#its just that shes been followed twice now down a corridor in those contexts and i think its really funny

[zeveth]

omg im really really sorry for this but you know the way snap/e harr/y pott/r would walk down the corridors in the movies? thats exactly how zev walks down corridors especially while in the dominion or dominion records. in those settings she does not walk WITH you or wait for you dFHGKDHK

these x x

[minarisplaything]

Blackpink in Your Area (p1) ft. Jennie Kim

Pairing: Jennie Kim x Male!Reader Rating: Explicit / Mature Wordcount: 1.6k Summary: After her latest performance you find yourself sneaking backstage with your girlfriend.

AN: some context, this was made...god around the time of their first world tour? so writing wise it might not follow the same rhythm of my current stuff. but it's a personal fave i've had privately that i figure fuck it i might as well post it now. if you want to read a TWICE converted version of this chapter with Nayeon you can find it on my AFF profile but this is the OG never published version. Enjoy!

"Where are we going?"

"Ssh. Just come on!"

The accented voice leaves little room for argument as the owner's hand pulls you down another corridor. It seems with every turn you get further and further lost — which is likely the point. However, Jennie seems to know exactly where she is going, a small comfort at least. She pulls you down another tight passage then stops, pressing you against the cold wall. Instinctively you hold your breath before realizing you have no reason to — or at least you hope you don't.

"Jennie, you're acting like we're running from the cops," you speak, your voice a hushed whisper despite your previous reasoning.

"They might as well be the police," she responds, glancing back the way you came.

After another moment, she must be pleased that there is no one following you and turns to face you, a mischievous grin on her features. Without a word, she cups your face with her hands, bringing your lips down to meet hers in a slow, greedy kiss. Whatever concerns or confusion you had previously begin to fade away as your hands find their way around her. It has been so long since you had a moment together that you had forgotten how easy it was to melt into her embrace.

She pulls back, her nose brushing against yours. "If anyone saw us," even with your eyes closed, you can hear the relief and satisfaction in her voice. The kiss had the same effect on you. "This would be over and my career would be on the line," she places a kiss to your jaw as she speaks.

It is a bittersweet truth. What you have is masked in darkness and secrecy; not even the other members of her group know about you. If it were ever revealed to the public, not only would the fans and paparazzi eat you alive, dating is strictly against her company's rules. You always said that you would end things with her before you ever let that happen to her.

You feel her palm running over your cheek, your distressed thoughts likely showing on your face as your brow furrows. "Don't think about that now," she presses another kiss to your lips, then another and another; giving you plenty of time to notice just how soft and irresistible her lips are. By the fourth kiss, you are eagerly kissing her back, your hands sliding from her waist up her back, pulling her closer than you already were.

This time around your embrace is needier, hungrier; as if every second you were living on borrowed time. You feel her hands move from your cheek up into your hair, fingers running through and gripping at the short strands. Her teeth dig into your bottom lip, tugging on it while she peers up at you with those killer eyes of hers. The sight alone is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"I need you," she says when she lets go, "Right here. Now."

As she speaks, one hand slides down from your hair, running over your chest and rubbing over your slacks. Her palm encourages the bulge that is growing there and you cannot deny that your arousal doesn't just come from her but the fact that at any moment you could be discovered. It is exhilarating in its own way. Adrenaline and lust are a dangerous concoction on any night but here with Jennie, it seems especially so.

You agree without a word, only giving a small nod of your head before you are spinning her around so her ass is jutting out to you while her hands splay against the opposite wall. She is still dressed in her stage outfit from the earlier performance, which doesn't help to subdue your eager hands in the least. She is stunning in every way, yet when she is on stage she still somehow seems to magnify that. Seeing the outfit just brings back memories of watching her earlier that night.

"Need some help there?" A teasing voice breaks you from your momentary recollection. Jennie is glancing over her shoulder at you, brunette hair partially masking her features. She has a vixen side to her and truth be told, you are used to her taking control and being in charge, but you also know that you cannot let this opportunity she is giving you go to waste.

In return, you offer her a smirk of your own, "Merely admiring the view." Though given your time and place, this is hardly the moment for appreciation.

You push her plaid skirt up, your hand dipping between her thighs. "You've soaked right through your training shorts, baby," you try to keep the arousal out of your voice, but the husky facade cracks just a bit. Jennie moans in response; the notion turns you on just as much as it does her clearly. "Just how long were you thinking about this?"

At first, it is a rhetorical question, but as your wrist snaps back and forth, fingers getting her off over her clothing, you find yourself eagerly waiting for an answer. Jennie does not give any; her breath comes out in quick hiccups. She leans further into the wall, her hips pressing out closer to you in obvious need. "Were you thinking about it during your performance?"

"Y-Yes..." she manages, her own hand reaching back to grip your wrist, refusing to let you stop. "When I saw you in the crowd — oh god."

You can tell she is going further and further down the rabbit hole. Her New Zealand accent becomes more pronounced the more aroused she gets. An astute observation you have made over your time together. It is not the only sign either; she is biting down on her plump bottom lip and her thighs are clenching deliciously around your hand.

Satisfied with her answer, you lean over her, your breath hot against the shell of her ear. "Baby, we don't have much time."

The idol takes a moment before she nods in response, her grip loosening on your hand. Your fingers deftly move from between her thighs to her waistband, pulling down her spanks to expose her to the night air. You make quick work of your pants buckle, or at least you try to. Your own eagerness causes your hands to fumble with it for a second before finally getting it undone and unzipped.

"Oh fuck..." Jennie moans loudly as you slide your length into her, and it is the most heavenly sound in existence. In any other time, you might've clasped one hand on her mouth to muffle the moans lest you be discovered, but in this moment, caution is thrown to the wind.

You can feel your cock swelling even further once you are inside her; the walls of her pussy clamping down on you. It takes you one thrust, then another before you are in to the hilt, a deep groan rumbling from your chest past your lips as you take a moment to revel in the sensation. That moment is all you allow yourself, however. Comparing it to the earlier kiss that had been the slow and eager first embrace; what comes next is pure hunger and lust.

Your hands grip her waist tighter as you pull out of her, hips snapping forward to meet hers. Another delicious moan reaches your ears as she lets her head fall back. Each thrust is harder and faster than the last, desperate to be with her and to have her coming undone in pleasure. Of course, to do that, you have to hold yourself together as well, and that is no easy task. "God, you feel so good."

The sound of skin slapping together begins to fill the space you have tucked into, mixing with the heavy breaths and moans that fill the air. You lean over her, one hand moving to turn her face towards you as your lips meet in a sloppy embrace. "I love seeing you like this. I want to make you feel this good all the time."

Jennie only moans in response, her mouth hanging open as she takes every inch of you. Your free hand moves from her waist to her chest; fondling her breast through her top. You have enough sense not to be so aggressive that you pop a button, but it is a tall task. The last thing you need is questions from the costume department.

"Fuck, right there," her hand reaches back, grabbing at your ass to force your cock back to hitting the same spot. Jennie is so used to being in control that you are almost tempted to deny her request. And maybe in a different time and place, you would have teased her for a bit before giving in. Now, however, you do not even have control over yourself, let alone strength to tease her. All you can do is what she asks of you. Hips move frantically to fulfill her desire, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Her nails dig into your skin, and you can feel your own release coming as well. "I — I'm close!" you grunt in warning.

"Hold on, baby. Hold on, I'm almost there... almost...!" she goes quiet; her body tightening as her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her eyes shut tight as her orgasm runs through her. Fingers dig into the back of your neck as she comes, and it is just might've been the most beautiful thing you have witnessed since her last one. Jennie has never been the loudest when she comes undone, yet it is still enough for you to reach your breaking point.

"JENNIE?!"

Suddenly, a voice cries out, causing you to physically jump back, your cock springing free of Jennie's pussy, cum shooting in the air. When you look in the direction of the out crying voice, you are both aroused and horrified.

There stands Jennie's group-mate and best friend, Jisoo, her face coated in your cum.

"...Oh fuck..."

[buttsonthebeach]

Miles to Go

@lyrium-lovesong asked me to write about her lovely universe once more, and I jumped at the chance to tackle Cullen’s POV! Thank you for this treat, friend <3

I previously wrote Saltwater, which features Freya.

Pairing: Freya Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford

Rating: General

**********

Cullen Rutherford was, allegedly, a master of self-restraint. A man who had spent his life studying it, in fact. A man who had combed through the Chantry’s litanies searching for more and more and more of it. Seeking out where all the lines were and then judiciously avoiding or guarding those lines.

Some of that had fallen away, after Meredith. Kirkwall. But in large part he still prided himself on it. He did not take unnecessary risks in his chess games with Dorian. He did not lose his temper when Leliana and Josephine argued for courses of action that he disagreed with, or when they teased him. Most importantly, he had not once taken lyrium again.

(He’d opened the pouch yes, yes, looked at it, thought about it, dreamed about it, thrown the whole thing against walls, yes, but all of those were further signs of his self-restraint.)

And he, of course, did not spend time worrying about Freya Lavellan while she was away.

That, besides the lyrium, was his greatest self-restraint. At least in Cullen’s own eyes - he had not told anyone else he felt that way. Most people would laugh at the thought. The great Commander, struggling to restrain himself from giving in to worry. So he wore that secret close to his skin, beneath every layer of armor. Swallowed it down like a sick man’s bile.

He feared for Freya almost as much as he loved her.

She was in the Emerald Graves hunting Red Templars, looking for evidence Samson had left behind, when he articulated those words clearly to himself. It was two weeks after she’d left, and he was lying in his bed, looking up at the blue-black night above him through the hole in his ceiling, at the pinpricks of the stars. After so long inside stone walls and towers it was good to be reminded they were there. This night, the comfort of that thought was interlaced with thoughts of Freya - which stars she looked upon, where she was sleeping, how her day had gone, how many times she had risked herself in battle against Corypheus’s forces, against monstrous creatures. 

The thoughts were as entwined as he wished they were at that moment. The stars are beautiful tonight, and I miss Freya. The breeze feels good, and I wish Freya was here. He longed for her so strongly that the longing took physical shape and crawled into bed beside him, half convincing him that she was there, her leg thrown across his, her head pillowed on his chest, the scent of her skin and her red hair tickling his nose. At one point, half-asleep, he reached out to touch her, to stroke her back and kiss her forehead, only to realize with a start she was not there. He knew soldiers who had lost limbs, and said it felt like this - like there were times the limb seemed to come back to them, so real they could feel it once again, only to vanish like smoke.

I fear for Freya almost as much as I love her.

There was a mathematical logic in that thought, he supposed, rolling over, trying to chase the feeling of loss away. Perhaps the Maker had always weighed out fear and love in equal parts, like a merchant weighing gold and goods (you must pay this much fear for this much love) and Cullen had never known it until now. What was not logical was how much he’d been struggling to sleep since Freya left. He’d slept alone most of his life, and there were still many nights when she slept in her own chambers even when she was at Skyhold. He should be more used to this than he was to having her here, her cold feet seeking the warmth of his body, her wriggling and stirring and even occasional snoring startling him awake.

And yet, there he was, unable to sleep. Unable to think of anything but her.

Some self-restraint.

So he sat up, slung himself out of bed, and went to put on his armor. Maybe the ritual of that would be enough to bring him back to himself, his discipline. Instead he found himself thinking of her again, of the time she asked to be taught how to help him with his armor, how he’d told her it wasn’t necessary, he knew how to remove it and don it himself. How she’d rolled her eyes at him.

“I know that,” she’d said. “But I want to learn. Just because you can do something yourself doesn’t mean you should always have to.”

And just like that, there were phantom hands alongside his own - smaller and more gentle, hands used for picking herbs and healing the sick, and Cullen wanted to drop his hands to his sides and let them take over. To surrender to the feeling of being loved and cared for.

But no one was there. Not really.

Maybe she isn’t coming back this time.

He strode out of his chambers, willing the thought to stay behind.

As he made his way down the rampart that connected his chambers to the rotunda, he saw a soldier approaching at a quick step, and instinctively straightened his posture, tensed his jaw. He needed to be Commander Rutherford, now. Not some lovesick fool.

“Commander Rutherford. Did someone already come to wake you?”

“No. I had an idea to improve our defenses here, and I wanted to walk and make notes before the idea left me.”

Lying to people under his command never failed to leave a bad taste in his mouth, but it was still better than the truth. Your Commander misses his lover so much that he can’t sleep.

“Oh. That works out I suppose. I was sent to wake you and tell you that you are wanted at the War Table. The Inquisitor has sent urgent correspondence back from the Emerald Graves. She thinks she may know where Samson and his lot can be found - where we might get to the secret of Samson’s armor.”

Cullen’s heart leapt twice - once at the thought that they might have his former colleague pinned down, and then once, even higher, at the confirmation that this news from Freya was recent. That there would be a letter from her waiting at the War Table, written in her hand, that perhaps other letters had arrived, more personal ones.

You have truly gone soft, Rutherford. Focus.

He followed the soldier through the rotunda, across the cavernous great hall, past its empty throne, and down the long crumbling corridor that led to the War Table. Leliana and Josephine were both already present, Josephine looking particularly tired, while Leliana looked as alert as ever. He wondered what sort of impression he presented.

“Well,” Cullen said. “Let’s see this letter.”

“Letters, actually,” Leliana said, handing him a packet of parchment, and once again, Cullen’s heartbeat picked up its tempo, just a little, just enough for him to notice, at the thought that they all might be from Freya. 

Instead they were all in Samson’s hand, dark and angular. He pressed hard on his pencils and quills whenever he wrote, leaving splotches and splatters of ink, or smearing the charcoal. Cullen experienced a moment of childish frustration, wanting to push them aside and ask if there had been any from Freya, or if these had just arrived with no context at all. Then a wave of shame washed over him, settling by his feet, lapping at his ankles, making him feel cold even beneath the layers of armor. He had dedicated himself to the Inquisition and its cause before he ever dedicated himself to Freya. How dare he let his personal feelings interfere with the task at hand for even an instant? Especially when being a good commander was the best thing he could do to ensure Freya’s safety?

“She got these from intercepting caravans of red lyrium in the Graves, yes?” Cullen asked as he skimmed them for more details, a picture already forming in his mind. None of the letters directly stated where the red lyrium came from, but they did talk about how long it was taking to get where it was going, and that gave him an idea of where to start looking on the map.

“That is correct. I am reading her letter now,” Josephine said, and Cullen’s eyes flicked towards her, seeing the parchment in her hand, seeing how the candlelight illuminated it so that he could see Freya’s handwriting clear as day. Cullen would let her finish reading it. It would be his turn soon enough, and then he could trace the letters, and it would be as close as he had come to touching her in weeks.

“Does she say where they were found?”

Cullen continued his questioning and studying, half of his attention on the smugglers’ letters, half on the answers Josephine and Leliana gave. He was forming a picture in his mind, imaging both the paths of the Red Templars and Freya in the Emerald Graves. She’d been there once before already and told him how brilliantly green they were, and how haunted they seemed. Life and death entwined. What stories would she bring back to him this time?

“Emprise du Lion,” he said finally. “I can study the maps and routes more thoroughly tomorrow, but I am fairly certain. They are quarrying the red lyrium in Emprise du Lion and then shipping it throughout Thedas. The Emerald Graves has been a major thoroughfare, but I am more than willing to believe that Freya has made a mess of that plan in the course of acquiring these letters.”

Pride tinged the words - because he feared for her, yes, but he was also fiercely proud of her. This brave and capable woman who chose to come back to him when she was done saving the world.

(Even if it seemed like it would never really be done, like it would only grow more dangerous each day.)

“As am I,” Leliana said. “I would respond telling her to rendezvous with us here in Skyhold before heading out to the Emprise, but she says here that there is a matter Solas wishes to attend to in the Exalted Plains. Depending on how long that takes, she may not be able to return to us in Skyhold before the passage is blocked by snow and ice.”

“That is not the worst turn of events,” Josephine mused. “We might wish to redirect Inquisition forces to aid her before she gets there. Your spies for intelligence, Cullen’s soldiers for support against the Red Templars, my nobles for supplies and shelter.”

“Agreed,” Leliana said. “We will continue to coordinate that with her as she heads to the Plains and back. Cullen?”

It was a good plan. 

It was a good plan that would keep Freya away from Skyhold for several more weeks, and send her into the depths of the Red Templars’ organization.

He felt his fingers tightening on the letters, and forced himself to relax.

“Yes. Let us begin drawing up the letters and other orders.”

They worked long enough on the plans that by the time they emerged, the sky was beginning to lighten - deep navy turning to a softer shade of blue, gold and pink tingeing the easternmost mountaintops. Cullen knew that soon Freya would wake and see the same dawn.

I hope you get the chance to enjoy it, love. I can’t wait until the next time we watch one together. I miss you. I love you.

“Cullen,” Josephine called. She held out a small square of parchment as she approached. “This was tucked inside the envelope that everything else came in. I only just noticed it. I believe it is for you.”

Cullen waited until Josephine had walked a distance away, and then he unfolded it, and saw Freya’s messiest handwriting, and six short words.

I miss you. I love you.

An echo of his own unspoken words just moments before - a miracle as real as anything in the Chant of Light. A reminder that his life was not all self-restraint and fear. That love could outweigh all of it, and yet also lighten every burden he carried. It was not a guarantee against all the darkness in the world, against all the things that could go wrong - but it was a miracle nonetheless.

Cullen smiled and walked on, ready to face the dawn.

[writing-ro]

Fictober 19-3: “Now? Now you listen to me?”

@fictober-event​ // Set in a Multi-fandom Fantasy AU where most if not all kinds of fantasy creatures exist alongside humans, though the two cultures stay fairly separate, with many humans being afraid or prejudice against creatures.

Rating: T Fandom: Star Wars, Dragon Age Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Arista Amara (OFC), Oren Revik (OMC), Merrill (Dragon Age), Kato Shinin (OMC), Merida Mahariel (OFC), Tamlen (Dragon Age), Minaeve (Dragon Age),  Additional Tags: elf!Ahsoka, dragon!Oren, Temple exploration, Don’t Touch The Magic Mirror!, the monsters are basically the ra’zac from eragon acting like the darkspawn of Dragon Age, Three guesses who the statues are of and the first two don’t count.

She'd known something bad was going to happen. It had been gnawing at her gut since she was asked to lead the expedition. Merrill and Ashalle had been studying an old elven text and found reference to a temple. Merrill managed to use the context clues and some other old records and figured out the location and asked to go find it. The elders discussed and finally agreed to allow it, and asked Ahsoka, as one of the clan's best hunters, to lead the party. 

She told Arista of the trip, just so she wouldn't worry about her absence. Instead, she insisted on accompanying them. She had a fairly good grasp of Old Elven from her studies, and did have some talent as a mage, so she could be a help. Ahsoka had argued, that the elders would never accept her help, and that it'd be dangerous, but when Arista wanted something, she knew just how to run right over Ahsoka about it. 

So they set out, a party of seven: herself, Arista, Merrill, Merida, Tamlen, Kato, and Minaeve. Three mage scholars and four warriors. Considering the ruins were rather close to the Primian Kingdom border, that should have been more than enough to handle anything. 

The journey there took a week, and they found the ruins nestled up against a mountain, distinctly elven and covered in growth. They spent another looking through the first few chambers of the place, the ones accessible from the front door without need of another ritual like they had used to open it. Notes were taken, a few items collected, and catalogued, and each one made the scholars more and more excited to see what lay beyond. So, the eighth day in the ruins, the mages gathered together and unlocked the door. The hall behind was most impressive, gold and marble being visible even under centuries of dust. Strangely though, there was nothing inside, except a large mirror, twice as tall as any of them, standing on a dias with two statues on either side, one a elven man with a wolf sitting at his feet, the other a dragon with a elven woman kneeling at its feet. It, unlike everything else, was also completely clear of dust. 

“This place is beautiful,” Merrill said. “None of the clans have had the means to build something like this in centuries.”

“What is this mirror?” Tamlen asked.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Merida said, moving towards it with him. 

“Careful you two,” Ahsoka ordered and they flinched back just before they could take the first step up the dias. “We don’t know what it was for. Had to be important, if they locked it up so tight.”

“The room also suggests that hypothesis,” Arista said. “A vault wouldn’t have all this gold just put on the walls. Could this be a ritual chamber?”

“I don’t recall any rituals involving mirrors from the histories,” Merrill said. “Maybe there’s an inscription somewhere that can tell us what it is.”

They spread out around the chamber to look, brushes, brooms and rags knocking down dust which was then swept out the chamber with sweeps of magic. None of them realized that as more of the magic was used, the more was drawn to the mirror, and now the previously clear surface had become cloudy and mottled. 

“Did anyone find anything?” Minaeve asked, wiping her hands on a rag after polishing a plate on the east wall. 

“Nothing,” Marrill sighed as she looked in the last crevice on that wall. “Not a thing. This must have been one of those ‘everyone knows of it, so why should we write it down’ type things.”

“I think I might have found a passage,” Arista said, she and Ahsoka standing by the southwest corner of the hall. “Or at least where one used to be. The stone’s settled different than the rest.”

“Hey, the mirror’s changed!” Tamlen called, and the other turned to see him and Merida standing on the mirror’s dias, Tamlen reaching out to touch it. “I-I think I see something inside. A- It’s a city! But it’s dark, and cold and - WHAT IS THAT!”

“Tamlen!” Merida called, lunging for him.

“No!” half their group screamed as a flash of light from the mirror engulfed the two, forcing them to cover their eyes or be blinded. When they managed the blink the spots away, the two hunters were gone. 

“What just happened!?” Kato asked. 

“I don’t know,” Merrill said, moving a bit closer to the mirror. “Maybe our magic activated it somehow, but what it does, i don’t-” she cut herself off with a gasp as some things sprang out of the mirror, and Ahsoka and Kato drew their weapons while the mages grabbed their staves.

The things were humanoid, but wore black leather armor and black cloth over their faces. Wicked blades of black oily metal hung from their waists, and they made weird clicking and hissing sounds as they moved, looking over the party before drawing their blades and splitting into two groups to attack. 

“RUN!” Ahsoka ordered, but found herself and Arista cut off before they could follow those orders. Kato, Merrill and Minaeve managed to get to the door, and there they tried to hold position, Minaeve holding a barrier while the other two attacked the monsters. Arista tried doing the same for herself and Ahsoka, though it was hard to maintain it and attack.

Yet it seemed for every monster they cut down, two more would take its place. Eventually there grew to be so many, the clicking and hizzing was all that could be heard, and a sea of black separated the party. 

“Kato, go!” Ahsoka screamed over the horde. “Seal the doors and warn the clans, tell them to not send anyone else here!”

“Ahsoka-!” Kato called back, but Ahsoka screamed louder.

“GO!”

Merrill put a hand on Kato’s arm, and finally he relented he and Merrill backing up, Kato shooting the monsters while Merrill used her magic to grip the doors and pull them closed, the room growing darker as the light disappeared until all that remained was the strange, purplish glow of the mirror. 

“Think you can get that passage open?” Ahsoka asked. 

“I can try.” Arista let out another burst of magic that pushed the monsters back a few feet. “Hold them off?”

Ahsoka nodded and took a deep breath, then lunged into the fight. Her swords whirled around her in a dance of steel and gore, cutting down monsters and dodging their own return blows. As she fell more into the groove of the fight, she got faster and faster, where she could cut down several monsters before even one got a swipe at her. Those swipes she dodged, sometimes by a hair, but a miss was a miss, and the monster never got a second swing. A short wall of bodies was starting to form, but she never lost her footing. She was getting lost in the dance, and some distant part of her mind was saying it would be a story for the ages, if anyone were ever to learn of it. A elven knight sacrificing all to defend her lover and the world, taking out as many of these twisted foes as she could before her blades finally-

A grind of stone sounded behind her. “Got it! Come on!” A barrier pushed the monsters back a few paces and Arista’s hand touched the back of her shoulder. Ahsoka gave one last sweep of the monsters before turning and running after her lover down the passage way. 

However, the barrier was weaker than usual, and Ahsoka had not noticed the archers who had joined the first wave of monsters. Not until an arrow pierced her armor and into the back of her shoulder.

“AHH!” She gripped her shoulder, shoving Arista ahead when she paused. “We’ll worry about it later, for now run!”

The two ran for they didn’t know how long. The corridor was line with sconces of stone, glowing a pale blue, perhaps charged in the same manner as the mirror, or some other magic. Either way, it meant their flight was lit, and they managed to keep ahead of the horde. Every once in a while, there would be an ancient trap of some kind, always activated by the horde after their own passing, and right after a split in the corridor. A cross ways to the left and right, two sets of stairs going up or down. By unspoken decision, they always went right and up, hoping to find some doorway out. The traps slowed the horde down enough to give them some breathing room, but they would soon overwhelm it by sheer force, and Ahsoka could feel herself starting to fatigue, the exhaustion of fighting and the blood dripping from her shoulder causing her to slow. 

Finally, as they reached another junction, a giant pit trap behind them slowly filling with the bodies of the horde, she collapsed against the wall, barely keeping her feet under her. “‘Rista, go.”

“No, not without you.” Arista said, taking her hand, but Ahsoka pulled it back. 

“I’m not going to make it, I’ve lost too much blood. You at least have a chance to get out.” She raised her hand to caress Arista’s cheek, and Arista caught it.

“I’m not leaving you. Besides-” she smiled at her “-didn’t you once say you wished we would die together?”

Ahsoka couldn’t help the breathless laughter that left her at that. “Really? Now? Now you listen to me about that?” Still, Ahsoka pulled Arista close to her, burying her face in her hair as they sank to the floor. She wanted her last memory to be of her lover’s scent and the sound of her heartbeat, not the click-hiss-whoosh of the monsters and the smell of- burning bodies?

Arista screamed as a torrent of flame erupted out of the corridor they had just come down, almost drowning out the dying shrieks of the monsters as they were incinerated. The fire, heat, and smoke blocked the hall, and Ahsoka found herself growing more and more lightheaded. Black spots began dancing in her vision, and she started slumping in Arista’s hold, her lover’s calls for her to wake up becoming more and more distant. Right before the blackness overtook her, the fire finally dissipated, and she thought she saw the dragon she and Arista had met all those months ago, standing over the charred bodies and looking intensely worried about something.

[kitty-colors]

Birth by Flame: An Eluthanai Ritual

The Below story is a deep dive into my D&D character’s culture. In this case the Point of view is given by my character’s father.

As a bit of context, all of the characters in this story are tieflings. Our setting is home brewed and tieflings were created by one of the gods rather than their normal origin.

Birth by Flame: An Eluthanai Ritual

“The Flame fell dim, then brightened greatly. Red light shone on Longest Night, warmed their being and soothed their aching.” Pelos read aloud from the Flame Cycle to his children. Moira had since fallen asleep in his arm that wasn't holding the book while Rai'Tu'Sai sat on the floor at his feet.

He closed the book as a sudden warm sensation washed over his body and his wife's voice spoke in his mind. “It's time, my love, come to the temple. Tlemon will guide you into the mine.”

Pelos shivered despite the heat of the Flame's power. “On my way,” he whispered, and knew Flame's light had carried his words back to his wife.

He set the book on their table and laid Moira on a bed. “It's time for me to go; can you watch baby Moira for me?” he asked.

“Is it time for my new baby brother?” Rai'Tu'Sai asked as Pelos put on his cloak.

For the past month his son had asked this every time he told him he needed to leave the house and he gave a hearty laugh before answering, “Yes, it's time for your baby brother.”

Rai'Tu'Sai beamed, as though the timing of his question showed some level of cleverness. “Then I'll take good care of Moira while you're gone.”

“I know you will,” Pelos whispered ruffling his son's hair. “After all your horns are coming in, it means you're growing up” and Rai'Tu'Sai smiled as he felt the lumps on his forehead where his tiefling's horns would soon show.

Even in late summer the evenings in Eluthane were cold, and Pelos gripped his cloak as he walked from his small home to the temple near the center green.

At the temple's entrance he was met by the priest Tlemon. “Pelos,” he said raising his hand in greeting, “I'm glad you could come quickly, Phose has already been taken below. Follow me, I'll take you to her.”

Entering the temple he was lead through a corridor lined with rooms for prayer and various temple rituals. They soon came to the central chamber where a large fire was kept burning at all times beneath an oculus dome. The power of the deep red Flame reflected in his soul as he was lead past and into a room that contained the mine entrance.

Pelos had come here twice before when his children were born. The mine was used for many things, mostly storage, but some of the most sacred rituals were held in the places where their ancestors had been held captive.

Tlemon eventually brought him to a room where his people came to give birth. Phose already in labor was laying on in a bed as the clerics attended to her. She smiled then grimaced and roared as labor pains gripped her.

Soon at her side, Pelos took his wife's hand and she gripped his in return. “How are you my light?” he asked.

“I'm just glad they aren't born with horns right now,” she said through clenched teeth.

The priests attended her with both spell and mundane medicine.

Hours passed while Phose was in labor, and he remained by her side, his hand crushed by hers. Finally though, the baby came through, wet and crying in the cavern lit by red fire.

"Your child appears healthy; hold him and keep him warm. We must attend to your wife."

"Is anything wrong?" Pelos asked, concern entering his voice as the infant was placed in his arms.

"Only the normal level of healing is needed, but we must attend to it," the priest said as the flame on her lamp deepened its color as she began to utter a blessing.

Pelos sighed relieved, and smiled at the small form in his arms. "Well Hiereus," he called the baby by the name Phose had picked for him, "You look like a piece of coal, like your mother and sister."

He held his son tight, wrapping his cloak over both of them. The old mines were kept warm by Eluthanai fire, but even still drafts could carry a chill. Shortly a priest came to inspect the the infant, and wrap him in a blanket. And for the first time Hiereus was quiet.

Once the magical healing was complete Phose was up and dressed in her own priestly garb by his side.

“It's time,” she said, “I hope you're more practiced than last time,” she said reminding him that he had stumbled over his part of the ritual when their daughter was born ten months prior. Though not a member of the priesthood, as the child's parent he was expected to take part in the Birth of Flame ritual.

“As practiced as I'm going to be,” he said, taking a ceramic lamp in hand and lighting it from his wife's lamp made from her horn.

“Our child,” he said reciting the rote line, “I speak to you that you may know of our people's escape from slavery, so that you may know the power of the Flame, that it should lead you to liberation.”

“The way of the Flame is trust and benevolence,” the members of the priesthood sang as a chorus

As they finished, Phose intoned the next part of the text, “Though called the children of Liliq, in those days the gods did not hear our prayers. The Skotia, the influence of darkness, bound our minds to serve the demon we named Poneros, Worthless Toil in the common tongue.”

“So it was we worked in dark 'neath demon's land. Delivered coal, ore, and precious stone,” Pelos said. “Our lives were bleak, our wills were aught.”

“In winter's cold of Longest Night,” the chorus chanted, “a single fire the three did share. Huddled in their cell, Phlogos told the flame his wish.”

“O small fire,” Phose recited the line, “hear my call, on Longest Night when darkness reigns, keep us warm and light our way.”

The priesthood chanted, “The Flame fell dim then brightened greatly,” as the Flames of their lamps mimicked the scripture. “Red light shown on Longest Night, warmed their being and soothed their aching.”

The lamps shone brilliant red. “The three did rest by light of fire,” Pelos recited more steady than he had been last time. “In dreams the Flame threw its spark, light in their minds it left a mark.”

“On Shortest Day, influence of the dark called the workers.” As the chorus chanted they moved into the next cavern of the mine, “But its force the three resisted, Phlogos, Phos, and Luo. One of Flame, one, of light, and one for liberation burning bright.”

Phose took up Hiereus before continuing the next line, “Two at that time did seek to flee, but Luo knew alone that could not be.”

“By Flame's light,” Pelos took up Luo's line, “We are awake, but above demon's guard would overtake. Let us carry the Flame into the shadow, show our kin and call them to battle. We must destroy the dark bindings on our friends, form bonds of trust, with each other fend.”

“Phos carried Flame by lamp to guide them through tunnel black,” Phose recounted the story of her own namesake. “By her light they descended deeper; carried the Flame to their people.”

After Phose finished her line the chorus chanted a series of verses and they were led through a corridor that carried them deeper then back up toward the temple.

Deep in the mine Eluthanai work Demonic masters offer them no shirk But light of Flame is burning bright Gives hope for them, freedom’s plight

And in their souls reflects the Flame The world above, it sets their aim Will of their own, it doth bestow From dungeon deep, down below

Skotia's power at last did break Poneros' bonds the workers forsake From the deep they started singing With the Flame its radiance beaming

To stand up to oppression's hand With solid trust they form their band The Flame it shows their path to go To demon's castle in the snow

And to the Flame, they pray for aid It hears their call, their cries are bade With Flame in hand, against the sword They stand against their Demon Lord

Up from the cave, the workers burst To keep of Lord, the Flame leads first By light of Flame, they break his power They throw their Lord from the tower

As the chorus finished the last verse they reemerged in the oculus of the temple and brought Hiereus to the great fire at its center.

Near the edge of fire Phose dipped her hand into the ash, and with it anointed her infant son. Then together she and Pelos chanted the Prayer of the Eluthanai.

Gazing into Flame of lamp In my soul, warmth's reflected back We speak a prayer, and utter blessing The Flame it guards and guides our path

The Flame it leads to liberation Frees the will from domination Common trust is our blessing Benevolence keeps freedom lasting

Our labors it guards and makes them strong To hold Flame's light is our song Our work is shared, we have not master The Flame's our keep, and gives us shelter

Pelos drew his wife and son into a gentle embrace as the ritual concluded.

“Welcome to the world little one,” Phose whispered smiling down at her baby. “We love you.”

[gwyvian]

Resistances and Dalliances

Chapter 4: Blue Lightning

Pathfinder, SAM’s voice said. This angara shares genetic material with Evfra. I can confirm that they are closely related, most likely a parent.

Ryder’s breath caught.

“She’s related to you,” she said quietly after a moment. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she was likely his mother, but judging by Evfra’s expression, he knew. I sent him on this chase… and now he has lost his family twice.

For the longest time all Evfra did was breathe, overcome, eyes fastened on the remains. Ryder wanted desperately to somehow soothe his pain, but knew that there was nothing she could do. In fact she had done quite enough already, she thought bitterly, landing them in a trap designed to break him. He had been right about her; it had been a curious whim, a desire to do something for him that would indebt him to her and now he paid the price for it.

Well, perhaps that was unfair. She had been genuinely thrilled at the prospect of saving his family, and once Evfra seemed to warm towards her since they set out from Aya, her priorities had changed from desiring his respect to desiring to just do something for him because she wanted to. She shifted her weight and wondered uncomfortably if she should back away and give the Resistance leader some privacy, but something told her that it wouldn’t matter; he was alone in a grief that no one could penetrate, no matter how close. Perhaps if he had a little hope…

Ryder opened her mouth to say that the rest of his family may yet live, and that she wanted to continue the search with him, but she stopped herself. What was there to search? The entire mission had been a setup from the start and she refused to participate any further in a scheme clearly designed to bring Evfra to the brink; she shuddered to think what a disaster that would be if what happened here broke his spirit, imagining the downfall of the Resistance, the last of the angara swept away by an ocean of kett and the Initiative along with it. Instantly hot shame welled up inside her for even thinking of such consequences in the face of his tragedy; it wasn’t just the Resistance leader who couldn’t afford to break, Evfra as a person did not deserve this torment. No one did.

Suddenly with a roar of rage that seemed to come from the depths of his soul Evfra’s clenched fist smashed into the glass, making a crack, blue blood spurting from a myriad of wounds breaking open on his knuckles. Ryder jumped, heart climbing into her throat and she took an involuntary step back before freezing on the spot. His fist drew back and he drove it into the same spot, over and over again. Electricity began to crackle with each blow until smoke trickled from ashen burns along the surface of the pod, but it still did not break.

Shivering with emotion, Evfra’s hand lowered to his side and he turned away slowly, stepping over the bodies littering the floor, pausing here and there when he saw an angaran face among the dead as if memorizing their faces. Ryder couldn’t begin to imagine what he must have been feeling, but the desire to take it all back and undo the harm she had inadvertently caused was an almost unbearable ache.

At first, Ryder had wanted Evfra on her side in a general sense, she saw him as a gruff, hardened fighter who knew how to point and shoot, send men and women to die and who also happened to be influential enough that she needed him. His lost family had been an opportunity, regardless of her personal motivations, no matter how callous she felt for thinking of them that way. The sobriety of what she was witnessing, especially considering her role in it, made her realize how much more there was to Evfra. Even if any doubt had lingered in her about it, the expression he wore now would have disabused her of the notion. She would have given anything at that moment to have discovered his depths under any other circumstances than the terrible way she was learning it now, but at the very least she knew she would never again underestimate the pain someone in his situation endured.

“Evfra,” she began, unsure of what to say but knowing she couldn’t keep her peace any longer, “I…”

“After all this…” Evfra interrupted, his eyes drifting across the dead, flames of hate burning painfully in his eyes whenever they touched a kett corpse. “I somehow found myself believing you. Now look at us.”

“Evfra, I’m…” Ryder stepped closer, overwhelmed with his loss and her guilt. “I swear to you, this was not our doing,” she faltered, snatching back the hand she had half extended towards him when his eyes fixed on her, raw emotion spilling out as surely and steadily as the sapphire droplets beaded at the tip of his fingers. His eyes were a silvery maelstrom, and the longer their eyes were locked, the more anger seemed to seethe in him. Anger at her, she thought miserably.

“Every day angara die through my actions,” Evfra said as coldly as Voeld’s icy winds, “but none of my actions have been burdened with such terrible hope. There is nothing more for us here,” he broke eye contact and slammed a foot into the nearest kett, its lifeless body absorbing the hit, cushioned as it was by other bodies. Without another look in her direction, he stormed out, his stride stiff with anger; but what made Ryder’s heart twist was the hurt he clearly tried to hide from her. In the fraction of a second before his eyes left hers his face had crumpled in pain. He walked through the doorway that lead onto the corridor she had discovered and eventually the vibrations of his footsteps faded away.

“That can’t be healthy for an angaran,” Ryder said softly, hugging herself as she stared after him, shivering. At this point she wasn’t sure the cold would ever fully leave her bones no matter how much warmth she got. “All that anger, that sorrow… I think he has been hiding it for a long time.” No matter what had happened here, she was sure that had he truly let go of his family and mourned them properly the false hope she had given him would not have impacted him so deeply; or maybe she was trying to avoid the conclusion that she was responsible.

He has demonstrated unusual restraint for an angaran in previous encounters, SAM’s voice agreed in her head. Perhaps his leadership required a different approach which has now been compromised by this experience.

“Yeah,” Ryder said, tears building in her eyes before cutting her face with ice as they rolled down. “And I took that from him.” How could she possibly undo this mistake?

It may help to find the culprits behind the trap and bring them to justice, SAM suggested.

“I suppose,” Ryder agreed. “I think it will take a little time to regain his trust enough to even begin unravelling that knot. Well,” she briskly wiped away her tears as best she could, walking back to where she had left her gun to pick it up and holster it. “The very least I can do right now is make sure he doesn’t bleed to death. Those gashes looked deep.”

Yes, Pathfinder. SAM went silent.

As she approached the door to follow Evfra, she slowed and looked back at the pod. The glass still smoldered from Evfra’s punches; a last message of pain left over his mother’s grave. She would find someone to come retrieve the body and lay her to rest, in whatever manner the angara deemed appropriate. Discreetly; she didn’t want Evfra finding out about it until he had time to cool down, sort out his grief and maybe even find a little closure. Besides, she very much feared that any action on her part right now would only enrage him for her continued meddling and lose whatever shambles of trust remained between them. I’m sorry, Evfra, she thought, and left.

The corridor did indeed lead her outside without any more twisting and turning; as she looked over her shoulder once she took a few paces away from the doorway, she realized just how large the compound was. It was a little amazing that they had found their way in there in the first place, though on reflection she thought that the pair of them had been neatly shepherded to the heart of the complex where they could make their grim ‘discovery’. Biting her lip, she wished she understood what was going on, that the remaining pieces of the puzzle would fall together in her mind, but there were still too many details and not enough context to fit it all together.

Roaming around in the snow, she finally found Evfra staring silently at the distant ghosts of mountains, seemingly lost in thought. His injured hand flexed with an unconscious rhythm, a patch of blood dying the snow blue beside him; clearly he had been standing on the spot for some time now. She approached him, not quite wanting to risk talking to him and have him look at her with such anger again. Keeping a few paces distance, her eyes travelled across the landscape, hoping for some point of reference, but everything looked the same to her: white, bleak and endless.

“SAM, can you get us back to the Nomad?” she asked softly.

Before SAM could answer, Evfra spoke unexpectedly. “It’s that way,” he pointed to his left without looking.

“How do you know?” Ryder asked, despite herself.

“I did not fall unconscious as you did,” he replied. “It’s not far.” Without another word, he started off in that direction.

“I’m not sure I’m going to make it,” Ryder remarked under her breath; the naked cold of Voeld was rapidly cooling her already cramped muscles until every move was a great effort. In comparison, the frigid kett complex seemed like a hot summer’s day – and a swiftly fading memory of one at that.

To her surprise, Evfra heard her and paused, looking back at her with… could that be concern? “Techiix lies between us and your Nomad,” he said. “We can stop there.”

“I’m not sure I’ll make it that far, either,” Ryder said through chattering teeth, blushing a little. She knew it was no one’s fault, but it was embarrassing to feel so frail when Evfra clearly didn’t mind the cold in the slightest.

“Come this way,” he turned away and started off in a new direction, not bothering with an explanation.

Evfra lead them to a cave of some sort that became a tunnel as they went deeper; by Evfra’s confident strides ahead, Ryder assumed it would eventually lead them out close to Techiix, or some other hopefully warm place. She was grateful for the shelter from the wind and for Evfra’s native knowledge of the planet that helped them find it in the first place, but by the time they had slipped, climbed and jumped their way through what looked like built corridors and past looming glaciers and dangerous chasms, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have preferred to just given up hours ago and let herself be buried under soft, numbing snow. Her hands ached with what felt like a million cuts and bruises, her skin too fragile to withstand gripping ledges and scraping across ice even despite the protection of her gauntlets and her muscles felt rigid and ready snap; but worst of all was the fact that the pain was fading from her feet, and that was definitely not a good sign.

What kept Ryder going in those moments of physical doubt was the growing conviction that may be able set things right with Evfra. She first realized there was a sliver of hope that she might yet achieve that goal when her hand slipped on a particularly slippery ledge and Evfra caught her; his grimace was expected, but she saw a flash of worry in his eyes that took her by surprise. That was the second time he had shown concern for her, a quality he most definitely did not have before. Even just a few hours gone when they escaped from their ‘prison’ she was sure that he would have left her to die without a tear of remorse, but she was beginning to think she needed to reevaluate him. Or perhaps it was just being here, on Voeld, so close to whom he had been before becoming the leader of the Resistance; here, he was just a man.

It also stirred something else in her: her empathy for him didn’t wane in the slightest, but she took his changes in disposition over the past day and especially the unexpected small, protective gestures he made, like helping her climb along a ledge by keeping an arm behind her in case her numb legs slipped, as a sign of a fragile closeness that made her thoughts wander in directions that made it increasingly difficult to look him in the eye without blushing, though he seemed not to notice the effect his gallantry was having.

Maybe it was unintentional, but Ryder suspected that his image of her had changed meaningfully and, like any angara would, he expressed it in his actions without reservations. She only wished she knew what she had done right that made his anger toward her fade. All in all, it was as if she had just met the man beneath the title for the first time; at first, it was a little exhilarating, like catching a glimpse into a room where no one was allowed, but as time passed she was more concerned than curious, to the point where she wasn’t sure any longer if he really was the same man. It was a foolish thing, but she almost wished he would snap her head off and sigh in vexation the way he always did.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, before Ryder knew it she was climbing out of a narrow vent that was in sight of Techiix. Desperate for the beckoning warmth, she tried picking up the pace and almost went sprawling as a result, but again, Evfra was there to catch her arm.

It was ridiculous; six hundred years and a galaxy away from home and she felt like a character in a romance novel with a doubtful plot and frequent, excruciating beach scenes. Of course, the beaches on Voeld were more likely to be icy deathtraps and Evfra was no tall, dark and handsome mystery man, but her grateful feelings for keeping her alive and safe on their harrowing journey made her feel very warmly towards him and that in turn made her feel foolish. Suddenly the subtle change in their interactions gave her an idea; maybe she could make up for her mistake, heal at least a little of his sorrow; hopefully enough to keep him going until he could forgive and forget.

Techiix inched closer slowly and Ryder briefly daydreamed of gliding closer in the snug cabin of the Nomad. She fixed her eyes on her feet and concentrated on each step after a while; time seemed to pass faster that way and anything that took her mind off her body was welcome, though it still seemed a much too long journey anyway. Then, finally, they were walking past the watchful eyes of the angara posted outside and she and Evfra stepped into a wave of heat that actually brought a whimper of relief from Ryder before she could stop herself.

“Is something wrong?” Evfra asked.

Ryder laughed. “I’ll be fine – just give me a minute to catch my breath,” she said, sucking in the warmth into her lungs. Then, she strolled closer to one of the angara’s precious heat lamps and bathed.

Life support is online, SAM reported.

Life did indeed seem to rush through her, though her aches and pains didn’t really dwindle that much; still, it was a relief to finally feel like something other than a block of ice. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Evfra prepare to leave her there and she hobbled after him as quickly as she could, falling in step for a moment before lightly touching him on the shoulder to stop him when they neared an open door. Now that blessed warmth was returning to her again, her legs and arms felt like water, so she was relieved when Evfra didn’t just stride away and ignore her; she doubted she could have stopped him.

“In here,” she gestured into the empty chamber, briefly eyeing the lamp burning inside with longing, and added, “just wait here a moment. I’ll bring bandages. We can’t have the leader of the Resistance walking around like he went through a meat grinder.”

“A… what?”

“Just stay, please,” Ryder said.

“I don’t take orders from you, human,” Evfra muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it and he went inside. Likely a part of him had wished for solitude, otherwise he would have ignored Ryder’s suggestion from the start; right then she didn’t care what his reasons were, she was just glad he followed her instructions. Suggestions.

“I’m not ordering you, but you need to get that patched up,” she replied.

She went in search of bandages, mumbling expected benisons and hasty explanations that got her past anyone she met and somehow she even managed to keep it a secret that Evfra was there, though eventually those who had seen him would talk. The more time she spent in the warmth and light the better she felt, and she for a short time she wondered if being angaran just rubbed off you and she was regenerating as they did; though, an almost twisted ankle as she rounded a corner warned her that her assumption was probably wrong.

Moments later she was shutting the door behind her, closing Evfra and herself inside the small chamber. She extracted her fingers from her gauntlets a little clumsily and fussed with the supplies she had brought, directing Evfra to stand near the table in the center of the room before pulling herself up onto it. After all she had gone through that day, there was no way she was going to patiently stand around while her legs trembled beneath her.

“What do you think the medics are for, Ryder?” Evfra asked as she finally put everything in order and reached for his injured hand.

“Sometimes, among us humans, we share our feelings with people who lived through an experience with us,” she said, not meeting his eyes, and she began to clean his wound. It occurred to her that in reality she had no idea how to treat an angara’s wounds, but she figured that it couldn’t be that different. Plus, the power of the lamp would weave its ultraviolet magic on the blue-streaked skin. “Maybe talking about it might help.”

Evfra remained silent, remarkably placid under her ministrations, though when she glanced at his expression his frown was dark enough to make her avert her eyes again hastily. She wondered what went on in his mind when he looked at her like that; probably passing judgement on her every little move and disapproving of every bit of it, she thought. Or, on further reflection, maybe not. Considering his change in behavior, his expression may not have had anything to do with her at all. If she looked at it that way… It was almost as if two sides of him were mixing together for the first time, now that they were among his people again; the man was becoming the leader, but one needed to release his pain and the other needed no distractions, like hot and cold air colliding. The thought relaxed her a little.

“When Scott and I lost our mother, we talked about it. Maybe your medics do that, but by my people’s customs…” she sighed, realizing she was repeating herself. “Look, I don’t know how angara do this, but I’m here for you, if you want to talk.”

Silence.

“I know you don’t trust me, Evfra,” Ryder looked up at him defiantly before returning her attention to the hand, now winding the bandaging around it. “I know that you think that the Initiative betrayed you, but it doesn’t even make sense! Surely you must see that,” she tucked the end of the bandage under his palm, wishing she had medigel on her. “The whole thing was just so badly executed, there’s no way that…”

Before she could let go of Evfra’s hand and pull back, his hand caught hers and suddenly her whole body seemed to come alive. She gasped, looking up at Evfra’s face, shocked at the rawness of his gaze, the depth of his feeling and how open he was in that instance. It was a blizzard on fire.

“I need you,” he growled and kissed her hungrily. The touch of his lips on hers was cool and electrifying, sending her heartbeat racing and making her aware of herself in ways she didn’t even know were possible. In the back of her mind she supposed it might be literally electrifying, but the thought was swept up in a current of feeling that obliterated everything in its path.

Just as suddenly, Evfra pulled away and stepped back, angry, anguished eyes fixing on the far wall, hand dropping hers as if burned. Ryder immediately wanted to lean back into him, her desire strongly clouding her mind, but shock kept her at bay. Emotions cascaded through her, uncertainty and confusion prominent among them, but it was very hard to ignore her heightened senses; it was as if Evfra had awakened her for what seemed like the first time in her life and though the senseless wash of raw feeling was suddenly gone, her body remembered it vividly.

“I apologize, Pathfinder.” That was all he said, his voice full of an emotion that Ryder could not put a name to, but the formality was clear enough in his words.

‘Pathfinder.’ Now she was just ‘Pathfinder’ again, as if he hadn’t just kissed her? All her combined irritation and fury at him since the first time she met him on Aya seemed to surge through her; he would not just dismiss what happened. She slowly slid off the table to step nearer. “I didn’t mind,” she said before she could stop herself, surprised for a moment at how steady and calm her voice was.

The look he gave her dampened her burning sensations for a moment, so full of those feelings that she felt as though he reached out and touched her soul. His eyes took her in almost sadly, though his desire was still plain behind it all. With one hand he cupped her face.

“I do not pretend to hold your heart, but I do need you, if you would have me,” he said, his voice a little rough, the coldness he always seemed to radiate replaced by an almost overwhelming loneliness that made her heart beat faster with a need to fill it.

“I would, Evfra,” Ryder gasped, and as the last word left her lips his arms were around her, pulling her in without hesitation this time, the burn of his fingers trailing along her spine not searing as before, but slowly building in intensity; most electrifying of all, though, was his burning need.

[isaacathom]

im figuring for most of the game Rhia ONLY refers to Jun as ‘my uncle’ - she doesnt refer to him by name. you can figure out that she means Jun through his own dialogue and through interactions with Lyndelle, who Rhia says is her cousin. and Lyndelle speaks quite openly about her father and how much she aspires to be just like him, and how much he inspires Rhia, too. so when you eventually meet Jun in relation to Team bullshit, and he’s friendly and kind, you go ‘ooohhhhh thats her uncle, right’.

the main reason she does it is because shes paranoid about accidentally incriminating him. when shes berating Elliot for leaving her behind, and describing in detail what occured after she left, she’s fully aware that if she says his name, and then FAILS to stop Elliot and the player (and Zeke, iirc) from leaving, they might report his connections. its a VERY weak defence, admittedly, given how easy it is to work out who she’s referring to. but theres also the fact that shes NOT related to him. and Elliot, knowing this fact (knowing that she’s Seren, and that her entire family live in Johto and didn’t take her ‘home’), would be unable to connect that dot. Being that he is obsessed with Seren, rather than Rhia. the player knows she means Jun, but the player has also actually met Jun - which Rhia doesn’t know. But they’ve met, and they know that Jun isn’t enthusiastic about Team shit, and only works with them because he is blackmailed and wants to protect his family.

so. yknow. if she just says ‘her uncle’, theres room for interpretation. its vague enough. plus, if you actually go to HER records, the records of Rhia Stanton, you will not find Jun Zhang anywhere. he’s her step uncle. instead you will find Patrick’s family, and the family of her ‘mother’. who i think, for shits and gigs, dont have any brothers. that’d be funny. someone investigating Rhia’s ‘uncle’ claims would actually have to look a long way into her records to find a man who could match that description. ofc in reality they’d just ask Jun because that’s her home address now but like, yknow. they share no blood, both in general and as far as her legal records are concerned. so. yknow. someone trying to be covert and investigate Rhia would have to put a lot of extra effort to find this info.

idk i think itd be fun if Rhia’s going on her long tirade explaining the time between her being assaulted and Jun finding her and speaking in these vague terms. not in any overt hilarious way, i just think itd be cool for her to do. then, of course, once shits all cleared, he’s just Jun. well, ok, she alternates, because she does feel a genuine familial attachment to Jun and Bronwyn and Lyndelle, and terms like ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ and ‘cousin’ are vague enough that it can describe how she feels while not NECESSARILY necessitating blood ties. its a cute thing. initially it was part of her cover story, calling them auntie and uncle (and then mostly just calling Lyndelle by name), but at one point Rhia would’ve just slipped and called Jun ‘uncle’ in private and honestly it probably made him cry. and shes fretting and apologising and saying ‘fuck fuck i meant Jun sorry’ and hes all ‘no no its fine.... you can call me uncle if you want.’ and shes like ‘wait, really?????’ ‘absolutely, Rhia. if you want to!’ and she cries too. Bronwyn comes downstairs to find them hugging and crying and shes just ‘did i walk in on something?? do you want me to give you a minute’ and they both laugh reallyyyy awkwardly and theres a silence, before Rhia goes ‘heyyyyyy uuhhhhhh i had a question..... am i allowed to call you auntie????’ and bronwyns very confused about what exactly brought this on, looks at Jun, looks back at Rhia, back at Jun, and it clicks and she goes ‘oooooohhhhhhhhhhh. oooohhhh. you mean actually?’ and rhia nods and bronwyn goes ‘well, you do already, dont you? why not! :)’ and its just a big fun time.

then lyndelle also walks in and is INCREDIBLY confused. what the fuck is happening. why is everyoe laughing and crying and hugging and shit. did something happen???????? it is an incredily weird time.

uhhhhh point is she means it sincerely but not in a blood tie way and its also juuuuuuussssttt vague enough that she doesnt give anything away when shes trying to keep shit secret. of course, if pressed in a normal situation, she’d tell you exactly who ‘uncle’ is, the talented Dr Jun Zhang, but in any remotely crime-y shit, you wont get a peep.

so i guess she just always calls him uncle? maybe after the whole team/org blows over, she switches to ‘Uncle Jun’, rather than just uncle? that’d be kinda cute.

im not sure exactly when shed start sincerely calling then family, though. she has like 8 years to figure that out. it certainly wasnt in the first year or so - she was still mixed in that time. at some point, certainly.

the same sort of terms follow for Jun and Bronwyn too. Bronwyn probably took a little longer - mostly because she had slightly less history with Rhia than Jun did - but both of them feel very close to her and refer to her as their niece on a few occasions. Jun especially. mostly because meeting Jun is actually required for story progression, so IF he mentioned his family at all, itd be in vague terms. because just like Rhia, he really doesnt want to tie them into his business. he hates this business, why would he want them connected? so its just ‘my niece’ not ‘my niece, rhia, that cop whose been sorta bothering you the whole game’. YOU know, obviously, the player knows thats probably whats happening. which is probably also the point where you should be going ‘hang on......... her uncles in the evil team??? does she know???’ and it should cause people to think twice. ideally between meeting Jun in a team context and the tower sequence the player should see her again - presumably to insert the whole Seren thing which ive technically retconned out of existence but still needs to occur i guesssss - and she should seem especially suss in that instance. in fact, yea, having that be the point where she asks you to ask elliot about Seren makes sense, and should look INCREDIBLY shifty. like, whyyy cant she just ask him herself? why do you have to do it? what does that mean? theres probably been minor hints about it throughout the game, and there IS a cemetery why you can find graves for both her parents AND a grave for Seren with only her DOB and an end year. and Zeke probably actually knows about it, even if he didnt know Seren personally (given the age difference - he’s older than the player but younger than Rhia, being that he is like.... 17??? which is 6 years younger than her and anywhere from 2-5 older than you. idk. there would be minor info sprinkled about Seren throughout the game, to the point where the player COULD fill in the blanks about what the fuck is happening themselves. to a point, anyway. like, hmm.... so Seren was Elliot’s charge, and vanished, and now this girl who is roughly how old she’d be now is asking me to ask Elliot about her...... hmmmm. and the player might click it. the details, about how he abandoned her, come out only from Rhia herself in her tirade against Elliot. what Elliot tells you is slightly different. ooh, thats a bit, actually.

how Rhia recounts the events and how Elliot does is vastly different. mostly because they drastically diverge at a point, but also in terms of what they recount in that similar lead up. Rhia talks about how shifty the plan was, how he made her wait while he spoke to the gym leaders before coming to get her, how they were on their own despite the other groups being fairly large and proportionally uneven, how she ended up leading the way down the corridor (of her own arrogance, but her point is that He didnt stop her). Elliot talks about her boundless enthusiasm to take part, her insistence, his concern that he’d end up disappointing her if the gym leaders found out and subsequently stopped her. and the specific ‘incident’ bit, the description is different too. Elliot doesn’t really go into specifics. its just ‘there were..... complications. i had no choice but to flee’. Rhia instead describes in details how they were grabbed from behind when the corridor opened up abruptly, how the grunts jeered them and held hands over their mouths, how she kicked one of the grunts in the arm so they let Elliot go, how Elliot hesitated for JUST a moment before bolting, silently, down the corridor. that silence is a big part of it, too. Elliot will say to you that he tried to find help, which is true (to a point), but Rhia’s statement makes that seem strange. if he ran silently, how much did he want help? whether he DID actually leave without crying out at all is..... unclear. neither account of events is wholly accurate. the commonalities are true, but the minor parts are based on interpretation. in fact, the ONLY people perhaps equipped to offer an objective view on what happened in the confrontation are the Grunts, who could talk about how Seren crossed the threshold first with a pokeball in hand, and how Elliot passed closely behind without, and how Barny got kicked in the hand and probably later in the face by the flailing Seren, how Smokes followed Elliot down the hall and saw him completely leave the premises, how Tiny Fae later told Jun about Seren. that sorta shit. those are random names i dont even know what the fuck those mean.

i think thatd be a very neat difference. just to emphasise how they both feel about it. how Rhia would highlight the choices available to Elliot (and technically herself, but trust me, that isnt her idea) and how Elliot would highlight how inevitable he felt his choices were, or how he didnt have them.if it isnt obvious i probably agree with Rhia more, though shes a lot less blameless than she makes it out and there is probably more actual manipulation of information in her recounting over Elliots. like yea, both are manipulated to elicit a specific response (sympathy for both, and anger at Elliot in Rhia’s case). but since Rhia is making a point when she’s telling her version, she’s likely slightly twisted parts of it. the emotional impact of the event isnt changed, but some of the physical elements are likely emphasised to make Elliot feel reaaallllllll fucking guilty. like ‘you thought i was dead, but i lived! but in agonising pain for a while and there have been permanent physical and mental repercussions for your actions, asshole!’ what fun! :)