorning Vergil’s head that had been revealed when he inadvertently had lost his hood in this express fight. “It’s the hair of Sparda.” People whispered, amazed.     With an expert graceful move, Yamato found his saya again and Vergil walked through the crowd, high-handed and resolved to escape this place and all those bothering eyes he felt upon him.But as he pushed the door of the establishment, he came face to face with the feminine figure he had noticed in the streets this morning. It stopped him in his track and for the first time in his lifetime, but certainly not the last, he looked into her deep green eyes.  They reminded him of an old poem he loved greatly, one he had read so many times and would never grow tired of, about a dark forest and a tyger burning bright³. And as he gazed in that girl’s look and witnessed that emerald wood, wild and dense, trying to conceal in vain the fiery fur of a predator, Vergil knew he would never read that poem the same way or imagine Blake’s colours in the shades he would normally imagine them.               And so he stared, longer than he wanted, almost the same way she gazed at the pale blue topazes and at the god-like silver hair crowning his head. But while fire is wild, the ice is timid. And thus, admiration only shows through the eyes of the red lady.    And when she finally opened her mouth to speak her mind, Vergil escaped into the night leaving lost shadows behind him. But that was fine. Shadows were not the lady’s type after all.It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue.      But among them there was this vibrant red and two sparkling amber-tinted emeralds reflecting brighter than anything else in a pair of icy eyes, a mirror who strangely wouldn’t mind seeing that reflection again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ¹ Marcus: derived from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars to highlight Marcus' status and personality. ² Pomona: From Latin pomus "fruit tree". The word "Pomme" is also the French for "apple", the fruit of temptation. Pomona will come back in other chapters. ³ a tyger burning bright : From William Blake's poem The Tyger

[waitimcomingtoo]

To the Bone

TRIGGER WARNING/DISCLAIMER: negative body image. Reader does NOT have an eating disorder but do not read if you’re easily triggered by things of that nature. I’ll have a fluffy story out soon for those who can’t read this one. And remember, you are beautiful exactly as you are. Love you!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

With you being a singer and an actress, you rarely got to see your movie star boyfriend for more than a few weeks at a time. When Tom was off shooting for Cherry, you got a call asking you to model for Saint Laurent. You’d been selected to be an égérie, or muse for the highly esteemed fashion brand. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the times you’d flip through your mothers fashion magazines as a child, always talking a special interest in the glamorous handbags and shoes you saw in the Saint Laurent magazines. To be on the cover of their magazine, decked in their masterpieces inspired by yourself, was a dream come true. You twisted around your room, feeling that familiar childlike wonder seeping in. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the full length mirror you and Tom had in your bedroom and stopped. You took a step closer and gazed at your reflection, placing delicate fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror. Another familiar feeling sunk in.

The feeling of not being good enough. 

Saint Laurent was a huge brand. Millions of people would be looking at you on the cover. The thought of all those people and all the opinions they harbored made you feel uneasy. Would they like what they saw? Were you pretty enough to be a cover girl?

You traced your fingertips over your reflection until they landed on your tummy. You moved your hand from the mirror to your tummy and kept it there, turning to the side to get a better look.

“I could stand to be a little thinner.” You nodded your head and continued to stare at your body. You decided losing a little weight for the cover would be a good for everyone.

Tom was going to be away for three weeks, and your cover was a week after he returned. You found a diet online that claimed models followed and printed it out. You stuck it to your fridge and started following it that night.

The first week, you cut your meals down in size and cut out snacks completely.

The second week, you skipped meals here and there and told yourself you didn’t need them. You didn’t need the fatigue and constant hunger you felt either, but you told yourself it was worth it every time you stood up and felt dizzy.

The third week, what you did allow yourself to eat was rabbit food. Berries for breakfast, no lunch, salad for dinner. Your appearance had changed a little more than you expected, so you covered yourself in baggy clothes to hide the transformation. As you were examining your body in the mirror again, you heard the front door unlock.

“Tommy!” You ran to him from the bedroom and threw your arms around his neck. Tom embraced you immediately, and you felt his body tense up. His hands found your waist and slowly moved up to your ribs as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Woah.” He pulled away quickly and looked you up and down with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You kept your voice steady. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Tom looked up at you with accusation in his eyes.

“What do you mean, baby?” You played it off.

“Have you been eating?” Tom asked firmly, hands still on your waist.

“I…yeah.” You stuttered at his blunt question.

“How much?” He questioned. “And what?”

“What’s with all the questions? What are you, my doctor?” You laughed nervously and tried to leave his embrace but he wouldn’t let you.

“No, I’m your incredibly concerned boyfriend.” Tom said, reminding you it wasn’t time to joke.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. You should be excited, actually. Saint Laurent has made me their muse. They designed a collection inspired by me and want me to model it on their cover. Isn’t that amazing?” You said proudly and Toms eyes softened. He swallowed thickly and looked you in the eyes with an emotion you’d never seen from him before.

“Is that why you did this?” He asked in a whisper.

“Did what?” You asked, still dodging his accusation.

“Whatever crazy diet you put yourself on.” He said finally.

“I’m not on any diet.” You said defensively. “I just lost a little weight.”

“Love, I have hugged you a million times; held you, cuddled you, woken up and fallen asleep with your body next to mine. What I just had in my arms, what I felt when I hugged you, that wasn’t you.” Tom shook his head sadly. “That’s not the body I hold in my sleep or the one I come home to at night. You’re skin and bones, darling. I don’t even recognize you. What happened?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, trying to appease him, but Toms face remained stoic.

“Take off your jumper. It’s huge on you, anyway.” Tom commanded.

“What? No, I’m cold.” You lied. It was the middle of summer and you had on sweatpants and an oversized sweater on.

“It’s boiling in here.” Tom pointed out. “Take it off.”

“Tom, no.” You said sternly.

“Why not? Because you don’t want me to see what I already know? You think baggy clothes and denial won’t make me see what you’ve done to yourself?” Tom shouted, eyes softened when he saw your face fall.

“Princess.” Tom said softly and tilted your chin for you to look at him. His gentleness almost brought you to tears. “I can’t say I understand why you’d do this, or why anyone would, but I can say I know how you feel. I’ve had issues with my body too. I never knew how insecure a person could feel until I went to the gym with the Avengers cast. I mean, have you seen Chris Hemsworth without his shirt on?” Tom asked and a small laugh escaped your lips. “There, now I got my pretty girl laughing again. What’s it gonna take to get you eating again? We can start small but I’m not sleeping until I see you put something substantial in your body. I need to know you’re going to be okay the next time I leave, or I’m never leaving again.”

“Then how are you gonna do your job?” You asked.

���Loving you is my job. That’s more important than any part in any movie.” Tom assured you.

“I just wanted to look good for the cover.” You admitted weakly. “I just wanted to be beautiful.”

“You were already beautiful, and you would be at any size. Numbers on a scale and the size of your waist do not equate to beauty.” Tom said assertively. “Come with me.” He took your hand and brought you to the bedroom, taking his place in front of the full length mirror. He stood behind you and pressed himself into your back.

“Tom, I’ve looked at myself in this mirror enough in the past few weeks. I don’t need to again.” You told him.

“But you’ve only seen yourself from your point of view. I want to show you what I see.” Tom told you as he moved your hair to the side to place a kiss on your neck.

“The first thing I noticed about you was your hair. You had it loose and it framed your face like the work of art that you are. I thought it was beautiful but it was covering your face and I wanted to see that to.” Tom recalled the day you’d met. “I pretended to cough so you’d look at me, and you did. That’s when I saw your eyes for the first time. Our eyes met and I got this funny feeling in my tummy like when you come home after a long time and your dog greets you at the door. That’s how you make me feel, like coming home.”

“I only looked at you because I hate the sound of coughing.” You laughed and Tom laughed too.

“But you still looked at me. And then you smiled. I forgot how to breath for like three days after that.” Tom laughed in your ear. “I nearly fell over from how weak my knees felt. Your smile could make the coldest, most evil old man bite his tongue. And when I heard your laugh, God I wanted to marry you right there. And I could’ve. And I just might.” Tom kissed your cheek this time and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Then there’s this body. This body that keeps me warm, the body that’s gonna carry my kids one day.” Tom put his hands on your tummy and looked at you in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve loved every inch of you since the day we met. My eyes never have and never will see something more beautiful than you. I know I can tell you everyday that you’re gorgeous and take my breath away, but I also know that if you don’t think the same then my words mean nothing.”

“It’s hard to love myself sometimes when theres so many people watching me.” You whispered. Tom turned your around in his arms so you were facing him.

“I know, love. But I’m here to make it a little less hard.” Tom assured you. “I’m gonna make you a deal; I’m gonna make your favorite dinner and you’re gonna eat it.”

“I think I can manage, as long as we eat in the candlelight.” You smiled.

“You got it.” Tom kissed your forehead. “And I want you to sign my magazine once it comes out. I gotta have the autograph of the prettiest girl in the world.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @sunrise-shawn​ @meghan-8520xx​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @autumnlyholland @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @ho-ho-holland @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @m19friend​ @justcallmehitgirl​

[justkeeptrekkin]

Slow dancing as Good Omens fic prompt? I think slow dancing can be really intimate because of the proximity, the looks, the music...

bless you, anon. 

***

Aziraphale had never really felt lonely before. 

It may come as a surprise to many, but, truly, Aziraphale had never felt lonely. He is an angel who appreciates having time to himself. He is an angel who has chosen to roam Earth on an extended solo holiday for roughly six thousand years, Eat Pray Love style. He is an angel who has set up wards all around his bookshop so every customer is miraculously coerced into leaving the shop after ten minutes of perusing. Up in Heaven, Aziraphale is famous for being a soft, squishy introvert- baffling all the angels, archangels, cherubs and occasional saint. 

Being alone is nice. 

Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. 

Now, Aziraphale does feel lonely. He stands in the centre of his empty bookshop. A bookshop filled with inanimate, dusty things, but no one there other than him. All these books that he’s always valued so highly, loved so dearly- he still does- but somehow, now, they’re all disappointing to him. The shop feels desolate. The dust particles dancing in the air no longer appear beautifully ethereal, only melancholic; the light pouring through the windowed dome up above feels pale and watery; the silence funerary. 

Aziraphale rests a hand on a copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, and thinks of what he might be missing. 

A loud voice in his head tells him that he shouldn’t be thinking- why is he even trying to think about this? The answer is right there, sitting inside him and squirming happily, nervously, miserably. He knows what’s missing, what’s always been missing, yet what’s been there this whole time. Waiting for him. Staring at the chessboard expectantly for him to make his move. Handing over briefcases of books and offering lifts home. And it’s only really since the flop that was the apocalypse last week that he’s seen it for what it is. A perfect clarity, a glorious surety that Aziraphale has never, ever experienced till now- about anything.

It doesn’t come to him in a thought. The decision isn’t made through any logical thought process like: I know what to do. No, it comes to him in a surge, too sudden and overwhelming to hold back or consider for too long. Too sudden for his usual cowardice. 

Aziraphale’s feet take him to the phone. He runs his fingers through the numbers, turning the dial, and waits. 

He waits only three seconds.

“Alright, Angel.”

And it’s like that surge disappears as quickly as it came- a burst of air lifting a leaf off the ground, only to let it fall, fluttering to the cold, damp ground of reality. Aziraphale swallows. Feels the moment catch up with him with horrifying speed.

What is he meant to say now?

“H-hello, Crowley,” he says through a forced smile, though Crowley’s not there to see it. “I was. Well, I was just wondering.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Aziraphale’s mouth clamps shut. Now is not the time to falter, he thinks to himself. 

“Must be a big thing.” 

“Sorry?” he breathes, broken from his reverie.

“Big thing. That you’re wondering about. If you’re calling me and breathing down the phone. I can practically feel the anxiety creeping through the wires.”

His mouth opens and closes. Then opens again. And he croaks, “Yes. Um, what I wanted to say was. Was this.” He hesitates, but only for a beat too long. He scrunches his eyes closed. Scrunches them so tightly he can see stars. “Music.”

“Music?” Crowley repeats immediately, dumbfounded.

“Yes.”

“Music.”

“Yes,” he replies, sounding irritated. He’s irritated at himself more than Crowley. He’s rolling his eyes to himself for being so absurdly flappable. He is always the first to be flapped by the silliest things. 

“Right.” A pause. “You. So. Yeah, you’ve got to help me out here, Angel.” 

“What I mean to say- very, very badly, really,” he says, wincing again, “is whether you’d like to come round to the shop. Help me sort through my mess of a record collection that you’ve been nagging me about since 1964.”

Another pause. Then, “Oh.” Pause. Aziraphale’s perfect posture stiffens impossibly further. Ankles together, foot tapping. “Yeah. Well, what’s all the fuss about then? You sound stressed. Like a… a stressed person. Not a person asking someone round for a drink and some music.” Pause. “There will be drink, won’t there?”

It’s impossible that he finds himself smiling and relaxing, given how far up his throat his heart is currently climbing. And yet. “Oh yes. Don’t you worry, my dear, there will always be drink pouring.”

“Alright. Well, yes. Obviously yes. Even if you’re being weird. You are aware that you’re being weird, aren’t you?”

“Painfully aware, yes,” Aziraphale answers truthfully. Then, quickly, “Shall I uncork the Montepulciano and let it breathe?”

***

They’re on their knees by a teetering stack of vinyl records. The bottle of Montepulciano is finished and there’s another uncorked on the desk beside them. There’s the smell of grapes and dust, a combination that’s become a smell of home to Aziraphale. Made all the more familiar and comforting by Crowley being here, by his side, tearing his beautiful red hair out in annoyance. 

“This one isn’t even in a sleeve,” Crowley announces, aghast. He waves the vinyl in Aziraphale’s face, yellow eyes wide. “When are you going to look after the rest of your things the same way you look after books?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replies casually, knowing that’ll just infuriate Crowley further. 

It does- he growls desperately, creating a new neat pile of vinyls without sleeves, next to the piano music pile, to the right of the 1500-1600s classical pile. Aziraphale smiles sweetly at him, and Crowley points an accusatory finger, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“You,” he starts. “You need to get some shelves. Otherwise. Otherwise, I’ll come round here every day to check that you’re putting them somewhere safe.”

I wouldn’t stop you, Aziraphale thinks. I invited you here because you fill up my life. He says, “I don’t have room for shelves.”

Crowley’s mouth hangs open. He casts his gaze about the shop, gestures to the room. “It’s a bookshop! Tonnes of shelves! What’s one more pissing shelf going to do? Tear the fabric of the universe? ‘Sides,” he slurs, one class of red too many perhaps, “you could just extend the shop a smidge or two. Miracle it a cheeky inch or two bigger. Encroach on the neighbours’ space, sure they won’t notice.”

“Perhaps.” He thinks about this as Crowley blows the dust off a vinyl record of Mendelssohn. “Although I reckon they would. Humans can be horribly observant.”

Crowley hums knowingly. “Oh, yeah. When they want to be. When they don’t, they’ll turn a blind eye to anything.”

Aziraphale watches Crowley for a second longer. Tears his gaze away and looks down at the Glenn Miller record in his hands. He feels the dog-eared edges, soft cardboard between his fingers. He peers down at the smiling, black and white image of Miller and he’s taken immediately back to 1941. The Blitz, the smell of ash and smoke and the smallest, most precious moment of fingers touching. A feeling of pure adoration that’s never left him- that’s been there since the beginning, waiting. Triggered by one moment. 

And just like before when his feet took him to the phone, Aziraphale’s body is taken by a surge of surety, bravery, knowledge of what he wants- damned if it’s right or wrong. (How freeing it is, to no longer have Heaven watching.) He removes the record from its sleeve and with his free hand, lifts the pin of the gramophone. Crowley stills where he’s knelt by Aziraphale’s feet, and they both listen to the crackle of dust being picked up by the pin. 

Aziraphale stands by the gramophone and closes his eyes. Moonlight Serenade begins to play and he takes a deep, grounding breath. 

“You remember that day,” he says, neither explaining nor opening his eyes to look down at Crowley. 

His response is quiet, and almost immediate. “Yes.” 

Aziraphale smiles. “I believe I owe you a dance.”

“You-”

“Don’t think of it as a ‘thank you’,” he continues. “I know you don’t like those. Perhaps just a dance?”

When he finally opens his eyes, it’s only after another deep breath- the nerves have made him forget how to breathe any other way. The shop is getting dark. The light is grey, there’s the quiet sound of rain hissing against the windows, and the song continues to play. And through the haze of dust and stacks of records he sees Crowley, kneeling at his feet, looking up at him with a look as if he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. 

Aziraphale therefore adjusts the look on his own face, betraying his nervousness, and smiles. It comes more easily than he thought it would. 

He extends a hand. 

Crowley looks at the hand. Lips parting and mouthing something silently, uncertainly. Then he croaks, “The 40s was a wonderful time for music, if nothing else.”

And he feels Crowley’s hand slip into his. It doesn’t send a jolt of anxiety or excitement, it doesn’t set off fireworks or give him butterflies like he imagined it would. It feels perfectly natural. 

As Crowley stands up to his full height and looks at Aziraphale, he doesn’t let go of his hand. 

The music sounds distant. Each passing moment feels very real. Crowley has frozen. Aziraphale knows all too well how paralysing this uncertainty is- and so he takes Crowley’s other hand and guides it to his waist. He sees Crowley’s eyes flutter and widen, hears his throat click as he swallows, feels his fingers grip harder on Azirphale’s hand. 

“I think,” Aziraphale supplies once he’s shown Crowley’s where to put his hand, an abbreviated version of: I think that’s where your hand should go, although I’ve never done this before since I’ve only ever really wanted to do something like this with you, and I’m only just brave enough to do it now, and I hope I’m not misreading things and wrongly assuming you want this too. 

Crowley nods. He nods and nods and nods compulsively, swallows again and fumbles for words. Hand warm in Aziraphale’s, warm on his waist. “Yeah,” Crowley manages. “Yeah. I’d say this is- seems about right.”

And Aziraphale rests his hand carefully- so carefully- on Crowley’s shoulder. He leaves it there and neither of them move. They stare at each other in disbelief that this is happening. They stare in disbelief that it took this long. They stare at each other, waiting for the other to start dancing, to explain what comes next, anything. Crowley’s eyes wide and his brows pinched, lips parted.

“Aziraphale?” he asks weakly.

And then it feels easy, heartbreakingly easy. Easy to smile, easy to be the brave one for once, to let Crowley be vulnerable. Easy to let the thousands of years pour through him and between them, between joined hands. 

“Come here, my dear.”

Aziraphale steps closer. Fingers gripping tighter, frightened of what might happen if the other lets go. Would this moment disappear, as if it never happened at all? 

Aziraphale tilts his head towards the ground and looks up at Crowley through his lashes. A gesture that is shy and self-conscious and happy. And Crowley huffs- a laugh, perhaps, or a sigh, he isn’t sure. He feels his breathe blossom against his skin. 

He closes his eyes. He feels it all. He absorbs all the time spent together, all the time lost. The music brings them absent-mindedly swaying from side to side, and Aziraphale rests his cheek against Crowley’s. He’s warm. When he cracks his eyes open he’s welcomed by an auburn blur. The hand on his waist finds his back, and there’s the rush of a sigh beside Aziraphale’s ear. Then, a forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

The song ends, the gramophone crackling to a stop. They dance in each other’s arms for a little longer, in a shop no longer empty. 

[microcosme11]

"He thanked me with a smile almost like a pretty woman's”

Ida Saint-Elme was in Milan where Napoleon also was, to be crowned King of Italy. She was in a theatrical production and he sent for her. I don’t know whether her memoir is considered accurate. 

A door I had not noticed was just then thrown open, and I found myself in a study twenty feet square with the Emperor Napoleon, the monarch for whom the world was too small. At first he neither bowed nor acknowledged my presence. Then, stepping up toward me, he observed:

“Do you know that you look several years younger here than on the stage? ”

“I am happy to hear it."

“You used to be very intimate with Moreau?”

“Very intimate.”

“He did some foolish things for your sake!"

To this I made no answer. The emperor then came close to me, and we talked more freely still. He was very engaging, sufficiently so, at least, to make me forget Moreau for the emperor-king; his compliments were blunt rather than sentimental. It was easy to see that women could exercise little power over Napoleon.

He looked at me with eyes so piercing that one might have thought that he saw through and through me, at the same time asking the question:

“Are you German, then?"

“No, Your Majesty. I was born in Italy, and I have a French heart."

He gave me another glance, seemed to hesitate for a minute or two, and then remarked with royal condescension:

“I may do something for you."

After dispensing this veritable petitioner's sop he vanished. 

I was escorted home by the officer who brought me, and who plied me with questions as to the interview.

Once more alone, I underwent a double sensation of pride and humiliation. I was proud at having attracted Napoleon's attention, and felt humiliated because I had not been able to resist the fascination of Moreau's enemy, who inhabited the same house that nine years before I had lived in with the general, enjoying the universal respect due to a legitimate spouse.

The next day the grand marshal called upon me. He surprised me less by the magnificent gift he brought me on the emperor's behalf than by a second invitation to the palace. I wanted to refuse the gift, to which I did not believe myself entitled. But Duroc gave me such cogent reasons for accepting it that I at length complied, enquiring from him whether I ought to thank the emperor.

So I went to the palace again that evening, as I had been commanded. Only on this occasion I had much longer to wait. The grand marshal escorted me into a very spacious room, which bore more resemblance to a minister's office than to a royal study. The emperor was seated at a desk, signing an enormous bundle of despatches. He looked up for a moment merely, as we came in, immediately resuming his work. The grand marshal signed to me to sit down, and himself withdrew. More than a quarter of an hour elapsed before the emperor seemed to remember my presence. Suddenly, turning about without dropping his pen, he remarked:

“Are you tired of waiting?"

“That would be impossible, Your Majesty.”

“How impossible? ”

“Am I not witnessing the labours of a great man? Is that not the most interesting sight imaginable?”

Hereupon I rose. He did likewise, and came over to me in a much friendlier manner than the day before. Of a sudden he cast his eye down upon a corner of his desk, crossed the room, and pulled the bell-rope. A Mameluke at once appeared in the door opposite that by which I had entered. I was so startled at his appearance that I fell back into my chair. He fastened his eyes upon me in a terrifying manner. He handed a parcel of letters to his master, who took them from him in silence, and laid them on his desk. The Mameluke left the room.

The emperor then came towards me once more. His eyes expressed far more of Italian ardour than imperial dignity. I gave not a thought to etiquette, and he was affability itself. Our friendly interview spun itself out both of us unwitting—until two o'clock in the morning.

“Do you never sleep?" I asked him.

“As little as possible. Whatever is taken from sleep is added to real life.”

In speaking of such a remarkable man, the slightest reminiscences seem important. I may therefore be pardoned for giving a few more details.

Napoleon's roughness has been much declaimed against, it being alleged to have been almost savage. This is sheer calumny. Certainly he was no foppish ladies' man. But his gallantry, for the very reason that it was not commonplace, was all the more acceptable. He pleased you because he was sincere. He would not tell a woman outright that she was beautiful, but would describe her with the touch of an artist.

“Would you believe it,” he acknowledged smilingly, "that when I saw you on the stage I suspected your good looks might be partly contraband?"

It has also been stated that his skin had the hue and other unpleasant peculiarities of that of coloured people. Those who have seen him from close proximity will join with me in denying this report. Nor did the emperor at all resemble the slim, frail-looking General Bonaparte. His face had gained in nobility of expression, which was, however, as simple as ever. His eye was incredibly sharp and piercing, and the fine lines of his profile recalled the Cæsarean model. His hands, which have been much praised, justly merited their reputation. I commented upon their whiteness, and he thanked me with a smile almost like a pretty woman's — such is the childish vanity of even the greatest characters on some personal matter. 

I may here confess to a change of opinion, experienced by many others at that time. Dating from my interviews with Napoleon, I never thought of him excepting as the greatest man of his age. My enthusiasm for him was thenceforth unbounded.

— Memoirs of a Contemporary by Ida Saint-Elme

[lixxen]

Saint Bernard (Matt Murdock x Male!Reader)

Saint Bernard - Matt Murdock x Male!Reader

Reader meets Matt in college and has a horrible past. He is genetically mutated and had powers forced upon him.

Song: Saint Bernard by Lincoln.

-----

Hung pictures of patron saints up on my wall 

Y/n stared up to the sky as the rain came pouring down upon Hell’s kitchen. The grey skies reminded him of his childhood, the walls that kept him prisoner. The walls that were covered in pictures of people he did not believe should have been there.

It wasn’t until he finally got to college, meeting Matthew Murdock, that he had believed in the world. Matthew Murdock became his patron saint. His key to freedom.

He had changed his major from religious studies to law, even if it pissed off the Church. Pissed off the Mass.

Matthew showed him a side of the world that he hadn’t known. It was wonderful.

To remind me that I am a fool. 

The Church didn’t approve of Matthew. He may have been Catholic, but he was a sinner. 

There was a rumor about Matthew within the Church; a hushed one that he was never to speak of around Matthew. Lucifer had taken control of a mortal man and seduced one of the Sisters, forcing her to bear one of his children. 

They told him that Matthew was the Devil, just like his father. To cast him aside and to come home.

But he never saw that in Matthew. He was a saint. He had his moments, but Matthew was wonderful. So he stayed by Matthew’s side.

That was until Elektra had shown up.

Tell me where I came from, what I will always be 

Once Elektra showed up, Matthew seemed to stray.

Y/n watched as Elektra came in and enticed him. They both shared common paths; being helped by a man who Y/n had never learned the name of. It made the two come together to create something that Y/n would finally call the Evil One.

The long nights that Y/n stayed up, waiting for Matthew with Foggy in the dorms.

“He always attracts the wrong type.” Foggy had commented. Y/n could barely agree, knowing what he knew.

Elektra was as beautiful as a coral snake. Gorgeous and enticing. One of the most dangerous and venomous.

Elektra looked at Y/n like he was just a child. She loved him like a young brother, but never recognized his strife.

Y/n never showed reciprocation. He couldn’t.

Just a spoiled little kid who went to catholic school. 

When Elektra dropped out of their lives, Matthew lashed out.

He drew away from Y/n and even casted out Foggy for a while. It hurt everyone around him.

Y/n had never understood normal lives, but he tried.

Y/n stood in the mirror many nights, staring at himself. Two doors over was Matthew and Foggy. They couldn’t understand what was in the mirror. No one truly could.

The shining in those eyes that had never experienced anything other than the Church. He knew that those eyes held a dangerous power. He had tried to tell Matthew one time, but it just wouldn’t come out.

When Elektra left, she told Y/n that he wouldn’t ever be anything more than a Catholic child, spoiled by the blessing of a loving life.

Oh how she was wrong.

When I am dead I won't join their ranks,

Y/n stood on top of the school dormitory, staring down at the people as the rain pelted down upon them. His face was blank as he observed them, going on with their lives without noticing him.

His eyes were glowing softly, his hand clenched like there should be something in it. His breathing was slow and shallow, picking up slightly as he stepped forward. One small step and he could fall to the ground, ending everything then and there.

The Church couldn’t control him here, as much as they tried. They couldn’t control life and death as much as they wished. The Mass couldn’t scream to him, ridicule him and thunder out of control. They couldn’t make his ears echo like a bell was hit when placed over his head.

'Cause they are both holy and free.

He had heard the door open behind him, someone joining him on the roof. His eyes dulled and he let his hand relax.

Turning, he saw Matthew standing there. He was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, arms wrapped around himself. He didn’t have his cane.

“Matthew.” Y/n’s voice was barely a whisper.

He never understood how Matthew could do it all. He had freedom and no external ties.

Y/n was tied to the Church forever. He may have been seen as Holy, but he would never be. Not with what they did to him.

“Come down.” Matthew spoke softly, holding a hand out to Y/n. “Let’s talk.”

Y/n reached a hand out, taking Matthew’s.

Matthew would always be a Saint.

And I'm in Ohio, satanic and chained up

“You cannot see the Devil!” The Father screamed at Y/n, who stood there, not looking him in the eye.

“Yes, Father.” Y/n spoke in hushed tones, afraid to be striked.

“You are an angel. You cannot have him spoil your beauty and holiness. How will God take you then?” The Father grabbed onto Y/n’s face, gripping his jaw. “Look at me, Child!”

“Yes, Father.” Y/n tried his best to not tear up.

Shackles weighed heavily on his wrists, unseen by the world. They were grey and cold. Y/n could feel them even if they weren’t truly there.

Y/n remembers Matthew appearing with Foggy down the stairs at that moment. The Father looked up and let out an undignified noise at the sight of Matthew. He let go of Y/n’s jaw, almost throwing him to the side.

“I will be back Sunday, Child.” The Father looked back to Y/n.

“Yes, Father. Of course.” Y/n nodded, glancing up to The Father before looking to the ground.

Once he was gone, tears raised to his eyes. He will never be freed from the monsters that made him.

And until the end, that's how it'll be.

Y/n looked at his hands as Foggy and Matthew joined his side.

“Is he your real dad?” Foggy asked.

“Does it matter?” Y/n replied, not answering the question.

“Of course it does, Y/n.” Matthew spoke up.

Y/n looked up to Matthew, who was looking in his direction, a frown upon his face.

“In the end, I will never be free of them. Let’s go get food. I’m hungry.” Y/n took a deep breath, ignoring the look that Foggy shot to an unseeing Matthew.

I said make me love myself so that I might love you.

“I love you, Y/n.” Matthew had whispered quietly to Y/n one night.

The two were laying together in Matthew’s bed. Y/n had his eyes closed, but they opened when Matthew spoke.

“I love you too, Matthew.” Y/n whispered back. “But you shouldn’t love me. I don’t deserve your love.”

Y/n that night had disappeared from the bed while Matthew slept.

“Goodbye, Matthew. May we meet and love again in another lifetime.” Y/n had whispered to Matthew.

When Matthew woke up, he panicked.

He rushed to Y/n’s room, pulling out the spare key that they had spoofed. He opened the door to find the room bare.

Don't make me a liar, 'cause I swear to god, 

Y/n watched Matthew throughout his life.

He had ran from his life, only keeping contact with Father Paul Lantom.

It was raining the night that Y/n had shown up to the Cathedral. He walked in, the candles flaring up at his presence. Father Lantom had rushed to meet him halfway down the aisle, where Y/n collapsed. 

When Y/n had woken up, Sister Maggie was standing over him, smiling softly.

“Child, what happened to you?” She asked Y/n, the worry in her eyes betraying her smile. “Who did this to you?”

“The Church.” Y/n whispered, his throat hurting. “They made me into this.”

Y/n was sat up as Sister Maggie patched up his injuries. His arm and wing was bound to his body. They offered to give him a place to say, the basement. Y/n accepted with no hesitance. He thanked them greatly until he was fully healed. He had found out that Sister Maggie was Matthew’s mother on a dark night.

When I said it I thought it was true.

Matthew had appeared multiple times to the church before.

But this time was different.

The night was dark, the wind was howling as Y/n crouched on the top of the church, watching the people go by. He watched as Matthew rushed into the church, bruised and bloody.

Y/n hurried to go down the trap door and into the back of the church. He watched from the side door as Matthew walked up to Father Lantom. He looked like he was on an inch of his life, barely holding on.

It had been months since Y/n had seen Matthew and Matthew had shown up to the cathedral. 

Father Lantom had caught Matthew as he passed out again. Y/n slowly moved out into the aisle to help Father Lantom carry Matthew up to the infirmary.

Matthew had fallen into a small coma, Sister Maggie had told Y/n. So Y/n sat with Matthew. He helped tend to Matthew, hoping he wouldn’t wake up with him there. He let the glow in his eyes appear for the first time in years, just for Matthew. He placed a now warm hand onto Matthew’s. He closed his eyes, a halo appearing over his head. It was barely glowing, but it was there. 

Once his eyes opened, Matthew started to gasp and his body arched up. 

Y/n backed up, turning his head slightly to cry out for Sister Maggie.

The Sisters, who doubled as his nurses, rushed in to calm down Matthew. Sister Maggie ushered Y/n out and told him to hide.

Matthew had woken up.

Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you, 

Matthew had spent months in the basement, getting stronger again.

Once he was better, he started to leave the cathedral for small amounts of time. 

Y/n would sit in the back pew, waiting for Matthew to come back.

“You shouldn’t worry about Matthew.” Father Lantom had told him one day, sitting next to Y/n.

“Father… I feel like I must. Matthew runs around claiming to be a Devil when in fact he is a true Saint.” Y/n looked up to Father Lantom, who sighed.

“Y/n, Matthew has been lost his whole life. From the second that Sister Maggie left, his life was turned upside down.” Father Lantom took Y/n’s hand into his own. “You’ve been just as lost since birth. There’s a reason why the Lord had chosen you two.”

“He visited the outside of my room last night.” Y/n looked back to the front of the church. “I think he knows that something resides in it.”

“I will make sure he doesn’t try to go in.” Father Lantom pats Y/n’s hand.

But he's got his own things to deal with.

Y/n had watched Father Lantom as he dealt with some of the shocks of chaos in the city. They had an influx of people coming into the cathedral to cope, so Y/n had come out of his hiding to help them. Matthew is now visible to Foggy and Karen now, accepting his presence once more with struggle. Y/n had spotted them while getting supplies for the church. He was snapped out of his stupor when they called out his cover name at the restaurant.

They called him Gabriel, after the angel. Y/n found it amusing because of what he was.

Y/n had always kept notice of when Matthew was in the pews, praying or watching the other patrons. Now that Y/n was helping, he had to keep track of where Matthew was inside of the services. He couldn’t get too close to Matthew. He looked different now, but not unrecognisable. 

“Who’s the new helper?” Matthew had asked one of the Sisters during a slower day. Y/n knew he was watching closely that day.

“Gabriel? He came in for medical help one day and he shows up everyday to help us as thanks.” The Sister had smiled at him. She hadn’t known that Y/n lived there, so it wasn’t lying. “He’s a lovely boy. He’s especially close to Sister Maggie and Father Lantom. He talks to them mainly. He was there to help when you woke up. He said he was playing with the children and they wanted to see you at the time.”

Y/n knew that Matthew couldn’t hear his heartbeat. He didn’t need one anymore.

Y/n had glanced at Matthew at the same time that Matthew had turned his head towards Y/n. Y/n turned to Father Lantom and whispered to him.

“Father, I’m going on a walk. Is that alright?” Y/n asked. He needed to breathe. He didn’t like how conscious Matthew was about him.

“It’s late, Young One.” Father Lantom frowned.

“I know. I’ll be back within an hour. I promise.” Y/n tried to give a reassuring smile.

“Alright. I’ll close the doors late so you can come through the front.” Father Lantom had nodded. “Be careful.”

“Like always, Father.” Y/n nodded before walking towards the entrance.

Y/n noticed Matthew get up and walk towards the entrance as he did. Y/n picked up his pace, hoping that once he got outside he could lose Matthew. His footsteps picked up and he got into the cold air, taking a deep breath and looking around. Where to go.

Y/n walked down the street, passing a few buildings. Matthew was now outside and following him.

Y/n went down an alley and climbed up a fire escape, getting to the roof and disappearing from Matthew.

There's really just one thing that we have in common 

Karen had taken refuge in the cathedral. She was being hunted and Hell’s Kitchen was terrified. 

Father Lanton had talked to her and introduced her to the Sisters and Y/n. They looked after her until the service, keeping Karen in the same pew as Y/n for safety.

Y/n watched as the fake Devil had walked into the cathedral. 

Y/n knew automatically who he was there for. It was obvious to everyone.

Everyone had gasped when the Devil had walked down the aisle.

“Karen Page.” The Devil called out. “Where is Karen Page?”

Y/n had glanced from Karen to Father Lantom, who frowned at Y/n and barely shook his head no. He didn’t want Y/n to interfere. The other members had all stood up now, looking mortified.

“Karen?” The Devil called out one more time before he striked one of the members.

They let out a scream and some started to run towards the doors. Y/n watched as they struggled to open the door with no avail. The others cowered in the pews.

“Wait! I’m here!” Karen cried out and ran into the aisle as he struck down another man.

“Karen. It’s nice to see you again.” The Devil grinned.

Y/n got up and darted in front of Karen, stopping a meter in front of her. He tried to create a barrier between them so he couldn’t attack her.

“Don’t come any closer!” Y/n cried out.

“Oh that’s funny-” The Devil had laughed before Matthew had kicked him down.

Y/n grabbed Karen and brought her back up towards Father Lantom and the others, trying to coax her quietly into staying down but to no avail. They watched the two fight for a minute until the Devil seemingly knocked out Matthew.

An uneasiness and anger settled in the bottom of Y/n’s gut and he glanced around quickly.

“Y/n, protect the children and others.” Father Lantom had spoken up and Y/n turned to him.

“Father, we need to get Karen out of here.” Y/n tried. He hadn’t noticed Karen and the Devil staring at one another until Father Lantom pushed Y/n out of the way. He stepped in front of Karen right as the billy club flew at her. It buried itself into his stomach and Y/n suddenly felt numb.

Father Lantom dropped into Karen’s arms as she screamed out.

“Y… Y/n…” Father Lantom spoke quietly.

Neither of us will be missed.

Matthew sprung up with a scream, attacking the Devil suddenly in response.

Y/n dropped to his knees next to Father Lantom, looking over him. The injury was bad. He was losing blood too quickly for Y/n to heal him.

Y/n’s breathing picked up quickly and he felt the energy and anger swirling in his stomach. Karen looked up from Father Lantom to Y/n, gasping as she saw the halo above Y/n’s head and the glowing eyes.

Y/n stood up and shrugged off the jacket on his back, the one that hid his loose wings. The sudden movement caught both the Devil and Matthew’s attention.

Y/n held out a hand, a golden bow seemingly materializing in his hands. The other hand reaches behind him and he pulls a golden arrow out of nowhere. He put the arrow onto the golden string, pulling back and aiming.

Saint Bernard sits at the top of the driveway, 

Y/n let go of the arrow, his halo and arrow brightly as it flew through the air.

It hit the Devil and made him stumble backwards.

Matthew jumped back into the fight, keeping the Devil focused on him instead of Y/n.

Y/n turned back to look at Karen, who had backed up slightly now.

“Get them to the basement, Karen. I’ll help Matthew.” Y/n spoke quietly enough to not alert the civilians but loud enough for Karen to hear.

She nods and starts to move them towards the basement.

Y/n turned back and joined the fight again. He fell into place next to Matthew, who turned his head towards him for a split second.

“Y/n?” Matthew asked in a breathless voice.

“Matthew.” Y/n replied. “Get him down and keep him there.”

Matthew nodded and jumped to try and flip the Devil over. The two looked almost like they were dancing, but Y/n knew better.

Once Matthew had gotten the Devil down, Y/n took a glowing hand and closed his eyes, placing the hand over the Devil’s face.

You always said how you loved dogs.

Y/n focused hard, pouring all of his intent into his hand and the Devil. The Devil went limp and fell still.

Y/n backed up, his body shocked by the energy flood. He turned towards Father Lantom and stumbled over.

“Y/n, what are you doing? What did you do?” Matthew asked as Y/n fell to his knees in front of Father Lantom’s body.

I don't know if I count 

Y/n placed his hand on Father Lantom’s stomach and focused the energy back into Father Lantom.

“Oh Holy Father, my Lord, please bless him.” Y/n whispered and felt the energy leave his body.

Father Lantom shocked back to life and Y/n’s eyesight started to turn black.

But I'm trying my best

Y/n fell backwards as Matthew ran towards him, calling his name.

When I'm howling and barking these songs. 

The Lord had let Jesus bring back a bird, Y/n remembered.

But that was a bird.

--

Matthew sat with Y/n’s body, holding Y/n’s hand as Foggy and Karen sat next to him.

Matthew hadn’t prayed often, but today was one day he did.

“I can’t believe he was here this whole time.” Foggy was still shocked.

“Father Lantom said that after he left college, Y/n had shown up months later all busted up and hurt. Y/n never talked about what happened, but Father said that he spoke of Matt in college and why he had to leave.” Karen filled them in. 

Matthew pressed his hand to Y/n’s face, wishing that they met under different circumstances.

-----

Y/n L/n.

29 years old, one year younger than Matthew Murdock.

Born in a small religious town in Ohio.

The Church is a catholic cult that has control in many major cities. They have a few churches in New York City and Hell’s Kitchen, not including the Cathedral. Their hometown is where Y/n was born.

Their goal is to make the next Christ, so they take children and mothers to create what are considered Angels. Until Y/n, none of the children or mothers had survived. The higher ups in the Church treated him like a creature to control, like Angels could be domesticated. The rest of the Church worshipped him as the second Christ. When he went to college, he managed to break away from the Church and get away.

Y/n was born with wings on his back that turned out to be a beautiful white. He can conceal them in an extra layer of skin on his back. He learned to fly at a young age.

He was tested on in his young years to give him powers that they believed an angel would have. 

He can create a weapon made of light in his hands and use them as real weapons. With intention, he can create small blessings and heal people to a certain degree. A halo will appear over his head and show how powerful he is at the moment. His senses are enhanced and he is slightly more durable. While his power is strong, he is more resistant towards damage. He can go into a state of rest where his mortal functions shut down (heartbeat, body heat). 

His powers are stronger the more healthy he is (how much energy is stored) and the more focused he is. When his emotions take control, his power flares to a dangerous level.

-

LANTOM EXPLANATION:

He basically took all of the energy he needed to bring Lantom back from Poindexter, which in turn killed Poindexter. Y/n passed out from a large use of his power. It was a miracle and a healing in one. His power comes from how much energy he has at the time, so he needed more.

WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN COLLEGE AND HIM SHOWING UP AT THE CHURCH:

The Church came after him, so he spent two months fighting anyone that had come after him. They also live in Hell’s Kitchen, so he ran into some of Fisk’s (or someone else’s) men. He got jumped and defended himself. He chose Hell’s Kitchen to run to because it was where Matt was from and he knew about Father Lantom and Sister Maggie from Matt. He knew they would help him some.