#its so hard to tell who any of my mutuals are dear lord

[thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls]

penny from btb i am so sorry but the dadapocalypse happened so now my pfp is anthony burch dndads

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.” He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[dreamrecorder]

Until then, we will find each other again. <||>

fluff & angst drabble, reincarnation au, modern au

| Xiao x Reader | Diluc x Reader |

Note: I'm sorry that I can't put the cut thingy bcos im writing in mobile. Once I get ahold of my laptop I'll put the cut thingy. Happy reading^^ i swear these were supposed to be short but welp

Xiao

Notes: Immortal companion* - Just think of someone immortal from the game. This is also a different take from Venti's and Zhongli's because I honestly think Xiao is so done with immortality and its consequences.

Suicide implicitly mentioned.**

Xiao is mourning for the passing of his immortal companion*, making him the last immortal to walk the world. Now, it is he, who last remains from a time of gods and monsters. Each passing of a mutual, he witnessed. They deemed it was their time to move on, for humanity has succeeded to bring fate into their own two hands. The world no longer needed them.

Xiao has already suffered loss way before the Archon War. Yet, he never expressed the emotion of grief for he needed to be strong lest the world will eat him alive. However, this passing made his heart of glass, chip a little, then shattering the whole thing altogether. Or perhaps, it was already chipped away and too fragile because of the losses that has culminated in his immortal life.

Now, he lays on the roof of a building of what used to be Wangshu Inn. He was trying hard not to break down again. By doing so, he merely cursed fate over and over again. Yet, to no avail, the man exploded in tears once more, too tired from all the pain and loss suffered from millenias.

Then... there's you. You who uttered the words, "Until then, we will find each other again."

With all sincerity he can muster, he wanted to believe those words. He wanted to believe in you. That's why he stayed. Yet... the pain he feels heavily overweighs his faith in you.

**

He just wants to... end it all.

"I just want to disappear..."

**

No one heard him utter those words, only the wind. And the wind- just as once the Anemo Archon had said, carries the words one thinks no one can hear.

It came like a whisper, yet loud and clear. Then all of a sudden, the memories of your previous life flashed before your eyes. You dropped the book you were holding and held your temples at the incoming migraine.

"Are you alright?" You friends asked in worry, looking for any visible signs of pain aside from your clenched eyes and your frowning expression.

You could only groan as a reply and your friends waited for you to take your time to recollect yourself.

Who... Whose voice? You knew this voice... But who?

You finally removed your hands and opened your eyes.

"I- I have to go... Go without me." Was all you said before leaving your friends in the dust who looked at your way with confusion.

Who? Many questions riddled your mind. And with all these unanswered, worry and anxiety grew in your heart. Tears began to swell in your eyes, worsening your headache.

This is not about you! You have to look for... something! Someone! Just-

"Dear gods, please please don't you dare fucking take him..."

You sprinted around the area, following and listening to that now faint whisper under the night. The whispers only became clearer and louder when you approached a building which used to be an inn.

The moment you stepped foot within the building, the lone whisper became mixed with more words which did not lift your heart.

Fuck.

With pure adrenaline, you opted to use the stairs instead of the damn elevator. You have finally reached the door leading to the rooftop, and at that point, the whispers became screams. However, when your hand grasped the handle, the voice in the wind stopped. You opened the door at full to be met by the back of the man who stands at the railing.

Xiao...?

Xiao..

Xiao.

"Xiao!"

At the call of his name by a familiar voice, his head whipped to its direction. But he shall not be fooled.

"You... you're not real."

The words along with lifeless eyes stabbed you.

"It's me, Xiao! Y/n! Don't do this! I'm sorry I took so long! But I'm here now! Just as I had promised!"

Your heart was beating against your ribcage. You had to prove you were real. But how?

"You're just an illusion made by my heart."

"Xiao, please! Fuck I'm really sorry! But please you don't have to do this... I... I remember everything, Xiao... All those times we battled in the war. Those times we shared almond tofu. The times we smiled, cried, laughed, and fought...

I remember everything..."

For each word you uttered, you grew confident in your memories. For each word, you took a step closer. For each word, you saw life coming back to the man you love.

"So please... Come back..."

At the final word, you released all your sincerity, genuity, and adoration for him. And finally, your hands took purchase in his (while trying so hard not to shed any tear for his sake).

"It's me."

...

"Y/n...?"

You beamed at him and finally, Xiao's eyes were now shining in clarity, and of course, life and love.

Diluc has been reincarnated many times, yet still has not found you. Through his reincarnated forms, he alternated between travelling and staying in Mondstadt. The former done in order to find you. The latter done in the chance you would find him there.

Diluc

For the first time in his many lifetimes, his current form surprised him. When he reached 'sixteen', his memories resurfaced and the realization sank in. His appearance ended just as how he looked in his first ever lifetime. The only difference was the length of his hair. He even ended up being reincarnated in the Ragnvindr Family along with inheriting the winery business.

To put it bluntly, walking within the old yet maintained Ragnvindr Mansion was a memory lane. However, the moment of reminiscence only gave him a heavy heart, for within these halls used to be filled with your laughter.

In this very same spot where he currently stands, is where you uttered your last words.

"Until then, we will find each other again."

Walking aimlessly around the mansion, he thinks about those long, long years without you. Must be fate so cruel? Making him search far and wide, when in the end fate does not want you to return to him? The man clenched his fists, and in anger, punched the nearby wall.

He expected a bursting kind of pain to come, yet what came was a dull throb on his knuckles. Yet this is not only what he had not expected. He did not expect for the wall to respond with a resounding hollowness.

A hidden corridor? Room? When had the family installed this?

Curiosity held him and began kicking the hollow wall without hesitation. What secrets does it hide from all these years, he shall know. Once the wall opened up for him to fit, he entered with a lit phone in hand at extreme brightness.

Again, what he saw, he had not expected. What he saw both filled and emptied his heart simultaneously. What he saw was a painting of you and him, together in a moment of shared happiness.

"Dilu-" His mother called which snapped out of his trance. His head snapped at her direction and saw her eyes fill with solemness.

"I didn't mean to-"

His mother hushed him with a gentle smile and entered the room to stand alongside him.

"You know," his mother began, "I always believed in the fantasy that had been once in our world. Lord Barbatos, the other Archons, the Twins that saved our world, Visions, and... reincarnation. I always believed in them.

The moment I saw your features when you were born, I knew you were the reincarnation of the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt... So I named you after him because I knew your memories would resurface someday. I knew the day would come when my son will no longer be my son. Because when that day comes, all I would see in your eyes is a long unspoken wisdom and pain that will replace your innocence free from battles and war."

Diluc was surprised, yet kept his emotions to himself. He understood what his mother was pointing at. "Is... Is this why this picture is hidden?"

His mother nodded solemnly. "Perhaps, I was afraid and scared about when the day I spoke of will take place. That's why I ordered this painting be hidden. I knew this painting of you and Lady Y/n will unlock your memories sooner, but I didn't want that."

For once in his lifetimes, his heart softened with love. The kind of love that assures you that someone cares for you. Never in his reincarnated lifetimes, had he experienced this feeling. All those years, he was just... lost in the feelings and thoughts of not being with you.

The man stepped towards his mother with hesitation to which he instantly erased. He hugged his mother with a soft spoken voice saying these words.

"I will always be your son and you will always be my mother. That will never change. I may be 'older' than you, but please do remember that I would not have grown to who am I today without your guidance. For that, I deeply thank you for taking care of me...

I love you, Mom."

With his words, his mother burst into light tears accompanied by a smile. "Don't make me cry, I'm going to wrinkle." Diluc laughed at the comment. After a loving moment, the two separated yet his mother still held onto his arms.

"You've grown so much... I guess little birds do leave the nest someday."

"It wouldn't be possible without you."

His mother looked at him with a proud gaze, "Go. Find her. If memory serves right, I might have seen someone like her dwell everyday in the local library."

The man released his breath he never knew he was holding. Diluc hugged his mom again with a peck on her cheek. He then let go and began to exit the room with haste.

"Once I come home, I will tell you everything. Venti, Morax, the Twin Travelers, the Archons, and Visions. I will tell you everything."

With a rush, Diluc was now out of sight. Yet, the Madam Ragnvindr was not saddened. Her heart swelled for her son whose eyes are finally, once more lit with happiness. However, who's Venti?

A/n: welp truth be told diluc's story took an unexpected turn lol. It's either I'm going to leave this like that or continue it. Take your pick by commenting because I'm actually fine with either options haha happy reading <3

[the-voltage-diaries]

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου - Lucifer x Diavolo

AO3 Link

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου: Greek for ‘My Polar Star’

Word Count: 1859

A/N: I don’t know what this is. All I know is that @simpingw0lfi3​​​​​​​ refused to do it, so I did. Of course, please don’t expect this to be perfect because... it really isn’t. 

Vote of thanks: @akaiiro-yume​​​​​ for checking and correcting all the grammatical fuck ups I did, making sure I didn’t stop writing this halfway and going through any mental breakdown I might have had instead for me. And, of course, @some-ikemen-snob​​​​​ for making sure this SCREAMED Lucifer energy this way and that. only for now, but ily both.

Devildom 14th February, 20XX Saturday, 7:57 PM

Dear Diary,

      I suppose I've never written a journal entry such as this in the past, for I haven't found either the desire or the will to task myself with writing my thoughts down in a manner wherein I speak to an inanimate object. That said, I have been told writing is, in a manner of speaking, therapeutic, and I believe I could do with some of that right now. It would be false to assume I don’t still harbour any inhibitions towards using my time in this manner, especially when I'd much rather be by Diavolo’s side. The very same Diavolo who, as a matter of fact, happens to be the subject of this writing session today. Strangely enough, and if I recall correctly, he was also the one who introduced - which is putting it rather mildly - me to the “art” of journal entries. I admit, I haven’t given this activity the kind of gravity which was probably expected out of me, but then again, today is a little different from the rest. I'm not entirely certain as to where to begin, but I do believe I have been told in situations like these, one should do whatever... feels right.

      Diavolo is... well, where do I even begin? He is the future of Devildom, as a few might call it - myself included. While he does appear to be quite the cheerful and at times careless lord, it’d be a lie to deny that he is just as wise and compassionate underneath that wave of buoyancy radiating off of him. Honest to a fault, but with his moral compass always pointing towards the best interest of those around him. I’ll admit, sometimes it proves to be rather difficult to believe that he indeed is a demon. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to compare him to the Polaris considering he does quite radiate the charisma from himself, shining admirably amidst a dark sea of onlookers. While in name he rules over all the demons in the land of Devildom, the right set of eyes won’t take too long to deduce the eloquence with which his fingers reach out to the soul of every single resident of the land, holding them together better than gravity ever bound humans to the earth. 

      Saying that is all there is to him would be a lie whiter than the wet snow, making its way to the tips of my fingers and sliding off gently onto this page. That, of course, doesn’t mean describing how I feel towards him is no herculean task. There are some cases when a language -  no matter the plethora of vocabulary it offers - just isn’t sufficient enough, and this certainly is one of those cases. For the time being, let’s just owe my lack of articulacy to the bond of mutual respect and trust Diavolo and I share, built over centuries upon centuries, braving the ravages of time, and even perhaps the less than pleasing antics my brothers tend to pull. But while the impression the ruler of all demons and I tend to emit may seem to be distanced by a careful degree of professionalism, I don’t believe anybody knows that that might not be the case. Even Diavolo himself. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really, for they simply can’t know.

      Why do I believe that to not be the case, then? Well, I would wonder why I felt so strongly about it had I not known the reason myself. The very same reason which is now a secret so surreptitious that I can’t help but consider burning this piece of paper once I finish writing to ensure it is never revealed to another set of eyes. Such dastardly is the nature of this emotion, tricking one into its delusive warmth, encompassing them with the belief that nothing truly is impossible, that what they feel might just be true and meaningful enough to be returned by the other they feel for, only to cackle with glee and turn away when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy it was believed to turn out to be. The very same emotion which in layman’s terms is apparently called... love.

      I’m not entirely certain I understand the extent of its exquisite existence myself, to be truthful. All I know is no matter how intensely I try to shut the door on its escaping fumes, it turns futile the second I lay my eyes on the man in question. While the rest of the known universe sees an omnipotent leader binding everyone together, making them sing the same tune in harmony, I see what I can only consider an anchor, grounding me, making it so that I can’t ever fall into the abyss of the darkness that breathes inside of me and float away. He is the quintessence of the best of what the world has to offer, with his golden eyes sparkling like stardust, weaving their ever-lasting magic into the hearts of whoever they come across - be it human, or demon, or angel - wrapping them in their never-ending warmth, letting them sink into the depths of benevolence they promise. His hair are the cerise of a raging inferno, sheltering beneath their canopy a quick, sensible, erudite mind. His smile is but a warm culmination of everything optimistic and positive, like a flame inviting moths to it, reaching out to give their innermost yearnings a hand to grab on to and never let go. Simply divine. And this is where the paths diverge, I suppose.

      They see a to-be Demon King, I see Diavolo.

      But alas, love is a fickle mistress. Getting too lost in the charm of her alluring arms will only result in a doom of them wrapping around your neck, enticing, until you realise their hold is tightening. Not to hold on, but to suffocate. I might have gotten so lost in that fiery gaze that I didn’t notice it start to crawl along my skin, leaving a charred, burnt path in its wake. The very anchor which I believed to be the one to ground me and hold me close etched itself deeper into the oceanic floor of delirium, drowning me. The threads of his stardust wrapped themselves around me and clutched hard enough to strangle. Before I knew it, the symphony of something meaningful became the cacophony of a nightmare.

      This red thread strung through itself earlier today the series of events I’d rather forget. I’ve known how I feel towards Diavolo for a while now, and I had been searching for an opportunity to come clean and let him know about it for the last few days. Not to say I hadn’t gotten said opportunities at all, but one could owe it to me being too prideful to admit I was finally opening up to the idea of accepting feelings and... emotions. Around that time was when Solomon let slip a few details about the significance of Valentine’s day in the human world as an annual occurrence to celebrate romantic love, friendship, and admiration, and with enough persistence, Asmodeus managed to convince Diavolo to declare the day as an official holiday. Just a few hours ago I walked along the empty hallways to Diavolo’s office, knowing him, Barbatos and I to be the only ones in the building, still choosing work over any form of inactivity. By then, I had talked myself into finally telling the most powerful of all demons about the feelings I harboured towards him. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was indeed a tad hopeful, wishing for the feelings to be returned. Once I reached the door to his private office, my hand settled above the smooth hardwood to give it a knock. And that’s when I noticed that the door was already slightly ajar. I heard a voice inside, other than Diavolo’s, and I took the liberty to glance inside, only for my hopes to come crashing down when the realisation struck me: I shouldn’t have done that.

      Inside his office, Diavolo sat in his seat with his mouth pressed against another, a hand trailing across the small face with dark green locks framing it with elegance while the other held on to the person’s waist, pulling him closer. My eyes widened when the smaller man of the two let out a muffled whimper, perched on Diavolo’s lap. Barbatos. I felt my heart squeeze out a pained croak at the sight, and even though every single nerve in my body begged me to move away and forget I ever saw anything, my legs didn’t move. They stayed glued to their spot on the floor even as I felt it crumble beneath my feet, just the way my eyes stayed on Diavolo. My lip trembled with a longing I never thought I’d experience when Barbatos intertwined his fingers with Diavolo’s, smiling into the kiss they shared, like the perfect harmony which was always meant to be. It was when Diavolo broke the kiss, eyes meeting the other’s and whispers of love and confessions floating across the room until they settled on my ears, that I finally felt the mask crack. The facade I had worked on for centuries to lay the foundation of crumbled as my fists clenched, letting myself have a moment of weakness when a lone tear of frustration, delay, anger, and self loathing dripped down my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling, a voiceless laugh tumbling across my lips at the cognisance that the Polaris I was reaching out for, shining proud in the middle of a dark, cloudless sky, was beyond my reach, and... never supposed to be mine. How far I could stretch, how willing were my fingers to make one last attempt to touch it’s light and bask in it - all of that didn’t matter anymore.

      I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking once as I tucked away whatever it is I was going to tell Diavolo in some corner of my mind, crushing the key with a hard snap of my fingers. My eyes found Barbatos again, glazing over with a heartfelt wish for him to find his happiness, at least. It was with one last aching smile towards Diavolo and a euphoric laugh spilling from Barbatos’ lips that I turned on my heel, shaking my head at the fate I was handed. Needless to say, I hold no malice towards either of them - they’re both precious to me, as much as I dislike admitting it.

      I believe I have shared more than what was required, and I shall burn this piece of paper lest anyone finds it. One might call it wishful thinking on my part, but I do pray that watching the last signs of anything I harbour towards the one who wasn’t meant to be mine from the start burn as the embers of the fire consume it whole makes me put a lid on my feelings once and for all, for they were never supposed matter. They weren’t supposed to exist to begin with.

      After all, only a prince deserves a fairy-tale with a happy ending, and I am no prince.

Lucifer.

[marvelousell]

The Agreement (Part 2.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I’m giving you the juice guys👀. Hope you all enjoy this! I would appreciate it if you comment, reblog or send a feedback!❤️

My tag list is open for this series!

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol

Part 1.

“Tom.” Your mind was hazy, you tried your best to resist this, but holy shit you wanted this since forever.

“How about I suggest something to you darling?”

“Suggest?! Dear Lord am I really going to accept that suggestion.” The voice inside your head spoke, making you anxious.

You weren’t ready for this situation that happened all of a sudden.

Are you really in for a drunk one time thing?

Absolutely not.

But wasn’t that what you wanted?

Yes. Not like this, but yes.

“God get yourself together, maybe Tom really was right when he said that I need to loosen up a bit.” You continued, hoping that he couldn’t hear the thoughts that were literally screaming in your mind.

“What do you say darling?” Tom’s hoarse voice brought you back to reality.

“Can you repeat that please?” You asked.

His lips were brushing over your earlobe as he chuckled quietly, sending shivers up and down your spine.

Now I see why every freaking girl is crazy about him.

He knows what he’s doing.

“I said..” He started again, moving the strand of your hair behind you ear, “We are best friends right?”

You nodded, eyes now fixed on his.

“And ya know, friends help each other.” He stated.

“I said, what about we be each other’s relief?” His eyebrow rose up, trying to say “what do you think then?”

You knew what this meant.

Friends with benefits? Could you really keep up with that?

You would basically be like the other girls around college, but for more nights.

God that sounded disgusting.

“Come on Y/N this is once in a lifetime. You could have amazing sex and still your best friend by your side, and at least you’re doing it with someone you know.” Your mind having a monologue again, now making you more and more sure that you’re going to say yes.

“Tom I..” You tried to form a sentence, but the alcohol and anxiety got mixed together, creating a stuttering mess.

“You know love, just sex, whenever you need me and whenever I need you.” He said.

“We can set some rules if you want to, but later because I just want to feel you already.”

His palms were squeezing your bum, and light kisses were pressed near your ear.

The heath was rushing not just to your cheeks but downstairs as well.

Fuck this I haven’t had some good time in a while, I’m in.

“So, gonna answer me love? Are you going to let me pleasure you?” His teeth sank into your neck, receiving a croaky moan from you.

“Shit, yes. I want this.” You answered, grinding your hips innocently against his.

He didn’t need to hear more, his hands gripped your hips bringing your torso as close as he could to his.

His lips attacked yours, the make out that was full of lust got faster and hotter.

You were whining in his mouth, hungry for more. His hands would caress your inner thighs, his thumbs extremely close to your now dripping heath.

“Bedroom?” He broke the kiss, still holding the nape of your neck.

“Mhm.” You uttered, bringing your lips back to his swollen ones.

“So eager already.” Tom’s voice and laugh ringed through your ears.

He stood up with you in his arms, your arms around his broad shoulders and in his messy hair.

Your heart was a beating chaos. This wasn’t you, but hey maybe trying something new wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe.

Tom was fast, stripping out of his clothes so he could focus on you only.

You saw him a million times shirtless, but goddam his toned chest and muscles were making you currently flustered.

“To much clothes, don’t you think love?” His hands slid inside your shirt, teasing your underboob.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, wanting to feel his fingers on your erect nipples.

His hand went down to the band of your shorts, sliding them down awfully slow.

Tom wanted to explore every part of your body, however the throbbing in his pants didn’t allow that, distracting him majorly.

He was going crazy from the view in front of him.

The image of you with your legs in the air, begging him for more haunted him for a while, and now it would finally come true.

You got in the meantime rid of your shirt, now waiting for Tom to leave you both only in your underwear.

The alcohol pumped through your blood, making you more confident than ever.

Your hands were roaming your body, finally coming to your breasts.

The pad of your thumb circled around your hard nipple, forming a moan in your throat.

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you Y/N?” Tom needed to slide a comment. How could he not after seeing you play with yourself?

He’s gonna fuck you so hard.

“Just do something, please Tom.” You managed to mumble.

Tom’s hand made his way to your core, placing his palm there, cupping your clothed pussy.

The feeling of you dripping already, staining your little panties was a pure bliss for Tom.

“My, my, my…” He began with a smirk on his face, “This wet just for me? You are gonna make me fucking explode love.”

The dirty talk.

He did it on purpose, always wanting to hear them beg for more.

“Stay still love, and tell me what do you want.” He began to rub your clothed clit, eyeing your breasts and your fingers that were playing with them.

Your eyes were closed, your back arched, waiting for any kind of touch.

“I-I need you.” You half whispered, trying to move your hips closer to him, only to get stopped by his hands that pinned you down.

“Come on love, I think you can do better than that right? Are you going to be a good pet and tell me what you desire?” His thumb going down to your entrance, sliding up and down a few times.

My God you were falling apart.

He knew you were a fucking goddess under all of those school clothes.

Before you could answer he sneaked his finger inside of your panties, coming in contact with your wetness, teasing the shit out of you.

“Oh crap Tommy, need you inside of me. Need you to fill me up. Please.” You pleaded, sweetly.

“Did you really said that Y/N?! Never knew you had that in yourself.” Your mind active once again.

You tried to push away the thoughts, to enjoy this much wanted moment.

“Since you asked so nicely, I need to grant your wish for sure.” He laughed, peeling off his boxers, freeing his hard member.

You lifted yourself up, observing his naked body.

“Oh don’t be awkward now Y/N, show him that you’re not a dull one.”

Your knees were on the mattress, his abs flexing from the touch of your fingertips that brushed down to his cock.

“Bloody hell..” He muttered, closing his eyes, “As much as I want to feel your sweet mouth on me I-shit.. need to leave that for another time.” Tom’s sentences were a mess after you wrapped your hand around his shaft, stroking him a few times and leaving kisses on his abs.

You wanted to tease him a bit more, stroking his red tip, smearing the precum.

“You gonna tease me? I don’t think so darling.” He got himself together, pressing you down on the bed.

“Open your legs for me, I want to see you.”

You obeyed him, spreading you legs wide open.

Tom was still convinced that this is all a dream.

That he was probably drunk, horny and now having a sex dream about you.

“Tommy..” Your voice made him so weak.

He wanted to hear his name on repeat coming from you.

To scream it before you cum, so everyone knows who is making you feel this way.

Tom loved the feeling of your body that was writhing beneath him. He loved how vocal you were, never wanting this moment to end.

“Condom?”

“I’m on the pill.”

His tip glided up and down from your clit to your entrance.

He took his time, entering you steadily.

The warmth and tightness of your walls made him growl, clutching your legs harder from the pleasure you were giving him.

“Christ, you are bloody amazing.” He said, placing his arms near your head to hover over your body.

His lips crushed into yours for another heated make out.

The movements became faster and rougher, his arms pushing your legs to your chest to go as deep as he could.

Both of you were moaning in unison, enjoying the mutual pleasure.

“On your knees love, want to see your beautiful ass while I fuck you.” He commanded, slapping your ass once when you were turning around.

“I really turned you on huh? Look at you you’re leaking. Fucking amazing.”

“Ah, shit Tom.” You cursed as he slipped into you.

You were feeling so full.

He gripped your hair, slamming into you rapidly.

“Who knew you were this dirty love. I guess I was wrong about you being boring. You just needed someone who can show you a good time. Isn’t that right love?” He asked, pressing his chest on your back.

“Oh fucking helll, yes. Yes that’s right.” You cried into the sheets, grasping them tightly.

He smiled into your shoulder, kneading your breast, pinching the sensitive nipple.

You were almost near the edge, squeezing around him uncontrollably. His hand found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing harsh circles over it, only to feel you shake around him.

“I-Tom, please don’t stop. I’m so close.” You begged, arching your back.

“Go on love, I can feel you squeezing me. Let go, cum for me.” His words made you come undone in a second, with him helping you to ride out your orgasm.

“Fuuuuck.” You groaned loudly.

“That’s it, Gosh you look heavenly when you cum, can’t wait to see that every day.”

His thrusts became sloppy, he sneaked his arm around your stomach and one on your shoulder to pound into you harder.

He pulled out, jerking his cock.

The thick ropes of his cum covered your back and ass, making you squeal from the feeling.

The room was filled with your grunts, heavy breathing and the smell of sex.

Tom made his way to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean himself and you.

“This was…” He began, still breathing heavily.

“Something new.” You added, rolling under the sheets to hide your body.

“Yeah.” The silence was eating you up now.

God what now? Is everything going to be totally awkward from now on? Is he going to leave like he does normally?

To many questions calm down Y/N.

“Can I stay for the night?” His question threw you off the tracks.

Well he stayed in your apartment a thousand times, but when things weren’t like this.

Doesn’t he usually leave after this?

“Maybe he is just tired and wants to stay, don’t be stupid he doesn’t do feelings. And you shouldn’t involve yours you know he would never love you in that way.” You overthought again.

Yes, he is tired that’s all.

“Of course.” You answered, standing up to put on a shirt and make your way to the couch.

“Hey where are you going?”

“Um on the couch? You can take my bed it’s not a problem really.” You said softly, fumbling the hem of your shirt.

“Don’t be stupid Y/N. We slept in the same bed since we were little, you don’t need to be shy now.”

“I-I guess so.”

“You want to talk about this a little?” He asked, as the two of you got under the sheets.

“Sure.” Your eyes were glued to his side profile, admiring every detail of his face.

“Did you ever do something like this?”

“Not really.”

“How you mean not really?” He chuckled, turning his head to face you.

“Well I did have sex..but with a friend and for a long time, no.”

“It’s okay. You know that you’re my best friend right?” He asked you once again tonight.

Best friend. Right.

“Yes..”

“And I mean you’re attractive as fuck honestly.”

“Oh c’mon now, you’re just trying to get in my pants.” You laughed, leaning your forehead on his bare shoulder.

“I already did.”

“Jerk.” You slapped him on the arm.

“Okay, now for real. I just wanted to say if you really want to, we could be like this friends with benefits thing. You know.” He began.

“We’re friends, there are no feelings involved between the two of us so it makes it easier don’t you think? But we can both pleasure each other when we feel the need to.”

No feelings my ass.

Dear God I want this more than anything.

Can I really put the feelings aside?

Hope so.

“Yeah, I agree. You know at least I’m doing this with you, not a stranger.” You said.

“That’s what I was saying. And at the end of the day we still be friends, doing things that we usually do.” Tom stated, flashing a smile to you.

“True.” You smiled back at him.

“So, want to talk about some ‘rules’. I mean just so we don’t get confused.”

“Absolutely. I guess first one is no feelings right?” You sat up, turning your gaze to his as he did the same.

“Yes, but that won’t be tough we’re besties, however if it happens we need to tell each other, so we can stop it okay?”

Uh-oh.

“Got it.”

“We can have sex with other people, you can have relationships and that stuff, me as well but you know I’m not interested in that so I’m sticking with the first thing.”

“Absolutely, I’m not gonna be with your ass only.” You joked, receiving an eye roll from Tom.

“Okay, so we’re keeping this a secret, even from our friends and your brothers.” You spoke.

“Sure, anything else?” Tom asked.

“We still do our movie nights right?”

“Definitely, we’re doing everything we’ve done since now.” He laughed, embracing you in a hug.

“Okay deal.” You extended your hand to seal the deal.

“Deal.” He took your hand shaking it once.

“Now let’s sleep, I’m tired, half drunk, and my head is pounding.” You added, sinking down to adjust yourself to go to sleep.

“Yeah, we both need it after this night.” He lay down, turning his back to yours.

“Good night Tom.”

“Night love.”

-

Tag List:

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[nikibogwater]

Bogwater’s Guide to Writing Platonic Relationships

Have a seat, dears, pour yourself a mug of cocoa, and let’s talk about writing for a bit. Specifically, writing emotionally intense, compelling relationships that are completely devoid of any romantic tension.

“Niki, those don’t exist! The only relationships that are truly intense and compelling are the romantic ones! Everybody knows that!”

*gently bonks you on the head with my magic scepter* NO. This is a common misconception that is perpetuated by media and especially fandom culture. And it stems from this bizarre idea that emotional intimacy must always equate with romantic intimacy. I have no idea where this idea got its start, but if you ask literally anybody who has experienced real, genuine friendship in their life, they will tell you it’s absolute nonsense. Just because you’re not doing the kissy-kiss with someone, that doesn’t mean you’re not emotionally intimate with them.

“But I don’t want any emotional intimacy without the kissy-kiss! It’s boring!” 

Yeah, so, there’s a reason platonic relationships in modern media often feel less interesting than romantic ones, and it’s precisely because of what I said above. Media producers and many fic authors are skittish about showing platonic love with the same level of depth and emotional intensity as romantic, so it often ends up being somewhat watered down and simplified, to the point that it becomes a less interesting relationship. The only thing this does is perpetuate the idea that any and all emotional intimacy immediately implies romantic attraction (it does not) while also devaluing the very real importance of genuine friendship/familial bonds. 

“Okay, but what if I just like romance better?”

That’s your personal preference, and that’s okay! Everybody has their favorite genres and tropes that resonate with them more than others. My personal favorite is Family, Found or otherwise (with a healthy dose of Hurt/Comfort on the side), but I can totally understand if romance speaks to you more. HOWEVER. This does not excuse writers and other content producers from low-key asserting that romantic relationships are objectively “better” than platonic ones. Hard fact of life: Nobody needs to experience romance, and even those who do experience it do so in different ways. But everybody does need to have emotional connections with other people through the bonds of friendship and family. Believe it or not, romantic love is not a universal experience. Platonic though? Everybody knows that one, and everybody needs it to be happy. To devalue it as a whole is to impose a toxic mindset that forces people to experience relationships in a very narrow and restrictive way.

Okay--*steps off my soap box and kicks it to the side*--now that we’ve established that friendship is important and should be given the same value that society gives to romance, let’s talk about a few ways to write intense and compelling platonic relationships!

Emotional Intimacy:

I’ve talked about this a lot already, but just in case some of you are confused, emotional intimacy is just when two people have a very deep familiarity and understanding of each other. They understand how the other’s mind works, and feel comfortable opening up to each other about their own stuff. Obviously, this is very important for any relationship, platonic or romantic, but writers will often limit such familiarity between characters to the romantic relationships. The first step to writing an interesting friendship is to not do that. Show that your platonic soulmates understand each other and are vulnerable with each other. Here are some easy ways to do that:

Character A knows all of Character B’s personal preferences--likes and dislikes, including small things like food, flowers, music, etc. 

A can finish B’s sentences for them. 

A is willing to talk about their feelings when B asks if they’re okay.

A and B trust each other and know the other always has their back

A and B will occasionally reference events in their shared history and even have inside jokes

A will seek B out for comfort when they are upset.

A and B almost never miscommunicate--they know what the other means when they say something, and will immediately notice if the other is acting strange.

A and B can communicate with each other silently, via subtle looks, eye movements, or gestures.

Selflessness:

To quote a grossly over-marketed Disney franchise, “Love is putting someone else’s needs before yours.” This is the simplest and also most accurate definition of love I’ve come across, and it is universal to all kinds of relationships. So in order to make your platonic relationship compelling, you need to show that the characters are willing to make sacrifices for each other--even big ones. Make sure this is a mutual exchange between both characters, because otherwise you risk making the relationship look a bit toxic. Here are a few of my favorite examples of selflessness between friends/family:

Character A willingly puts themselves in harm’s way in order to protect Character B.

A is always ready to drop what they’re doing and come to B’s assistance. 

A and B regularly do small favors for each other without being asked. 

A is always mindful of B’s needs and makes sure they’re taken care of.

A and B always do their best not to hurt each other, either physically or emotionally. 

A is openly very worried whenever B is in danger and stops at nothing to help them.

Affection:

This is the part where most writers balk when writing platonic relationships. “They can’t touch each other!!! That’s sexy and weird!!!” No, it’s not. This idea that any and all signs of affection are exclusive to romantic relationships is toxic, and we need to wipe it from existence. Obviously there are different levels of physical intimacy, and some absolutely are exclusive to romantic relationships. Here’s a list of No-Gos if you want to keep a relationship completely platonic:

Kissing on the lips/mouth/neck.

Gazing deeply and silently into each other’s eyes for long periods of time for no other reason than to simply Gaze.

Doing the Do or otherwise touching each other in an explicitly sexual way (I feel like this one should be pretty obvious. Also wth guys, that stuff is grooooosssssssss 🤢)

Honestly those are the only ones that I can think of that are always exclusively romantic. Everything else requires pre-established context in order to be taken as such. So here’s a list of affectionate gestures that are totally safe for established platonic relationships!

Little forehead/cheek kisses.

Hugs--yes, even prolonged ones. Sometimes friends/family just want to hold each other for a while, and not in a sexy way. 

Holding hands.

Leaning on each other.

Playing with each other’s hair or gently petting it in order to offer comfort.

Sleeping next to each other when circumstances require it (and neither of them makes any fuss over it)

Saying “I love you.” STOP MAKING THIS AN EXCLUSIVELY ROMANTIC THING, PLEASE, FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS PURE IN THIS WORLD!

Touching foreheads (my personal favorite of the lot!)

Maintaining prolonged eye-contact during moments of sincerity and communication, especially if Character A is trying to tell B something important.

Sweet little smiles, or other such soft looks of fondness

And many other gestures that I don’t have time to go over in this list.

Tip the First: When writing platonic affection, be sure to bear in mind your characters’ personalities and physical differences. For example, if Character A is significantly bigger and heavier than Character B, they probably wouldn’t be tackle-hugging B, because that would risk seriously injuring B. Different personalities also have different levels of comfort when it comes to physical affection. If you’re writing fanfic, it helps to revisit the source material and observe how the two characters interact with each other. And remember: just because two characters aren’t physically affectionate with each other, it does NOT mean they don’t have a deep and meaningful friendship. Also bear in mind that many people have different dynamics with different friends simply due to the way their personalities fit together. Not all of my friendships look the same, and it’s not because of insincerity on my part--I just have different interactions with different people.

Tip the Second: If you want the gestures of affection to really pack a punch, use them sparingly. Save your long, warm embraces for when the two characters finally reunite after a long separation. Have Character A take B’s hand only when they can sense that B is frightened and in need of reassurance. A “First Platonic Hug” scene can be just as sweet and feelsy as a “First Kiss” scene if you do it right! Also, don’t be afraid to talk at length about how a gesture of affection makes a character feel. Describe the warm fuzzies that bubble up in their chest when their friend/family member gives them a hug, wax poetic about how grateful they are to have said friend/family member in their life. Taking time to explore and dwell on a certain feeling should never be strictly reserved for the ones associated with romance. 

And when in doubt:

Observe the professionals. Here are some fantastic platonic relationships from various pieces of media that I take tons of inspiration from:

Frodo and Sam from Lord of the Rings (especially in the books)

Jim and Toby from Dreamworks’ Tales of Arcadia series

Din and Cara from Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Lilo and Nani from Disney’s Lilo and Stitch

So in conclusion:

Listen, I get it. Romance is exciting and cute and sexy and very important in its own right, and society likes to beat us over the head with it these days. But I cannot impress on you enough just how vital platonic relationships are to living a good and fulfilling life. I am who I am today because of the family and friends who have helped me grow. Please don’t disregard it, whether in your writing or in your own life. Cherish friendship. Acknowledge the depth of your platonic feelings for someone. And writers, please don’t be afraid to express those feelings in your work. If we let friendship and family die, I can assure you, any potential for healthy romantic relationships will quickly follow suit. 

[irene-sadler]

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka “The Tournament”)

`       Had Isbel made it rain? Meve thought maybe Gascon was onto something, but knew better than to ask. Regardless, the weather had changed by morning to a chill wind and cloudy sky which warmed to a damp, but rainless, afternoon. Possibly it was pleasant enough for those observing the proceedings and eating roasted nuts; she herself was drenched in sweat and could see only a small, square piece of the world beyond the two-inch thickness of leather, eighth-inch of steel, and heavy coat of dull black paint that separated her head from the outside world. Her view of the day was of pale gray skies, floating colorful banners, and the back of Bohault’s armor directly in front of her.

             (“The tourney armor is not quite what you’re used to wearing.” Reynard had advised her, the night before. “It’s heavier and thicker.”

           He’d considered the hastily-painted set he’d loaned her, frowning doubtfully.

           “I must admit, I’m concerned that a few of these knights might recognize my armor even with the black paint, but will of course know I’m not in it; luckily it will be hard for them to say much about it if you arrive with no time to spare. Of course, a real professional can generally tell who is wearing a set of armor by the way they fight, whatever disguise they may employ, but they’ve never seen you fight, and even if they know my armor, and they know me, they may not figure out the discrepancy before it’s too late; for them, I mean.”

           She’d grinned, gap-toothed and wolfish.)

           She wasn’t smiling then, because of her jangling nerves, but he was right. It was impossible to see much of anything through the helm, much less recognize an individual knight, or realize that someone wasn’t really a knight. The roped-off lists teemed with a shifting, crushing press of horses and people – knights, footmen, valets, and Gascon, visible in the front of the mass, talking to Reynard, although she had no idea what they were saying, between the din of the crowd in the distance and the rattle of armor directly around her.

             (“You won’t be able to hear much of anything, what with the crowd and the helm,” Reynard had continued, with a smile that almost matched hers, “It’s easiest to just listen for trumpets. The first you’ll hear are a warning to prepare yourself.”)

           She heard a distant blare of instruments through the metal and leather that protected her head; her destrier, a massive bay animal, twitched his ears at the sound and sidled gently away from her neighbors, carrying her footmen and valets along with him like lesser celestial bodies. She sat still as he completed his movement and then stood patiently, unaffected by the din or by the dramatics of any of the horses near him. A veteran, she noted with appreciation; she’d borrowed him, like the armor, from Reynard, and wasn’t sure which of the two she valued more at that moment.

             (“The second time you hear horns will be when the melee is over. Once all is in order, they’ll cut the ropes; you’ve seen this done, of course. After that you may fight whoever you come across who is on th’ opposing side. As you aren’t a famous, or infamous, knight, nobody will single you out in particular, and all you need to worry about to succeed is staying on your horse – but you’ve been in plenty of real battles, and you know that. I think you’ll do very well, under the circumstances.”)

             The mass of men and animals waited; a drift of wood smoke floated over them and found its way through the little gap in Meve’s visor. Her eyes watered; she battled the urge to sneeze, lost, and, at that moment of weakness, the pack suddenly surged forward, carrying herself and her horse along with it. She juggled her lance and the reins for a moment, then noted the frustrated cant of her horse’s ears as he broke into a slow, heavy trot with the rest of the mass of rattling, encumbered men. It occurred to her that the animal knew more about his business than she did, so she dropped the reins, couched her lance, and knocked down her first attacker by instinct as much as skill. The spear shattered on impact with his breastplate and she continued on her way, dropping the useless splinters and happily shifting to more familiar tactics.

             (Reynard’s face had turned unsure again, as he spoke. She suspected he was more nervous than she was, herself.

“- you’ll do very well unless, of course, you fall off, and then it’s anyone’s guess. You fight well on foot, better than I do, in fact, but it’s still best for you to stay mounted; mine will do his best to keep you aboard if he possibly can.”)

 With a lance, she was awkward at best, but with a mace, she was perfectly competent. Reynard’s horse needed no guidance, and she battered her way through one, then another, of the defendant knights, as they happened to pass into her narrow view. She smashed through the lance of the first as he tilted at her, turned back after him, shoved him to the ground with her shield, and kept going. The second knight she recognized with satisfaction - he was dressed in red armor and had, seeing her unstoppable approach, moved to block her way. Her horse turned himself obligingly to put her alongside. She swung, experimentally, was easily blocked on his shield, and deflected an answering sword-blow with her own. Her next swing was delivered with the full force of her personal dislike behind it. The hit dented the stranger’s shield and splintered her mace; the head flew off into the air. They paused, staring at the splintered handle of her weapon in mutual astonishment.

             (“But if you fall, Meve, you ought to yield; Bohault and th’ others will keep you in one piece. At least, I hope they will,” Reynard added, with a doubtful frown, which he shook off sharply. “Yes, they will, you’ll be fine. However, should you lose your helm-“

           “Oh,” she said, taking his hand and steering him away from the armor, “Not to worry; I’ll wear a knit hat to cover my hair, and nobody will notice. Although, I do wish Isbel hadn’t refused to charm the thing so it wouldn’t come off at all, but I suppose that’d be an unfair advantage.”)

           The moment was interrupted as someone hit the back of her helm from behind, a clanging blow that crashed her off her horse and into the clinging mud below. Isbel had most definitely caused the rainstorm, Meve reflected distractedly, as someone immediately dragged her up out of the muck and onto her feet. The stolid, middle-aged face of Bohault loomed overhead. He released her as she dragged her sword out of its sheath, and shouted an angry negative at whatever he was saying. She abandoned the horse and her shield, pushed Gaspar out of her way, and strode off in search of a new target, ignoring her ringing ears. Close by, one of her allies was scrambling backward, under desperate siege by a pair of opponents; she dealt one a hard punch to the helm with her armored fist, closed with the second and disarmed him with a clever twist of her weapon that sent his sword flying, turned back to her first victim, and scowled in disgust as the knight rapidly backed away from her and made his escape.

The man she’d rescued was floundering in the mud with his helm crooked; Meve made a momentary search, turning her entire torso to see through her visor, for his footmen, saw none, dropped her sword in the mud, and, gritting her teeth through her growing exhaustion, dragged him back onto his feet with both hands. She recognized his face with a flash of annoyance, noticed that his right arm was most probably broken, from the way his shield was awkwardly hanging, and sighed. Over his shoulder, Meve spotted the red knight coming for her, himself unhorsed; she hesitated, then raised her empty hand significantly, and, as he accordingly changed course and passed her by, reluctantly signaled to Bohault. The cavalryman and her own footmen circled around, blackjacks held against the thinning remains of the melee.

             (“You’ll get tired, sooner than you think, my dear, but recall that this isn’t a real battle, and you may quit the field at any time, even if the fight hasn’t ended yet.”

           She’d scoffed at the idea. Reynard smiled and shook his head at her.)

             “There’s no shame in retiring early, so long as you put in a valiant effort,” Reynard had said; she repeated his rhetoric to Ethan, just before Isbel snapped the squire’s right shoulder back into place. The youth had nothing to say in response, but managed to nod to convey that he accepted her comments as an absolute truth, given by his Queen, before he fainted dead away. She sighed, rubbed her aching neck, and prepared herself for another lecture from the sorceress, but to her mild surprise the older woman only nodded approvingly at her.

           “You’re wanted, ma’am,” Pug announced, sticking her head into the room, “And the Duke of Dogs warns that you’ve won some prize or something, and ought t’ prepare according.”

           “They’ve been saying that the black knight is in love with a princess who was turned by magic into a swan,” Isbel remarked. “And that he is searching for a way to turn her back; as part of his quest, he has taken a vow of silence, so that he neither speaks nor removes his helmet. I’ve no idea how these rumors began circulating, obviously.”

           “Fantastic,” Meve mumbled, reaching for her helm. “A swan, is it? Sound most inconvenient; for the knight, I mean. I’m sure the lady is quite content.”

             The prize was granted by the middle-aged wife of the defendant Baron, smugly standing in for the mysteriously absent Queen; Meve recognized the woman from the previous day’s jousting even through her narrow view. She was exhausted, but Reynard’s horse carried her to receive her due, again without any instruction on her part, and her mud-spattered armor disguised her slight shaking. Somewhere beyond her metal shell, a man haughtily announced, “Behold here this noble lady, accompanied by my lords the judges, who have come to give you the tourney prize, because you have been judged the knight who has fought best today in the melee of the tourney, and my lady prays that you will take it with good will.”

           She did, after a short pause before she realized she was being addressed, said nothing at all in response but only bowed, a motion made necessarily awkward by the weight of metal she wore, and then rode away.

             There was no avoiding either the feast or dance that night, and Meve’s dwindling morale was not improved on realizing she would be unable to avoid the Baroness, either; she didn’t dislike the woman, but her patience for small talk was limited, at the best of times, and almost nonexistent after her long day. Luckily, the older woman only eyed her speculatively for a moment as she sat down and then tactfully made uninteresting conversation on occasion. The evening therefore wore on tiresomely, but mostly in silence, until she nodded toward Gascon and his admirers and remarked to Meve, “I believe they grow them without brains, these days; you’d best keep that one in green away from your friend. Do you see her circling? A grasping creature; harpies don’t compare.”

           Meve, quite familiar with the behavior of harpies, considered the subject with an analytical eye and said, thoughtfully, “Hmm.”

           A few minutes later, they were deep in a detailed discussion of the merits and backgrounds of the women in the hall, and then, after another drink or two, the men as well; it carried them companionably until Gascon escaped the crowd and joined them. He flopped into the seat nearest Meve, uninvited, and consumed the rest of her drink with a dramatic sigh. The Baroness stared blandly at him; Meve rolled her eyes toward the other woman.

           “This is awful,” Gascon complained, “I don’t know how the two of you do this full-time. I think I was pretty rude, though; maybe most of those people won’t want to talk t’ me again.”

           “You get used to it, after a few decades – oh, what now?” Meve asked irritably, as the door to the hall banged open and an armed man strode confidently through. Conversation in the hall ceased instantly, as everyone else looked curiously at the newcomer: a soldier, Meve suspected from his patchwork armor of mail and leather and extensive mustache, or perhaps a mercenary. The stranger looked around himself, bowed toward the Queen and Baroness and said, politely enough, “Good evening; I’m looking for Sir Reynard Odo.”

           “Really? What for?” Gascon asked him, intrigued, but the knight stood up before the stranger could answer.

           “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked; Meve sighed as the stranger immediately declared, “My master, Sir Holt of the Fen, represents that you have offended his honor and demands that you apologize or else face the consequences.”

           “Who?” The Duke asked in a carrying whisper, blinking.

           “The red knight; you remember him,” Meve explained, much more quietly. “What did you do, Count Odo?” she asked, louder. The Count shrugged modestly.

           “He annoyed me yesterday evening, my lady,” he replied, “And so I threw him up some stairs. No, sir, I won’t apologize,” he continued, to the messenger. “Would do it again, in fact, given the chance.”

           Gascon grinned; the Baroness smirked; Meve had to duck her head slightly to hide her own slightly surprised smile. A whisper of comment and a few laughs went around the room; the stranger ignored them.

           “In that case, he challenges you to a duel, to restore his honor by force, says you are a recreant knight and no gentleman, and-“

           “Yes, yes,” Reynard interrupted, uncharacteristically impatient, “Gascon, would you mind arranging the details?”

           “Not at all,” he said, lightly. “Do you prefer swords, or something else?”

           “Doesn’t matter to me,” the knight replied, bowed to all present, and shot a quick glance at the Queen. She nodded, very slightly; he left the hall without another word.

           “Well,” she said to Gascon, as the stranger made his exit and the general din resumed, “I suppose we’ll be imposing on your hospitality for a few more days, then.”

           “Stay as long as you want,” Gascon replied cheerily.

             “I’m not surprised he wants to fight me,” Reynard was saying much later, sitting complacently with his legs stretched toward the inferno in Gascon’s fireplace and the knight who’d fought best that day resting her head in his lap, “But I did expect Sir Holt would choose a less melodramatic moment, if he called me out. These things would never fly in the royal court; you’d never get away with giving the melee prize to an unnamed knight who was dismounted and resigned early, no matter how gallantly he behaved toward his allies, or how well he fought beforehand. At least, not without any hurt feelings or complaints - not that I didn’t hear my share even here. Nor with trying to duel a judge of the tournament, for that matter, before it was yet officially over -”

           “She,” Meve interrupted, to redirect his lecture, “How well she fought. And I’ll give prizes in my court as I see fit, sir.”

           “Won’t be able to win all of ‘em yourself so easily, there,” he answered, “I thought you had fallen asleep; did I wake you?”

           “Resting my eyes only, my love,” she said, “I can hear well enough despite.”

           “It’s a fine trophy you’ve won,” Gascon said, examining the ruby-studded ring she’d been awarded with professional appreciation, “What will you do with it?”

           “Why, give it to the next swan I come across, naturally,” she said; Reynard almost laughed.

           “Say, Reynard,” the Duke continued, as if nothing unusual had happened, “Lord knows I’ve annoyed you hundreds of times, and yet you’ve never thrown me up some stairs. What gives?”

           “Did I say annoyed? I meant something else,” the knight replied, with an automatic glance at Meve. She raised an inquiring eyebrow up at him, smiled as he looked cagily away, and made no attempt to hide her gratification at his embarrassment.

           “Oh,” Gascon said, with an ironic smirk, tossed the ring to Reynard, and continued, inexplicably, “I get it. Well, I went against Sir Holt in the jousts th’ other day, and I don’t think he’s all that good of a fighter.”

           “He knocked you down in a single pass,” Meve noted.

           “Exactly;  nearly anyone else could have done it just as easily, so it proves no particular skill on his part.”

           “Yes, well, I fought him in the melee, and I think he’s more than passing good; you’ve your work cut out for you, Reynard. Although,” Meve added, “I should have beaten him in th’ end, without having to stop and rescue that squire of yours again, Gascon.”

           “No doubt,” Gascon agreed, with no obvious sarcasm. “Well, seems you’ve preparations to make, Reynard, so I’ll leave you to it. Don’t stay up too late.”

             Thick fog had settled in over the fort by the next morning; the Queen sent dozens of courtiers and retainers on their way before noon, moving very stiffly even to an unsuspecting eye, but otherwise appearing her usual self. The Duke, on the other hand, was visibly hungover and surly on top of it. The Baroness regarded her with a faint, amused smile, but said nothing of note to as she departed; Meve concluded that, probably, the older woman had gotten the wrong idea altogether about her relationship with Gascon, but it was too late to explain, even if she’d cared to bother. The only trouble with her and Reynard’s affair, she reflected, was that its private nature meant almost nobody else had any idea it existed, causing the occasional inconvenience.

           She managed the rest of the departures with casual patience. Those few of Gascon’s admirers who were truly dedicated braved his short answers and dull, stupid glare, to no profit - he had no obvious interest in any of the women, no matter what they tried. Reynard watched the proceedings on and off from a distance, saying nothing, but conveniently vanishing during the brief appearance and hasty departure of the red knight. By midafternoon, the last of the visitors were gone, leaving only the lesser mob of Meve’s own retinue. Gascon, who had suddenly recovered from his hangover and moodiness, departed for a conference with the enemy and returned late in the evening.

           “Sir Holt’s agreed to fight with th’ usual weapons, but not now. He says he wishes to postpone until some point in the near future; claims that his shield arm is injured from the melee due to a particularly hard hit, and he is, therefore, not prepared to restore his honor immediately,” he reported, helping himself to Reynard’s dinner. Meve smiled smugly.

           “So,” Reynard said, yielding over his mostly untouched plate and looking unusually irritated, “There was really no reason for him to interrupt your feast with this nonsense, yesterday.”

           “Well, he doesn’t wear that ridiculous red armor because he’s th’ uninteresting but considerate type, like yourself, my friend.”

           “I suppose I ought to go back to Rivia Castle tomorrow, then,” said Meve, without much enthusiasm, as Reynard rolled his eyes and Gascon grinned cheekily at him. “Two weeks away from court is, perhaps, a little long; I wouldn’t want them to start getting creative ideas in my absence.”

           “I’ll go too; no need to await Sir Holt’s recovery here instead of there,” Reynard said quickly.

           “Or you could stay here,” Gascon said hopefully, “Sure, it’ll take a few weeks, but by then it’ll be hunting season, which you shouldn’t miss - boars, should it snow early in the season, deer if it don’t, foxes either way - you’d be home in no less than two months, I figure, when all’s said and done.”

           The minor argument that immediately ensued brought Meve to a sudden conclusion; she considered that she wasn’t sure how, exactly, she could have missed the now very obvious reason for Gascon’s moodiness as she interrupted them:

           “Gascon, we aren’t parting forever or even departing on a long journey to distant Kovir, only going home, which is a few days’ ride from here at most; you may visit us at any time you choose.”

           Reynard glanced sharply at her and then adopted a distant frown. The Duke stared, apparently speechless for once; she looked back at him impassively until he said, “You spend far too much time with that sorceress; you’re acquiring a certain similarity of expression. Have you noticed it, Reynard?”

           “No,” the knight said stiffly.

           “Anyway,” Gascon continued, “I know all that, obviously, and, well, I’ll be honest: it does feel strangely isolated, out here by myself, after we all spent so much time together before; the two of you have each other, perhaps as a result you don’t feel the same - although don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for you both; no two people that I know suit each other better - but you’re right, it’s not as if I couldn’t make it to the capitol more often; it’s less simple for you to both drop everything and come all the way here, unless it’s with a good excuse like the tournament. I knew it’d work a charm.”

           He ran out of breath on his final, slightly triumphant phrase and stopped; Reynard looked thoughtfully from Gascon to Meve, whose victorious smile had quickly faded to a stunned, slightly hurt stare.

           “Perhaps,” he said carefully, “You might have said something about this earlier, instead of delaying and inventing plots, or been less cagey about it all week - in short, you could, generally, have handled this better, but,” he continued, a little louder as Meve opened her mouth to interrupt him, “We’ve all benefited, I think, from this - diversion, one way or another, so no lasting harm done.”

           Meve mumbled something under her breath, frowning.

           “The next time that you want to get together, however, you might find it convenient to just ask us, without any schemes to bring it about.”

           “Yes, of course,” Gascon said, “You’re right. Should I apologize?”

           “Not to me.”

           Meve shook her head at him, but Gascon said, “I’m sorry, Meve. How do people usually apologize, at court? Flowers? A card? Or I could let Sir Reynard knock me off a horse, like he will Sir Holt?”

           “No,” she said, “I can knock you off horses myself perfectly well.”

           “I await your summons, then,” he said, venturing a hopeful grin, “Or I could send a fruit basket; we will soon be well-supplied with apples -”

           “Look,” she said, finally cracking an amused smile despite herself, “It’s fine; I forgive you. Just - just don’t be such an ass, next time.”

           “I will never be an ass again,” he announced, mouthed thank you to Reynard, bowed gallantly, and then prudently departed. Meve stared at the spot on the floor where he’d been standing for a long moment, then sighed, cracked her aching neck and sat in Reynard’s lap, frowning.

           “That man is a disaster,” she remarked.

           “Do you want me to fight him, too?” he asked; she ran her fingers through his hair and said, fondly, “No, thank you. I don’t think a knock on the head will be of much use, here; Gascon will have to sort himself out some other way, I’m afraid. If he can.”

           “And what about you?”

           “Me? Well, I’m all right, I suppose.”

           Reynard looked up at her, frowning doubtfully.

           “Really,” she claimed. “Gascon does have one thing right; having you around makes the more difficult days easier to get through.”

           He looked less dubious; she grinned, kissed him, and added, “Although th’ effect might be in part a result of that hit I took in the melee; a knock on the head can solve one’s problems every so often, though not quite so often as it causes them.”

           “A good thing your head is so hard, then,” he noted with a smile.

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 18

Chapter 21, Pages 103-111

Previously, Mr. Palmer was a bad. Yep. Just a bad. Mrs. Palmer knows Willoughby and has seen Brandon recently, but not much came out of it.

Also, Happy Valentines day, ya filthy animals, and a happy (lunar) new yea-actually I just rewatched that scene from Home Alone 2 and I kinda don’t like it anymore. I just don’t like the idea of guns. Also it feels a lot more contrived now than when I was 10. Also a tad homophobic? I guess I might retire wishing people a good holiday and new year vis a vis calling them filthy animals.

I hope all you romantics are having a better time of it than the poor Dashwoods thus far!

Readthrough below.

Chapter 21

The Palmers have gone home to Cleveland.

But this did not last long; Elinor had hardly got their last visitors out of her head, had hardly done wondering at [...]

This sentence stretches out for eight lines, so Elinor has an excessive amount to think about the Palmers of, before new guests arrive.

Mrs. Jennings "discovers" she has two more relatives in Exeter, two Miss Steeles, who obviously Sir M invites to the next social occasion. Being, immediately. Poor Lady M, has to worry about more surprise strangers for guests. She still likes the new girls though, apparently they're good with kids. That'll earn the Lady M points.

And also obviously Sir M has got to involve the Dashwoods in this too. I don't blame the Dashwoods for ditching, this must be really exhausting. Sir M is the ultimate extrovert. I also forgot that the Dashwoods were related to him.

It's just a random thought, but everyone is in agreement that the Dashwood sisters are very pretty/handsome/beautiful. Well, except for Mr. Palmer, but he is stubbornly contrarian in general and I wouldn't trust him to even like the pure concept of happiness. I wonder how that is? I've never thought of any of my friends as beautiful, despite that I feel like they are on principle, and for lack of any dissenting opinion. Does that mean the Dashwoods are exceptional, or is that sort of aesthetic thought common for the time, or am I personally missing something about people?

Oh dear lord the children are actually just bullying the guests. Of course.

She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their workbags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment.

P-Please Lady M, have mercy on the Miss Steeles. So it's not that the girls are good with kids, it's just they they're really good at pretending this is okay to their host. This reminds me of the time a bunch of gifted and talented tweens tied my shoelaces together and tried to take snips of my hair for "DNA samples." Fun day. Those kids are like 20 now, I wonder how they're doing?

With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to cease crying.

HAHA! This is also another of the neat little spins that get lost in adaptation huh. Unless pains were taken to preserve this, on screen it would just be a scene where the child kept crying as they were being pampered. But here the single lines changes the whole character of the scene.

Regardless, remedying her youngest does produce a reason for Lady M and her children to exit stage, leaving the Dashwoods room and quiet to speak with the new girls alone.

The girls are still talking up the Middletons, so seeing as Marianne can't withold her true feelings for the sake of politeness, Elinor carries the weight of the talking. Which isn't much, really short awkward impasse on the quality of rowdiness in children.

beaux

I-what? One of the Steele sister has started talking about beauxs. I'm relieved that Elinor is as confused as I am on what a beaux with an x is. Elinor even uses it without an x, so I personally feel vindicated, though this implies that the x in beaux isn't silent when Miss Steele says it. Be-owks?

"Lord! Anne," cried her sister, "you can talk of nothing but beaux - you will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else."

Too late, Elinor has already written them off in her mind. I'd comment something or other about writing people off but honestly I'd be exhausted of all these strangers too.

Alas for Elinor and Marianne this feeling is not mutual and they are very much on the awkward end of, alas, unrequited friendship. How was everybody's Valentines day, by the way? I spent some time playing around with a piano. Turns out you can close your eyes and hammer anything on the major blues scale and it'll come out sounding sassy. :D

Anyway, to aid the Steeles in their quest for friendship, it seems Sir Middleton has armed the girls with every piece of gossip he knows or assumes of the Dashwoods. Whoop. So now they too know every about every brief brush with romance the Dashwoods have had.

The letter F- had been likewise invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter of the alphabet had long been established with Elinor.

Heheh, well, that'll happen. Ah, but it's even spread to the Steeles. Poor Elinor. Sir Middleton spills the beans nigh-immediately, while telling the girls not to blab about this "great secret."

Hrk. That's giving me personal flashbacks which I suppose I won't expand on, on pain of irony.

Buuuut it does reveal that the Steele sisters are apparently quite familiar with Edward Ferrars! Perhaps they can tell us why- oh, nope, nup. They also say basically nothing of substance, and Elinor is too reserved to interrupt them or ask questions. Well, it would probably seem really awkwardly eager too, to suddenly ask after the person you're probably deliberately trying to keep a social veil of plausible deniability up around.

And that's it for this chapter! So between this and last chapter, nothing immediate seems to have occured, but we've been introduced to the Palmers who know Willoughby and Brandon, and the Steeles, who know Eddie. If I had to guess I would hazard that this getting the setup out of the way for some sort of convergence of information later? The sort where the house of cards collapses, probably something that'll rattle Elinor something real shook. I feel like there's a shoe waiting to drop pretty hard with Eddie.

Sir Middleton is probably has a time bomb of a party in the works, if it would take gathering all these families in one place.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 25]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Previous

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I’m afraid your apologies fall upon blind eyes. The fact that you were able to sneak three letters was a surprise in itself. Please do not believe you have the power to bring your queen to her knees by missing your imaginary quota. We have a mutual understanding of priorities.

Remember, your safety is my everything.

No matter how you prefer it not to be.

Days folded into weeks and I was tied fast to the rolling waves.  

The goddesses willed today to be kind. The skies were clear and though summer was coming to an end, the breeze that rustled the trees was still warm. Hyrule Castle’s grounds are expansive and stretch into densely wooded forests owned exclusively by the Crown. Birds chirped sweet songs from the tall branches alongside the distant hum of the royal apiaries.

I shrieked. A clank of metal cut through the peacefulness.

My thin blade raked against the ground before its little momentum made it favor one side and hit the clay lamely. The backside of my hand burned an angry red and I pressed my lips together to hold a curse. The attacker, who I tossed an evil glare at, laughed gutturally.

“Infirmi vehvi.”

The passing glance turned into a scowl. I straightened, shooting a pointed accusation at Urbosa. “I am not weak.”

The corner of her mouth hiked upward. She even bent down to grab my weapon for me, tossing it my way instead of handing it over. I let out a short gasp as my fumbling hands took hold of the hilt.

“Oh, you’ve been studying!” Urbosa clapped mockingly with her own blade. “A shame your swordplay doesn’t match your academia.”

The sword was heavy in my hand, almost weighty enough that I needed to use both arms. My biceps burned and breath didn’t come to me easily. I let the weapon droop, a particularly undignified stance. “Impa, I implore you to reconsider.”

A tea table with two petite chairs sat at the edge of the copse. It didn’t belong with the scenery and had been drug from the castle several weeks ago. Impa looked up, languish in her movements as she pulled down her spectacles – another quality to her that made her seem so much older than she was. Odd rocks acted as paperweights to hold down the documents before her.

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” she said, dryly. “Inform me of which physical activity you prefer.”

I almost whined. “None. This is counterintuitive.”

“And wasting away in your office is better? No, don’t say your bedchambers because I have caught you time and time against sneaking letters out in the middle of the night,” Urbosa leaned on one hip.

Honestly? Even when I stamped my foot on the dirt and made a child of myself in front of the royal guard, I couldn’t completely disagree. It was mid-August in central Hyrule and for weeks at a time I would go without seeing the sun. Urbosa and Impa had been scheming for this together; forcing me outdoors to play petty games and when I vehemently worked against them under the guise of productivity, they played a hand I hadn’t seen coming.

“Ah, well,” my advisor sat back in her garden chair, towards her work. “I ponder how I should word a castle report to General Forester now that our Queen has given up swordplay.”

“Impa!” I met Anju who nervously shrugged from across the table.

As much as I hated it, Link didn’t need another disappointment. No matter how inferior, especially as of late. The supply line had been established by the time any skirmishes began. Though, from the coming reports, it was a project that was started far too late. Our strength out bested Gerudo forces as they were largely unorganized – at first. The following battles showed their adaptiveness and exposed our own faults.

It seemed that no matter how fortified the supply line grew, there would always be an attempted attack. Seasoned travelers were growing rightfully paranoid and provisions couldn’t be sent in large quantities, which burdened both the army and Gerudo Town.

And worse, the usurper was gaining ground.

Refugees were pouring from the Gerudo capital and, to my horror, learned that they attacked groups with small children. In our correspondences, I had to plead with Link to force one of his admirals to send men to sponsor their treks. There wasn’t opposition in his letters, but the strain in sparing troops was evident.

If they take the capital, then it will give reason to fear they will be able to travel north, Link had written. Fierlin has already proposed to establish a temporary camp by the Great Plateau, but I can’t do that to them now. Not this early on.

By them he meant his admirals, his captains, his men. I understood why Whitehurst had stopped me one day in the halls, admitting something he would never tell his counterpart.

“If you ever doubt our choice,” he had said with an uncharacteristically sound smile. “Nathaniel spoke of him several times after he pushed for replacement hearings.”

Urbosa attempted to bait me into swinging blindly again by lightly touching her blade to mine. Instead of loosening myself to anticipate her attacks, I tensed at the threat of suffering another rude smack to my wrist. The sight made her reprimand me.

“Feet parted!” she shouted, swiping at my feet. I gave a pathetic hop out of an irrational fear that my ankles would be cut through. She would never do anything to hurt me and the action was mostly born of annoyance: I haven’t been the ideal student she had been hoping for.

“Truly, Urbosa.” My voice was shaking more than I needed it to. “This is very harsh on a beginner!”

“Forgive me, my Queen,” Urbosa said without a drop of sorrow. Then, she smiled with a measure of mischievous. “Although you did have the advantage of Hyrule’s most renowned swordsman as your knight attendant.”

“Renowned?” I yelped as her sword clashed against mine. She was holding back, I knew, but my arm wavered under the kickback. “I had no idea that standing beside a person warrants a personal gain of their skill.”

Her response was in Gerudo and I paused our circling to process the words. I had been studying the language during my downtime. Since the Gerudo aristocracy was being housed within the castle, there was no shortage of conversation partners. Some words I couldn’t make out yet the little I could made my face catch a rosy red beyond the sweat that caught my forehead.

“That is entirely unwarranted!”

I swung back against her sword with the strength she had been vying for. It made me curse myself when the pride in her face swelled. Urbosa harked out her triumph, “Translate your emotions into force. Even the most beautiful of desert flowers bare thorns.”

A strand of hair had loosened from my braid and in grew matted against my damp forehead. “Some find my words to be prickly, but my bite has no comparison.”

“Depending on your opponent,” Urbosa nodded as I mirrored her footwork. I was a little shaky, my feet stuttering to match her own while keeping in mind where her eyes were. “Words with a sharp tongue can strike deeper than any blade. However, I think we can both agree that action has more immediate results.”

Our sparring went on until my muscles trembled and the soles of my feet were sore. We weren’t alone either. The notion of a group of noblewomen seeking solitude amidst wartime was laughable at best, outright reckless at worse. The ten men that surrounded us were once apart of my father’s personnel, an inner circle of knights who were both experienced and battle hardened. They were at ease, much to my preference, taking turns scouting the area and sharing a basket of foodstuffs. At one point I had suggested they be allowed to join in the war effort but I was told that my general wouldn’t even entertain the notion when it presented itself.

Still, I did my best to converse with those within the King’s Guard (a name I hadn’t had the energy to bother with changing). They were typically older men with families of their own presiding within the capital; each a story of their own that I would think of in the night when news trickled in riddled with death and carnage.

The victories, despite being so sparse, hadn’t allowed me any reprieve. My whereabouts were a constant reminder of my privileges, luxuries I didn’t feel fit for. Guilt – or was it shame? – made a home in the back of my mind when I would yearn for more than what my power could afford. As with my materials, I was rich in company to dine with. Platters that would never grow scant and goblets that would never run dry.

My father, Impa, Urbosa, and an army of advisors were dazzled by my smiles and ability to save face in adversary. There would always be those against war and my court was not without; all I could do was take it in strides with each evening I entertained the court.

“Any news?” I said to Impa as I maintained a neutral expression. Courtiers twirled about the floor, most were newly returned from the summer harvests and ready to gain favor with their still-new Queen. Little factions of particular lords and ladies clung to the borders of the throne room, gossiping or scheming, I couldn’t tell. But, really, was there a difference?

It almost made me regret not socializing with these people in my youth. Not that Father would permit such free time.

Without turning my head, I heard her make a noise of acknowledgment. “Nothing of consequence, dear.”

Exhaustion was heavy in her murmur. The real question was if that exhaustion was born of current events and from me. I kept the inquiry on my tongue.

“If there is,” I kept my voice low. “Please send them to my room.”

She didn’t need to respond. I stood, acting indifferent to the hundreds of eyes watching me and made my own way to the door. The upside to power was the lack of need to request an exit. Outside the doors was a man of the Knight’s Guard taking leave of another who he was talking to. I nearly felt bad for abruptly ending their conversation.

The knight bowed to someone behind me and Urbosa made herself known in a formal Gerudo fitting; glittering gold that would look odd on anyone that wasn’t her.

“Do you need accompaniment?”

I didn’t need to downplay the tiredness in my movements for her. “No, enjoy the reveling without me. I know how much you like the festivities and all too well of our aristocratic visitor’s tendencies to celebrate nothing until dawn.”

There was a critical look in her eye before it fell to a degree of understanding. We bid one another an uneventful goodnight with a short hug and I made my way towards the spiraling staircases without a care if there was anyone following.

My rooms were a bit tidier than I had left them. The bed was made with fresh linen and my night dress was spread over the covers neatly. Silently, I thanked myself for having Anju teach me how to lace a front-facing corset and let the drapes of fabric fall around my feet. Not long after, I was between the covers already half-way into sleep.

My mind clung onto the little consciousness I had left and I began to feel as if I were missing something. I tensed, the attempt to fall asleep slightly dashed.

He’s not here, I told myself, he’s not here and there is nothing I can do in this moment nor the next. The thought swirled like a mantra, but even then the coldness of the pillow beside me left no aid. A silly notion to miss a moment you felt only once in your life.

Step… two-three. Step.. two-three. Step… two-three.

A waltz, or at least a whisper of one, danced through me and into the movements that were both mine and not. My recollection didn’t come from seeing but knowing that I was in the throne room. It was much different from tonight, emptied and desolate.

“Do I humor you?”

The man with striking eyes was here, the charm of before now replaced with an intimidating seriousness. I wanted to spit venom at this nightmare and tell him he hadn’t broken me after all, but just like last time I wasn’t here to do that. His gaze was glowering, heated with all intentions that dream me ignored.

We took a turn about the room. I tilted my head and blinked up at him, “Only in the ways you hate.”

The words were backed by the knowledge of who he was. Knowledge I desperately tried to learn as I searched his vague outline.

Who are you? Tell me.

There was little response to my utterance aside from the slight pressure on my waist, which only caused a smile to form on my lips – barely there at all. I was teasing.

The pressure disappeared instantly. “You have met him.”

I watched him carefully now, feeling suspicious of his tone.

“We will always meet.”

The man’s chest heaved in laughter. “Yes,” he harked, “Indeed we will, but that was not in the way you and I shall. Never in the manner that he dallies in. We have an… inclination to put aside petty discrepancies, wouldn’t you agree?”

Confusion soured me. It was odd to feel like a third wheel in a conversation I was meant to be partaking in. Words bubbled in my chest yet I seemed to decide otherwise. He made a sound.

“Alas, you need not to tell me. Your ways speak clear that the mortal walks in your steps. Worshipping you like the dog you’ve made him.”

“You have come to mock me. Nothing more? As my children starve under your thumb?” I scowled, itching to say more but biting down on my urge. Already, I had said to much.

“Oh, no, my love,” he spat, “I have come to sing you sweet songs of our future.”

Suddenly, I was taken by scenes from far places. The heat was stifling, so hot I could hardly breath under the blaring sun. There was commotion around me and noise of huffing horses as wagons of supplies were being carried away. A quick glance at myself in my night gown said that no one could see me when they walked passed.

I breathed in the dry air, turning when I heard a particular conversation.

“The transport cases are too heavy for the mules to pull at once.”

It came from a large tent, the opening flap fluttering in a breeze that was just as hot as the air around it. This was unmistakably the Gerudo Desert and my chest grew wanton at the thought of who was inside. The business around me toned down and I took my first steps towards the tent.

My breath rattled uneven in my chest as my thoughts were spoken without the shapes of my lips.

“Why are you showing me this?”

Soft dissuasions beat vaguely against my urge to continue on, but my newfound control of my body and piqued curiosity were overwhelming. I pushed back the tent opening to see a dimmer setting. Light filtered through the canvas and persisted enough to void the need for lanterns. A large table sat in the middle of the space, littered with books and loose papers. Unpacked boxes coincided with the miscellaneous items and at the table, bending over to speak, was a man in uniform.

However, I didn’t pay much attention to him. The one in the chair held me rapt. I was unable to feel the carpet under my feet as I walked further within the tent, not particularly caring about much else.

“Then let’s pull them one by one.”

He was seated with his back to me and now I could make out the unmistakable wheat-blond hair. The man, officer, he spoke to sagged slightly in posture. “But, sir, by then-”

“Burn them,” my general said chastely, “Unless you plan to leave them as a gift to the our Gerudo friends, we either take our supplies with us or burn it. I have no intention of assisting in even the smallest stick of firewood. Is that clear, Captain?”

The tone he employed was foreign to me. Link sat up, looking at him where I could a glimpse of his side profile. My heart ached in a way I hadn’t expected. The man gave a silent sigh.

“Yes sir.”

Without another word, the captain stood straight and walked by me without an ounce of awareness. I swallowed, watching Link lean over what he was working on. Warily, I approached him and studied the way his appearance had changed.

How many months has it been already? Four, almost five months since his departure.

More importantly, how was this possible?

His hair was hardly tamed and seemed to had been shorn with a blunt tool – probably a knife. Ruminants from the vast sands clung from his cheeks to his hands, a testament to his time out here. It was obvious that he wasn’t happy and studied the pages of a book with heavy eyes that hadn’t closed for sleep in far longer than I cared to examine. One of his hands thumbed the next page while the other braced the side of his face as he slumped over the table, a straight seat long abandoned after the captain left.

Link looked far older than he was.

I watched his eyes skim the words and whispered uselessly, “I wish I could help you.”

Blue eyes wandered astray in my direction. I thought they would see right through me as all the others but instead…

“Zelda?”

A breath caught in my throat as his expression of distress morphed from shock to disbelief to a certain relief. “Goddess, Zelda… what are you… what are you doing here?”

Link stood to his full height, clad in uniform and every emotion flashing over him.

“This is a dream,” I immediately said, staggering back. His confusion followed me.

“What do you mean?”

He began taking steps toward me.

“This is a dream,” I repeated, this time more persistent.

It barely occurred to me that we weren’t in the tent anymore. We weren’t anywhere. Link didn’t seem to care. He smiled, reaching towards me.

“I don’t understand,” he shook his head. “I don’t understand, but I don’t have to. I missed you, Zelda. More than anything.”

Link’s eyes held an adoration that I had always yearned for… and yet it was out of place. His hands shook as they closed around my shoulders. “I thought about you every night, Zelda. I crave only you and your light. Your love and pity. I have prayed for a moment like this and here you are!”

“Link-”

“Don’t you get it?” his volume raised sharply. “I do this all for you. I slave for you, I plead for you, I kill for you!”

Then a sickening wet sound cut through his speech. He looked down first and I followed to where his gaze stopped.

Red coated his uniform, staining the midnight blue darker around the tear. Protruding from his abdomen was a silver blade tinged in his blood. I think I might have screamed. He looked back up at me with blank eyes and made a choking sound. Link’s lips formed a word.

I wasn’t in a tent with my dying general. I wasn’t anywhere, but I could still see the image of him dying in my arms with overpouring blood running from his stomach. I wanted to scream. I wanted to sob. Only tears ran from my eyes as the man of my nightmares swung me through our dance.

“A reminder of what I’ve done in the past. A warning of what I’ll do in the future.”

 ---

I had awoken in a sheet of sweat and tears. My throat was scratchy from the sobs of my sleep and I didn’t move to begin my day immediately. I spent the early morning hours curled in a ball on my bed without the energy to cry more nor the exhaustion to fall back to slumber.

Anju found me staring into the shadows of my room and decided to fetch my breakfast from the kitchen for me. While she sat with me, stirring a cup of strong tea in her hands, I didn’t talk about my dream and allowed her to tell me all the silly rumors the castle maids push around. Gratefulness ebbed at me with every smile she pulled from my lips. I still don’t think I deserve her loyalty and friendship.

“Any decent ones about me?”

She took a long sip of her tea, rolling her eyes. “Some ladies of the court fancy a royal wedding. They don’t have much care for wars.”

I hummed my understanding and took my time spreading strawberry jam on toast. “Predictable. I don’t blame them for looking for distraction. I’m sure the bordering lands have heightened concerns with quartering troops.”

My maid paused. “Quartering troops?”

I blinked. It was a dream, I thought harshly. It was a dream and nothing more. Why am I scaring her by thinking it was true?

“I meant for the injured,” I mended hastily. “Transport isn’t so secure until you cross Lake Hylia and some feel more comfortable healing in the towns than traveling all the way here.”

“Ah,” she nodded, “I suppose they aren’t as patriotic as I thought. I get it, though, I would be uncomfortable by the idea too. You know how Kafei and my father feel about taking holiday away from here.”

I breathed a breath of relief.

The remainder of the morning went without a hitch. I hadn’t received any intel overnight and despite my increased pestering, my inbox lacked anything regarding the war to the southwest. It seemed that my mind had fled any sense of reason regarding the mythos of premonitions. I jumped at any counsel about the conflict or how Admiral Byron’s spies should proceed.

I frowned at the sound of another unsuccessful mission. “I want eyes on him.”

“We have been monitoring their encampments for months,” Byron gestured to the war room’s map. “All aspects of their movements are accurate to the square footage.”

Half of the admirals, including Whitehurst and Fierlin, had taken leave early this month while the other end of the cabinet returned to Hyrule Castle.

“That’s not what I meant,” I watched the short man carefully. “General Forester has written that the war prisoners regard him with a reverence of a king. Please recall to me one specification he has recalled for us.”

He rustled through his papers before coming upon one and folded his arms over it. “The one true King of the Gerudo, Your Majesty,” he exhaled, then looked at me with tired eyes. “He is nothing but a usurper, a traitor, of the aristocracy.”

“How am I to react when I have no description of this man? When our men only hear of him as this… fabled legend? I will not accept the prolonging of that,” I sighed. “Do you see where my plight is coming from, Admiral Byron? I realize you’re without a doubt an accomplished man and leader within my army, however this problem still pesters me.”

The man pressed his mouth into a fine line, looking down. “I do. Moving forward I will follow through with this issue and provide you with results. Though I assure you that this Ganondorf is only below you, I will unmask him all the same.”

I bent my head towards him with a smile. “You are will met, sir. Thank you.”

The meeting in the war room was productive and filled appropriate guidelines to send Link’s way. I was pleased to see a familiar face.

“Sir Elian!” I grinned when he approached me after the meeting. “What a pleasant surprise!”

The knight took a short bow with a muddied helmet cradled under the crook of his arm. He must have just arrived in time for the next set of deliverables. I had seen him every now and again lately; his visitations becoming scarce as the war drew on and more precautions were put into place on the road.

“Queen Zelda,” Elian acknowledged kindly. “It seems the news hadn’t arrived yet. I was recently handed down a promotion.”

A conservative smile graced him as he sat on his heels, making the extra stripe on his uniform more pronounced. I clapped my hands together at his bravado.

“My apologies, Captain,” I laughed and voiced my congratulations. He deserved it, after all. There weren’t many that are up to the task of supervising shipments in this climate. “I must attend to Lady Urbosa in the gardens, however you’re more than welcome to accompany me.”

“Why, I could never turn you down,” he acquiesced.

The path from the war room was winding if one wanted to go to the gardens and I was happy to have a companion. I learned from our conversation that the roads were steadily becoming less fraught with ambush but it did little to calm the nerves of anyone who travelled.

“The Rito are slowly warming up to the idea of aerial surveyance. Especially now that we’ve proven to uphold our trade agreements,” I told him. “Their ambassador and Lady Urbosa butt heads constantly during court. It hardly helps.”

Elian chuckled. “I wonder if the threat is the reason why they’re barely trying to thwart us.”

That made me turn to him with concern. “Do you think they monitor that?”

“If the walls have ears, I wonder how they use our secrets?”

I was about to ask him to elaborate when a strangled noise of a shout cut me off. The gardens were around the corner when we heard it.

“Where is she?” a voice boomed down the hall. “Relinquish me and tell me where she is!”

When I realized that Urbosa was shouting over the demanding voice, I gathered my skirts to avoid falling on my face and ignored Elian’s warnings. Once I rounded the corner I saw Lord Ibauna staring down Urbosa’s sword. Guards stood around them, unsure of what to do.

“What is the meaning of this?” I said about their shouting match. Ibauna twisted to me with eyes full of malice.

His fists clenched tightly. “It’s your fault! My brother is dead and it is your fault!”

Lord Ibauna began towards me with a heavy foot, fury red in his face and step. Elian blocked his path with a heavy pull of his sword from its sheath. Two guards wrangled him to a stop before he made it to us and made him kneel. One of the man looked up with question.

“Lady Urbosa?” I asked, looking between her and Ibauna with growing worry.

“He approached me in the gardens looking for you,” she sniffed in his direction, “I wouldn’t tell him where you were because I’ve heard tales of his insolence… then he began insulting your honor, Your Grace.”

“Because you are leading a losing war!” Ibauna yelled, struggling against his binds. “We’re being slaughtered. Don’t pretend, Princess! I have seen the reports and the dead eyes of my family. Give up the aristocracy to Ganondorf!”

I stared, words refusing to surface on my lips.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” a guard said, pulling the lord harshly back to his feet. “We should lead him to the dungeons for his sharp tongue. At your word, of course.”

I pulled at my fingers and couldn’t look away from his anger. Thankfully, my voice found me. “Who is it you speak of? How do you know that name?”

Lord Ibauna seemed to sober up and watched me with suspicion. “Consider it, Zelda. The very basis of this war is within an area that does not affect us. Send the aristocracy back and let them handle their own mess.”

I considered him coldly and nodded at the guards. He struggled against their hold, “I know who you are, girl! You’re meant to be a goddess among men yet you lead us towards tyranny and death!”

His screams haunted down the hall and I startled when Urbosa sheathed her sword. She gave me a look of concern.

“I suppose our teatime is cancelled?”

“Yes, I – um – I feel a little faint and I should retire,” I said, frowning. My mind worked through his words and felt a feeling I hadn’t since I was a girl. An impossible responsibility setting itself on my shoulders. A crown too heavy to bear. I turned to Elian, “I have another message for you if you wouldn’t mind.”

How did he know that name? The same way Link had learned of it?

Lord Ibauna came from money nearly older than the Crown. His silver spoon kept him from any type of military service that may be passed to an ordinary man. Very much like his family, he sought to gain favor in court circles through ways of blackmail and empty promises; a prime example was his attempted seduction of me at the ball. Everything he did was a double edged sword and when his first plan is rejected, another more devious execution settles into place – that being my subsequent judgement from my father.

The only regret I have now was not wearing more rings on my fingers when I hit him.

My hands were shaking when I reached my quarters. Despite my reassurances that I was fine, both the captain and Urbosa followed me. I asked them to wait outside as I scrambled through my desk drawers for my ink pot and pen.

I was going to write to Link to go through with moving resources back behind our lines. If he didn’t want to transition his men there immediately, fine, but I wasn’t about to let pride put anyone at risk. He wasn’t going to be happy… though there would be a good chance he would understand.

A flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye made me freeze. My desk was cluttered already but the yellow yarn was unmistakable. I forced myself to look at the black button eyes and the mouth the formed a slight frown. My mind tried to process when I had taken it from my drawers. Surely, I hadn’t forgotten. In reality, I had gone out of my way not to see it at all and briefly contemplated discarding it. I rose to my feet and swallowed my nerves, almost completely collected when I saw what the doll laid upon.

An envelope, sealed by red wax, was positioned on the side of my desk. It was in a place I knew for certain had been empty this morning.

Tentatively, I skipped the letter opener and ripped an opening with my hands. The doll fell to the floor. My movements were frantic, shaking, as I scanned the words within.

Someone had broken into the castle to place this in my room.

Someone had access to this wing of the grounds and placed this in my room.

Someone had been in my room.

With my introduction having been made, I patiently await yours.

Ganondorf, King of the Gerudo

[wisdomsfromeast]

Namaste 🙏

Welcome back guys! I was literally out for 2 months searching Fanfics which can compete my or replace my Azuko ship for the reasons I will tell you. Firstly some part of my morality and culture etiquette where I live in and traditions which are dear to me were heavily conflicting in my mind that should I support this Incest shipping or not. Some said should and other said shouldn't. The other one overwhelmed plus having a sibling elder sister made me more conflicted that how could I? it's so taboo? If I write one what my public image would be? So I stopped supporting Zucest uninstalled the app and started searching good Fanfics of Other shipping which can counter Azuko. I literally read 5 to 7 fanfics a day just to have Zuko or Azula have peace in their life with their partners and you know what I got unnatural hatred or bashing of either Sibs which made either of their life miserable which I hated the most. Zuko centric ones got Azula either dead or made her total maniac. Azula centric ones made Zuko's future miserable or nearly made him small as if he was weak and Idiot from birth and Ozai was right. So let's start with shippings with their fanfics which could have countered Azuko

Zutara

The most celebrated pairing will ever find in ATLA fandom. Every day you will find thousands of writers write for this pair in FF.NET . Even though I hated this pair so much because of three main reasons. First Mutual distrust from the beginning. Second Opposite mindset. Third Impatient Katara.

I gave in through I read one of the best ones My Heart Burns for you

Sometimes it's just only beginning

Around the Sun

Fall of the White Lotus

AU ones like The Undying Fire Series

The Palace etc.

All of these are literally lack the most important thing attraction through sight even though writers force it its still not appealing. The dangerous thing which writers miss is suspicion my lord even though they are friends and Zuko sacrifice everything for stubborn Katara she always suspects and can't even read him. Zutara whatever you call it. It's failed creation just to feel love life for Zuko.

Sokkla

Reverse Zutara really. Sokka has brains and can control strong girls like Toph and Mai but Azula is too much for him to bear I series he outright fear her. Only in The Day of The Black Sun episode had some courage because she didn't had her bending when she got back he screams literally screams. I read

Gladiator 107 chapters

Airship Down with its sequel

Retroactive

Smoke Demon Series of MadameAtomic Bomb

Opposite Elements AU

Gentlemen of Weapons AU

Dishonoured

These are the best ones but what found the worst is they are not at all commited to each other especially Sokka is shown so reluctant and Azula is as casual as Ty Lee which both of them aren't. Sokka either cheats or leads himself in love triangle which I hate the most because one of the life either gets destroyed or damage.

Maiko

The worst one for me I really feel sorry for Mai but she should have encourage herself to be with Zuko in his childhood days if Zuko could have spoke in War room out of turn she could have been with him in banishment. She could have shown the courage which she have show in Boiling Rock I liked that. Zuko could have known more If Mai led herself open up more. Zuko even left her this show only one side love or to say infatuation Zuko is so cold in Maiko which he isn't. Even though few writers really focus them like.

Miscalculation and Equivalent Exchange by Ablaster86 (I read them)

They are literally used as side couple for Tyzula or Kataang which doesn't show how their relationship can develop and become one. Either their Marriage fails or they breakup which hurts me the most.

Tyzula

Yes most popular even though why I don't know. No Offence to LGBT community neither in the show both of them are shown homosexuals Ty Lee is flirty with cute boys as she claims and Azula is bitchy and frustrated that how boys hover around Ty Lee not me even though she so beautiful as jewel but boys fear her. No signs of romantic feelings for each other rather Ty Lee is bullied by Azula every time as a servant to keep her under her feet. Dominant love relationships exists I like those but Azula and Ty Lee's relationship is like Lion and Cheetah. Once got a chance strike back and free yourself. Just because Korrasami was promoted by creators bring Tyzula in counter. Just because Zuko has Mai and boys fear Azula bring Ty Lee with her who is most terrified from her. Somehow I read some

Restraint and Aphelion it's sequel

Broken Dragon and Fireflight by Nikipinz

Both in them Ty Lee acts like a friend in need but again Ty Lee is OOC a girl who freed herself from a Psychotic girl may help her in future but not sacrifice herself for friend she hated inwardly.

Zukka

Really they are Bros and thanks to Zuko he got his trust from a guy called him in names Angry Jerkbender before.

Jetko

Seriously I don't get just pair Zuko with everyone. I read

Foxfire and The Viper lizard tales

I couldn't get it what those writers wrote. How could Jet tolerate Firebenders or Fire Nation citizens. It will require whole character arc for Jet to understand Fire Nation like Zhao to believe in balance and harmony amongst nations in Rufftoon's Water Tribe.

Jetzula

The Palace

Again you know it will so hard for Azula even redeem one to have a peasant as a partner for life same goes to Jet to accept a Firebender.

Zukkaang

To much 😧😧 Zuko and Aang are friends please for God's sake bring characters those are ingrained with same sex attraction. I can't stand this ship didn't even bother to read any of its fanfics.

Azutara

Enemies till last breath and one killed one's last hope. One lost by one in her day of coronation anytime each see one another either of one will die. This pairing can't be supported because each caused huge pain which can't be relieved they can be distant friends but can't lovers. Even though I read one

Measure Each Step to Infinity

This one made me sad of Aang and Katara is too much selfish which she isn't. She likes to be concubine of her former enemy but hates to like live with a man whom she had all hopes of world peace and gave her life to save him. This is impossible! Writer didn't gave good reasons sudden changes.

Toko

This is a very interesting pairing Toph knows Zuko very well and in future they can understand each other as couple but one flaw which only limits them just to be friends is that Toph is a freedom loving girl and Zuko is honour bound to traditions and destined to be a good Fire Lord.

Embers

Lava and it's sequel

Just a Girl I recommend this one

Toph made Zuko to come out of his turmoil and become a master I just didn't like Azula being killed that was extreme.

Jinko

I read Ashes to Ashes but Zuko and Jin again I must say infatuation from Jin side. Zuko is really dork.

Zuki

Lost cause what can I say just to counter Zucest these ships are being made

Lost and Found by Tubendo

Addicted to Love

First one writer didn't knew when to start where both start to like each other. Second is just nonsense a Lord of a Nation started having crush on a Guard who has a love in her life more stronger than other's attraction come on Zuko isn't that kind of guy.

Ty luko

"I know you" "You don't know me" Those are heavy words Ty Lee used for Zuko she knows his depression and messed up life give by his parents. Even though show doesn't show any direct interaction between them except "I know you" Zuko acts as a moral support for Ty Lee. Boiling Rock is another big example Zuko's freedom gave Ty Lee hope to be free.

I know you

Good Fanfic I recommend.

One remained (Azulaang) I will give my detail analysis of mine in a next post because I read 10 of them and it's huge and I am not satisfied.

After whole lot of reading, self introspection and guidance from which I believe Scriptures. I literally fought a battle inside me and tried to find out which will win and Honestly Zucest won seriously just because it was incest I dropped it by societal norms. I was writing a Fic but stopped because what people will say? Crazy, deranged? But I can't resist it's too hot for them to be siblings and not to be intimate other wise I find that if they really wished to repair their relationship stop their all hatred of all those years they need love which will break those barriers and too much love always brings eros. So what's the big deal.

The Fire Royals allow Females to be Fire Lords so how come line continues if Female becomes Firelord and marries a noble even a sage which are below the rank. Household norms in every medieval culture is patriarchal. Which means child first belongs to man and to his family which results child to be a noble and not royal from his mother's line and that child will become the Fire Lord from that line of Family and the Royal line will end. Could it be possible for Princesses of Fire Nation got married with nobles or aristocrats and not to loose their claims to the throne are the Fire Royals that stupid that this will end their line if their females get the throne. Inbreeding is persistent among royals only just keep their divine status

As Azula says "Power is something you are born with" will her child get that power if she marry noble which are below the rank. Big No

Wisdomsfromeast

Timeout !!!

[life-as-an-evolving-journey]

Sexual Abuse in Marriage

We’ll start hard and heavy, because this is the easiest way to weed out those who cannot handle certain topics, and that is ok. This story will include abortion and, you guessed it, sexual abuse. It is not an easy read for those who have experienced any kind of abuse, so TRIGGER WARNING. Prep yourself, get yourself in the right mood before reading this in its entirety.

I want to preface this conversation by reminding everyone that abuse is seen on both sides of the gender lines, so as I use my gender terms (so unnecessary), please do not believe that this situation could only happen to a woman. I also want you to understand that any anger I once felt towards my x-husband has subsided into more of an indifference at this point, and there is no need for nasty comments towards him or myself. We all do the best that we can with the tools we had at the time. I will do my best to explain the circumstances from both angles as much as I can, but it is not possible to have every bit of information for his side since I have never spoken with him about this situation.

This is a long one, and I tend to ramble, so please forgive me for the length in advance.

In May of 2013, my x-husband and I decided, mutually, to have an abortion when I got pregnant unexpectedly. In the long run, it was the right decision, but in the moment it did not feel like it. See, I used to be a strong pro-life advocate, with a keen sense of why women should not have abortions. So, having an abortion myself seemed a little bit like nonsense to me, but I agreed to it because my opinions were changing, and it genuinely felt like the right thing to do. My past belief system was not as accepting. In the beginnings of my journey after my abortion, I had to find a way to convince myself that I was doing the right thing, not for myself, but for the people who would have been most impacted by us having another child. That would have been my x-Mother-in-law at the time, as she watched our child while we worked. Between her husband’s business, and my first child, she had a lot on her plate, and weighing her down with helping us with another child would have been difficult for her. So I built this foundation to move forward based on that premise and that premise alone: It would have been hard for her. Then in August that year, her husband quit his private practice and suddenly she had a lot of extra free time. Free time that would not have complicated her life if we had asked her to help care for our toddler, and this potential newborn that we would have had. This completely crumbled the foundation I had built for myself.

Why is this important to the topic of sexual abuse in a marriage? Well, let me explain. After my abortion I was so frightened at the thought of having sex again because I did not want to get pregnant again and be forced to make the same decision. So I avoided it at all costs. This left my x-husband feeling lonely and dissatisfied. At the same time I felt like he was distant and cold when it came to talking about my emotions regarding my abortion. So once my foundation crumbled,I felt I could not “bother” him with my problems, so I built a new foundation based on the worst things possible. I convinced myself that I had murdered my child, that I was undeserving of any kind of love from anyone because I was a murderer. I would have nightmares constantly about different ways I had murdered my potential child, I would fall down in the middle of public spaces when I would hear a baby crying. My legs would just suddenly decide to stop working entirely, and I would fall. (That’s a sign of shock caused by trauma, as I would later learn.) This sequence of thoughts started soon after my previous foundation had crumbled, so around August. By October I had decided that I could not do it on my own anymore, and I went to the one person I believed I could trust whole-heartedly, to create a safe judgement-free zone for me, my x-husband. Well, you can guess that is not what he created, hence the x before husband. I told him about my troubles, and all he had to say was “you need to get over it, and see a therapist” Now, mind you, he is sexually pent up and feeling frustrated towards me because of it, and it is probably what caused him to respond that way. This, however, should not excuse his next response to his vulnerable, emotionally unstable wife.

Well, you stuck around with me this far. This is where it gets difficult for me to even type about. About two weeks after his cold response to my troubles, he comes to me requesting, nay demanding, sex. He says “I need it, I deserve it. Think about all of the sacrifices I ever made for you.” (Last statement is another story for a different time.) Lording my past mistakes over me like I owed him for the sacrifices he willingly chose to make. Dear, that is where sacrifice becomes debt, not sacrifice. But this, this is what he says to me. I respond with “no, I’m sorry, I’m just not ready yet.” through a river of tears as I feel awful that I am leaving him out to dry sexually. Instead of leaving it where it lies, he continually pesters me 3 or 4 times a day for the next week. Same argument, same response. He is relentless, and I feel trapped in a corner. If I don’t give it to him he will never leave me alone on the topic, never. So the, approximately, 21st to 28th time he asked, I agreed to it. To cope in the middle of it, I disconnected myself entirely from the situation, basically numbing myself, and thought about my dead child the entire time. He finished what he was doing, went back to playing his video games, and I cried myself to sleep on that lonely bedroom floor. I woke up feeling different, but not knowing what it was exactly, because in my head, at the time, it was not sexual abuse. He was justified in asking for it, and I had agreed. Little life lesson, that does not mean it was not sexual abuse. A partner emotionally manipulating you into giving them something they want that you do not that oversteps a personal boundary, ESPECIALLY a sexual boundary (something very sacred in a marriage), should always be respected, period. That is what makes this sexual abuse,because he did not respect my boundary. What makes this far worse, is that Physical Touch is my secondary love language, behind Quality Time, and this hit deeper than I could ever explain.  It has affected my life in numerous ways. I, to this day, have difficulty trusting straight men because I am so frightened that they are staring at me sexually. They don’t even have to act on it, they just need to be staring at me that way. I no longer want to feel pretty, because that would only entice a man. I haven’t had the pleasure (dripping sarcasm) to be in the same room alone with my x-husband since we got divorced in 2016, but when I think about it i tense up in ways I wish I didn’t have to experience. 

This instance, unfortunately, was not an isolated incident for the two of us. I began to see him differently, in ways I did not entirely understand back then. I started to feel ashamed of my body around him. I wanted to hide it so he could never touch it again. I explained this to myself by saying that I was just protecting myself from getting pregnant again. It’s not him that is the problem, it is sex. So he responded to getting sex from me using the same emotional manipulation tactic for the next 3 years before I left him. He would also get me drunk to get me to do things that I wouldn’t normally do. I only know this because he openly admitted that to me once.Sex eventually became a scheduled event for us. I attempted to compromise with him, but his version to compromise was to have sex 4 times a week, and it was unreasonable, but he refused any other offer. He said that I just need to do that for him for a couple of weeks, and then he would be satisfied for a while, but never defined how long “a while” was. Even after I left him, about 2 weeks later, I agreed to meet him at Starbucks. He got the wrong impression about why I agreed to it, and once he realized that, he changed the topic immediately to getting sex from me one last time using the same emotional manipulation tactic statement I mentioned before. Thus proving to me that there was no limit for him when it came to crossing my boundary expectations on sex. During all of this I eventually convinced myself that I could never do anything correctly, and I would never amount to anything special. This type of thinking is what made me excuse a lot of his abuse over the years. 

To sum all of this up, I wouldn’t post something so personal so publicly if I did not think that telling my story wouldn’t help someone on their own personal journey with something similar. You are not alone if you are sexually abused by your partner. Marriage does not make sex obligatory or a requirement, and never let someone convince you otherwise.

[mrneighbourlove]

Into the Darkness and Unknown: Ch 8. Connection to Humanity

Malik had a stack of notes and letters ready to give to his family at the castle and to his wife. Although he couldn't send them, he dearly missed his wife and children. Asakonigei would be worried sick for sure. If they didn't have children, Malik would be worried she'd leave him. "Dear Asa. Today marks a month since the incident with the necromancer. Starting to grow a small beard, and I feel as so much more animalistic here. There is a sense of community amongst these monsters, a special sense of power being amongst the biggest predators. Although I've enjoyed it for a time, I miss the company of Zarazu, my forces in the castle, and especially you. I love you, my coal covered diamond. I hope to see your smile soon."

Finishing his latest letter, he placed it in the mail bag he had with the rest.

Leere arrived at the hut, gathering her supplies. One look at her and Malik could tell she was exhausted in both body and voice. "We're leaving."

"What? Just like that? What about our mutual friend of Hyrule?

"Yes. Bonegrinder may be unconscious for another month, maybe a year. And I know you have family to attend to. Let's not dawdle. This might take us a couple hours."

Malik watched in silence for a few moments at Leere quickly buzzing around like a bee, until he too slowly started to gather his things.

It was almost three hours later when Mother arrived. She looked... frazzled. And annoyed. "Forgive my lateness, I was currently trying to handle---" She nearly jumped out of her exoskeleton as Bonegrinder suddenly just flopped off her back onto the ground with a loud giggle. "... the situation."

"Hehehe, piggy back... piggy back rides!"

"Leere... what did you do?" Mother looked at the princess with knowing eyes. "Did you give him some of your magic?"

"Butts. Exo-butt. Exoskeleton ass." The Anagari was poking Mother's backside with his tail. "Hard ass. Get it? HARD ASS!!!" He snickered at his own joke. "Cause of the exoskeleton."

"Modoc, would you please quit that?"

"Aw. But it's a good joke!"

"Yes. I did. He's never been like this before when I've done it though." Leere, with her tiny body, tried to nudge a giant off a titan. "Hey buddy, why don't we stop climbing on the charming chimera lady eh?"

"But... HIC, he likes piggyback rides." Bonegrinder was still partly slumped on Mother. He tried to get his bearing and slithered forward, and wobbled back and forth before slumping on the ground, on his belly. "Dirt. This is dirt. Hrm... right, right, good dirt. Good dirt for mud wrestling."

"That's because I was giving him light energy and you gave him dark energy and there obviously was not a correct balance on either side." Mother ran her hand down her face. "And now he's... well... the best way to explain it is, he's drunk. Off a magic high."

"Why are you so tall?" Bonegrinder looked up at Leere. "You're supposed to be tiny."

"Modoc, can you slither?"

"But he likes it down here."

"Can. You. Slither?"

"The dirt is moving, it's hard to slither." The Anagari pouted.

"Kaksa give me patience..."

"Cause I'm a little human?" Leere, after so much stress at seeing him hurt and possessed, couldn't stop herself from snorting in amusement at his behaviour now.

Malik, however, shook his head. "Mother. Are there any others that wish to say goodbye?"

"I had the others write in this little book for you." Mother handed Leere two small notebooks, one for Malik and one for the princess herself. "It's their accounts of you. Their impressions. Goodbyes here are meant for never to be seen again. You will return one day."

"Nooo, you're... you... wait, you are hooman. Whadaya doing here?" Bonegrinder hiccupped once more. "Omisha is for Echidnans not hoomans!"

"You're going to take her home, Bonegrinder, you and Malik here."

"Who?" Bonegrinder then looked at the Gerudo. "Oooh..."

Malik rubbed his temple, moving to pick Bonegrinder off the dirt floor. "Thank you for your hospitality Mother. I look forward to our continued business together as allied nations. I'll make sure your 'boy' gets home."

Leere too, took Mother's hand, giving her a princessly kiss. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn. Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again." Mother then started to open the portal... while Bonegrinder decided it was the perfect time to hit on the Gerudo 'lady' holding his man tit, when really it was just a supportive gesture to keep him off the ground.

"Hmm, you're a fine piece of treasure you know that?" Bonegrinder grinned widely with as his tail slapped Malik's backside. "Come here and let him kiss you for good blessings from Sand and Stone sisters, yes? Kissing a Gerudo lady is good luck." He then grabbed the sides of the lord's face and smooched him for all he was worth.

Malik's face bloomed in a flush of light pink with furious fire burning inside his soul. His armour kept him protected on the breast and most of his ass, but there was nothing that could be done about the kisses. This was another reason to always wear a helmet. His gauntlets stabbed into Bonegrinder's skin as he put all his upper strength into lifting him, and all his lower strength into getting him through the portal back to Hyrule's underground. Leere couldn't help but break out into laughter as she gathered all the bags of material. Malik was absolutely livid by this point. "Quit your chortles and hurry through the portal!"

Leere quit her laughing long enough to look back at Omisha. The hot air and jungle atmosphere blew a silent wind. Did her coming her ruin something in the land? She shook her head to silence such a thought before it could grow into something more. Hurrying through the portal, the three of them returned to Hyrule. It was time she went back home.

~

There journey from a colourful, yet dangerous land, a very drunk Bonegrinder, an irate Malik, and a tired Leere found themselves in the dark underground of Hyrule's caverns under castle town.

"Where you going, baby doll?" Bonegrinder flicked his tail back and forth playfully as Malik spewed every curse known to man in ancient tongue, and spitted. The Anagari was still not acquainted to his equilibrium just yet. He wobbled, snickering the entire time. "He wants to tap that fine ass, come back here! We got to 'pray' to the sand and stone sisters, heeheehee..." He looked at Leere and asked. "Doesn't she have a nice ass? You have nice tits, and she has a nice ass. Bonegrinder has... he has... well, he has a big dick. Does that count as attractive?"

"Yeah. I've seen it up close big guy. Its certainly something. That's also a Gerudo male, not a woman Bonegrinder." Leere felt the least she could do was put Malik out of his misery.

"Oh..." Bonegrinder's train of thought was still processing the information. "Well... good thing he is bi or this would be a very teachable moment. Never judge the sex by the jiggle of ass cheeks. It's misleading."

"I don't think he is Bonegrinder. Perhaps you should lie down."

Before Leere could say anything else, with the speed of a minitour, Hades charged out of the darkness, his breath burning with cinders at the smell of Bonegrinder.

"My friend! You're back!"

"KITTY!!!" Bonegrinder suddenly latched onto the Lynel and petted his mane. Then he held his face and asked, "Has he ever... ever told you HIC how fluffy you are? Just so fluffy, and soft, and so cute..."

Hades stood perfectly still, allowing the master of the Hive to pet him, simply glad that Bonegrinder was unharmed. Taking in his behaviour, he growled deeply towards Leere. "What in the hell did you cause now?"

"He's just a little drunk off some magic. Now that he's safe and sound, I'm sure you and the rest of the Hive can entertain him."

The Lynel grumbled, fire snorting out his nostrils. "Get out of here. You're lucky that entertaining Bonegrinder is what the other members of the Hive have been longing to do just a week into his trip."

"Fluffy... fluffy baby!" Bonegrinder draped his long body across Hades' back, still messing with the Lynel's mane. "He thinks... he thinks you would look like... look like so ravishing with... with big braids. Big, long, braids..."

"Oh good goddesses, what happened now?" Red appeared from the shadows and levitated, looking at the master of the Hive. "... he's drunk. Must have been some party."

"Sex machine!"

"Well, at least he recalls who I am."

"And fluffy kitty."

"And who Hades is."

"Fluffy kitty, purr for Bonegrinder."

"Okay, let's get him back into his dwelling before 'fluffy kitty' has an aneurysm." Red waved goodbye to Malik and Leere. "We'll take care of him."

Leere was courteous enough to wave back while Malik aggressively applied a handkerchief to clean off the scent of Bonegrinder’s kisses. “Tell Blue and White I said hi. Oh. They should probably send a letter to their father and sister sometime.”

Walking together out of the Hive, Leere and Malik both released a heavy shared sigh. There were so much bizarre circumstances seen and felt within the last month. A personal take away was a deeper understanding of each other. Leere looked up to the Gerudo giant, smiling coly. “You know, he ain’t that bad a lover.”

“Please no.”

“What, you never thought of using that junk inside your trunk to fit tighter holes?”

“If you don’t quit it, I’m going to shove a rag into that mouth of yours.”

“That mean tight holes are still on the table.”

“You’re so immature.”

“You’re a tad uptight.”

“And you’re unbelievable.”

Both of them snickered, their chortle soon shared into a warm, soft laugh.

The princess jotted down in her mind what would need to be done as an ambassador to Omisha, if Mother still wanted her that is. Leere knew she made an impression on the monstrous woman, both good and some bad probably.

“Malik. We just simply going to walk into the castle chambers?”

“I see why not.”

Leere thought it over. “Want to take a bet?”

“Sure.”

“Zarazu is going to want to tackle you. Zelda or Rinku will squeeze me too tightly. Ralnor will cross his arms and squint his eyes wanting details on Omisha. Best he knows the capacity of our knowledge. I will make him furious when I say I was able to stay a night in Mother’s bed. Finally, your wife is going to kick your ass to the moon.”

Malik frowned in fear at that thought. That would be an inevitable conversation. “Oh lord you’re probably right.”

The man felt her pat the back of his armour, a cheeky smile on her face, yet a serene kindness from her energy. “Pretty sure she’ll break into tears for you though. People love you enough for that.”

“And you believe they won’t for you?” Malik looked downward, his gaze resting on her small frame. “You’re a very lonely woman Leere.” Before she could respond, Malik continued, “But you need not be. Your shadow stays close to people, watching over others. And like a shadow, you disappear in true darkness. You aren’t the type to reveal in it. Stop believing that darkness owns you. As a shadow, you can master it for good.”

Leere flushed slightly, unsure what to say in reply for a moment or two. “That’s... beautiful. No one has put me into words like that.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“Well... you can have it anyways. Thank you.”

“Heh. Don’t get sentimental on me. Come, I think we’re about to reach the castle’s secret entrance soon.”

~

Zarazu was in the middle of a meeting with a few of the council members. She loathed these meetings with a passion. Since Covarog was dealing with another diplomatic issue in Danjur, she was stuck here. Sometimes, she wished the old coots would go senile and forget about these monthly meetings. The queen was just about to bring forth another issue when Malik and Leere walked in... and her mouth dropped open.

Malik had placed his helmet over his head to keep up appearances as Lord of Hyrule. Finally able to breath the air of Hyrule once more, he waved to everyone in the room. “At ease.”

Leere smiled to her sister in law, tiredly placing the stacks of research on a desk close to her. “Greetings everyone. We didn’t interrupt anything too important?”

"... gone for a just over a month and hardly any word?!" Zarazu exclaimed as she rose from her seat so fast, her chair nearly toppled backwards. "What in hell took so long?! A 'hi, I'm not dead' would have been nice! That's for the both of you! Do you have any idea how worried we all were?!"

“Apologies my friend. There was an incident that left us stranded without transportation back to Hyrule, as well as a zero communication policy put into place.” From a bag, he handed her several letters. “It did not stop me from writing to you.”

"That's... that's... ridiculous!" Zarazu was angry, more so about the fact that there could have been something horribly wrong, and she had no way to help. "No location, no backup plan, no return date!!! We were worried sick! We had no way to find you! You know Asa is going to kick your ass. I'm tempted to give you a kick to the ass myself." The queen then glanced at Leere. "And you should know better. You had your brothers and sisters all worried that you were gone off on another journey never to return for another decade."

“Zarazu. I’m sure they can tell me that themselves. I wasn’t in danger of being alone. Malik and I looked out for one another.” Leere raised her hands in light defense. “We made a great deal of progress in learning about Omisha, as well as our relationship with the Echidnan people.”

"... as an order from your queen, the next time you two wish to suddenly disappear and go off on a month-long journey, you will leave a location, you will inform me or at least one of the family, and you will send updates." Zarazu was leaving no room for argument. "Am I clear? My king has enough stress upon him already, nor do I. This is not negotiable."

“Did Ralnor not tell you?” Malik knew damn well he didn’t, but he needed to let Zarazu know that information had been available to her. “My wife knew as well, but since we no longer live at the castle, I can understand about you being left in the dark.”

"Ralnor knew not where you were either. I asked him." Zarazu told Malik with a small huff. Of course, Ralnor would keep his place in this whole situation in the dark to his queen. Not that Zarazu knew. "And Asa knew you were going on a journey, but had no clue you would be so long!”

“I said Omisha to her.” Malik sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the other nobles to move on. “Zarazu, there are more important matters to discuss then my or the princess’ safety.”

"Fine... but if you do this again, I'm putting a locator spell on you both." Zarazu warned the pair but then turning to the old coots on the council. "I apologize, this is an emergency. I will return later."

"But... but we..."

"We will continue later." Zarazu then gestured to Leere and Malik to follow her to a more private area.

“I’d suggest that you summon your husband and other members of royalty.”

"Covarog is in Danjur, Tebanam is exploring ruins with Faris, Kanisa is in Uskar, Orana is on a trip with Corsaire, and Ralnor is actually on holiday, so you're stuck with me." Zarazu then sat in the office she shared with her husband, gesturing for Leere and Malik to sit.

“Very well.” Malik took his seat, and was brutally blunt with his next statement. The Queen needed to know the storm that brewed in the future for Hyrule. “We fought against a disciple of Teufel. The Demon tried to inflict a strike against the citizens of Omisha using the Mortuus that tried to assassinate you. It spoke to us through this disciple. Teufel is active, and he is dangerous.”

"... wow... okay... well..." Zarazu was not really sure what to say. "Omisha... the country of Echidnans. I really thought it was merely a myth. So it's all real... and Teufel is back." She took a breath, trying to rational her thoughts and what was possibly the best objective to do next. "One day, Teufel will be back. We don't know when, so we need to have our guard up. It could be now or later. Next, I think we need to establish a communication link with Omisha. We need to find out if there is a leader there and see if they are interested in perhaps combining forces or sharing knowledge of this Teufel being. Then next, I believe a diplomatic visit is in order, if the leader agrees... I might have to ask Ralnor to come back from holiday early. He knows a little of the Echidnans, and perhaps Teb will."

“We met their leader and established an alliance over the last month.” Leere added to the conversation. “Their leader is very protective of her land, so I don’t know if she’ll have just anyone over.” Leere presented notes and sketches of the island and different variants of Echidnans and their land. “They have many reasons to mistrust most humans.”

"Oh..." Zarazu carefully looked over the documents. There were pieces of history here that had been missing for thousands of years. There were answers to questions about... many issues. She was shocked. "Why..." The queen cleared her throat. "Why did you not inform me?"

Both of them held their tongues. Leere looked as though she was bound to a secret oath, which she was. Malik crossed his arms tightly, feeling the need to be defensive. “Zarazu, there are things in this world that are beyond your understanding to comprehend.”

"That I know, but this is not beyond my comprehension. This is simply just keeping..." Zarazu was trailed off and then became... quiet for once. More so than usual. It was not difficult for the queen to put two and two together. Malik, Leere... the pair of them were keeping something about this trip from her. "... tell me about Malus. I'm more concerned over demon-summoning necromancers than a country full of monsters."

The air lifted, that information being acceptable to share. “Malus, from what we gather, is a land both encased in evil, and possibly having innocents trapped within for hundreds of generations. As Lord, my professional opinion is to have a covert invasion of the country. Not even the Echidnans have ventured in the land. Notes taken were from fleeing Mortuus.”

"When?" Zarazu asked, keeping her eyes glued to the information on the country of Malus. From what the Echidnans provided, it did not sound too promising. "And is there any hint on to where the innocents might be? You cannot walk into a country like this blindly without a plan."

“In underground cities, and according to the last document, since the formation of your people’s monarchy.” Leere sounded somber. “It’s a very conflicting feeling. The first Mortuus I met in my adult life, and she turned out to be as evil as the Echidnans warned. Yet, if there are innocents, my heart goes out for them.”

Leere brought up a book she borrowed on Mortuus history. The first page she pointed out held an illustration of ten-foot-tall wolves. Next were sketches of demonic golems made of flesh. “According to old documented data, Malus is filled with bizarre monsters of all varieties.”

"Demonic possessions and flesh-stitched hosts for them to use for their time on this earth." Zarazu frowned, trying to think of any magic she knew to protect the kingdom against the evil in Malus. "You've certainly done enough research."

Malik tapped a pen on the desk, writing a recommendation. “Zarazu, you should know I will be taking charge as lead negotiator to Omisha.”

"You?" Zarazu shook her head, thinking he simply had forgotten. "Malik, a member of a royal family is supposed to take lead of negotiations for new alliances. Ralnor is the one who told us of Omisha's interest. He should be the one to take charge." She then reminded him. "What we have with Al-Daida is due to Tebanam, with Danjur thanks to Orana, with Uskar kudos to Kanisa, Labrynna was cemented long ago and Covarog handles that, so Ralnor should be in charge with Omisha. He's already submitted paperwork for the job."

“No. Ralnor is a liar and a manipulator. His role is here, in Hyrule. It is he who has kept you in the dark for so long about Omisha. It is he who held Leere and I to secrecy. A secret he’d have preferred hidden had we not discovered Echidnans so close to Hyrule....” Malik kept his voice calm, steady, yet forced his hand in the matter. “As Ganondorf’s blood relative, I too have claim to royal status. Leere has proven herself most effective in forming a bond with the heart of Omisha. It’s people. Ralnor might be Mother’s choice, for that is ultimately up to her, however, her and I have already agreed to being the most concrete link in negotiations.”

Zarazu was getting irritated word by word that came out of Malik.

"Okay, I don't know what is going on between you and Ralnor, but it stops. Like, right now." The queen had nothing negative from her husband's brother about the ex-commander. If anything, Ralnor had been nothing but courteous, singing Malik's praises for doing such a wonderful job. Yet, all Malik seemed to do was bash Ralnor's name. She was getting very tired of it. "I've heard you drag his name through the mud over and over, and not once has he said one word against you. I don't know what fight you two had, or if he was keeping a secret from you and it blew over, or if it's a dick size thing, but whatever the hell it is, right now, it stops." She then added, "In the dark about Omisha? Malik, if anything you were the one keeping me in the dark. Ralnor gave what all he had."

To prove her point, Zarazu fetched the files that Ralnor had dated... years ago... and placed them in Malik's hands. Unknown to the queen, she was playing the part exactly how the second prince wanted her to do so. Ralnor was a master manipulator, and no one could accuse him of such without the accuser looking like a fool in the eyes of others. He was that good. "I understand whatever conversation you had with this 'Mother' person is important, but as far as I'm concerned, Ralnor is the one who will handle affairs." Once again, the prince had been three steps ahead of Malik, portraying him to be the quote on quote 'bad guy'. "And if you and Leere wish to aid him in his endeavors, then you may do so. Though in the future, if you do wish to share what information you have, I'd be happy to hear it."

The queen of Hyrule then took a slow breath. She was already very incensed by the fact that there was information hidden from her. Ralnor told her that he suspected Malik was up to something, but she did not believe him. After all, Ralnor was always known for his paranoia. Yet, this time, he was right.

She then asked Leere, "You mentioned Malus has innocents trapped. Before you decide to go on this expedition, might I inquire as to how you are going to avoid detection if you wish to stay incognito?"

Malik was furious, yet he hid it well behind a cold, chilling anger. In an unexpected first against Zarazu, he completely pushed back, stopping the pale princess from answering. “Zarazu... your naïveté is exactly why I did not recommend you for a position in dealing with Omisha’s people. Ralnor will not be in the future of Hyrule’s head of negotiations with the leader of the Echidnans. You lack the fortitude for it, and him the heart. You can both take care in knowing I won’t step over your heads for long. It is your eldest daughter who will have a future with Omisha. Mother has declared it so.”

"And your temper is why you will not be handling any foreign negotiations as lead." Zarazu then told him in an icy tone. "If you're going to insult me and act like this, then there's the door. I don't care what this 'Mother' said right now, I am your friend but I am also your queen. If you cannot have the respect for me or my brother-in-law, then leave. I am so sick and tired of fighting, and I'm not going to do it anymore today."

“The choice, dear friend, is simply not up to you. It is destiny. I’m sure the leader of Omisha will find purpose for the three of us. But not you. You are my friend Zarazu... but given that the fates will bring death and war upon us soon with the very gods, I must look at the bigger picture.” Malik finished his recommendation. “I will train your daughter to be the best Gerudo Queen she can be. I also recommend you ally with the Kikai Empire and Danjur to liberate Malus. After recon of course. Now, if excuse me... I have a son, daughter and wife of my own to tend to.”

With no other word, Leere watched as Malik left the office. Spewing about destiny and so coldly calculating the future of Hyrule as if Malik himself was King did indeed worry her, but it wasn’t Leere’s place to judge him. That duty would be left to her brother and Zarazu. The princess took a few breaths, looking back to the Queen. “Any questions on your mind?”

"... many questions and so few answers, Leere." Zarazu ran her hands back there her hair, appearing to look so defeated. "I am tired, Leere. So tired of blame, of fighting, and arguing. I hate myself for wishing to escape back to Lorleidi. None of this," She motioned to her surroundings. "Existed there. No hate, no fighting, no... no having to look for the better in people. I simply knew it was there. But here, now?" The queen sighed. "I spent four hours arguing with those old coots in the council room about their apparent homophobia and how my kingdom would let love be love... and not one of them gave thought to any possibility of not being able to love who they love."

Leere gently took Zarazu’s hands, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of emotion. Despite her getting along better with Malik, they only had a professional relationship. She was also surrounded with monsters that either tolerated her, completely mistrusted her, made her feel uncomfortable, or simply needed more time to get along better with. Touching Zarazu’s hands, someone that, sure, she didn’t know the best about on a day to day basis, but still respected and come to care for, made her cry. Her experience in Omisha with retrospect now horrified her, throwing herself into the darkest of secrets, finding out she was a sacrifice for a being that’d bring tyranny and chaos, losing trust in a friend she held close... her tears swelled. “Oh god... I’m sorry. It feels like years since I talked with someone else who feels human.”

"Oh, spirits, Leere, don't cry!" Zarazu looked alarmed at the princess' sudden tears. What brought on the waterworks?! She pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm sorry if I made you upset! Please, don't cry, I was just rambling because Malik really knows how to push my buttons, don't cry for my sake!"

“No. Please. It’s just Omisha. It was... it was so much. I feel so old Zarazu. I learned and experienced... terrible knowledge.” Leere didn’t object to a deep hug, however. “Zarazu... you’re such a sweet soul. Please... if you want to learn anything I know, ask. I don’t care if Malik, Ralnor, or anyone else wants to keep a lid on things.”

"It's okay, it's okay... maybe questions later? I think right now, you just need a breather." Zarazu patted her back gently. "Heh, according to Malik, I'm a she-devil, Ba'puu is nothing but a pest, and Ralnor is Vul'kar's right hand. I'm only sweet to those I like. I guess you got lucky today, huh?" She said in good humor, trying to make Leere laugh. "... you want a sugar cookie? I hid a few cookie baggies in my desk."

“Zarazu... my birth parents set me up to be a sacrifice to Teufel.” The words escaped her lips, nearly broken getting out. The tears still kept coming. Leere sounded broken, like something in her soul was taken and violently snapped in two. “I found this out from a friend who only told me now after keeping this knowledge from me for years because he wasn’t right in his mind... Zarazu. I can’t leave Hyrule ever again... it’s that, or I kill myself.”

"... I... I don't know about all of this Teufel business, and I certainly have no clue about this friend of yours that likes to keep secrets, but..." Zarazu tried her best to choose the proper words of comfort. "I guess... sometimes secrets are kept to protect who we love. I've kept my share over the years. If this prevents you from leaving Hyrule, then... there's nothing wrong with just staying here a while until you're ready to fight. And when you are, I'll fight with you. Two old ladies... side by side."

Leere actually chuckled at that, drying her tears. “Friends name is Bonegrinder. Same person Malik and Ralnor know, though I’m sure they’ll deny it. Boys and their secrets, playing with power... Maybe, when he feels up to it, you can meet him one day. He came to Hyrule from Omisha actually, but due to privacy, he likes his isolation from most people.” A solid weight lifted off her chest. After meeting the people of Omisha, it seemed silly for Bonegrinder and the Hive to remain hidden. Out of continued respect, however, she wouldn’t fully disclose their location. “I’m sorry I cried. Malik failed to mention we fought demons as well, only three days in. I broke my leg in the fight, and saw things that I think my nightmares will enjoy.” One more thought to express on her mind. “Zarazu, what do you know of Gods of Balance, Creation and Destruction?”

"That's... well... uh..." Zarazu tried to formulate a response. She honestly did not know what to say. What could she say to make all of this better? "You're going to have to give me a bit to process all of that. More secrets, a reason to scold both Malik and Ralnor, you fought demons, got hurt, and a monster is leaving in Hyrule. I hope I didn't miss anything." The queen then offered the princess a few tissues. "Oh... let's see here. There used to be an old story that was told around the bonfires at might about a 'Mother Goddess and the Two Brothers'. There was even an old song with it, something about a prophecy. If I remember correctly, we received it centuries ago from a traveler." It suddenly clicked in Zarazu's mind. "... a traveler from Omisha."

“Indeed. Listen, if this trip has taught me anything, I worry more about humans than the actual monsters. Despite being cold and distant, perhaps not getting human connections or emotions, you don’t see Monsters ripping one another down for the sake of a power struggle.” Leere smiled, a fond memory making her feel better. “It wasn’t all distressing though. Met some children who I think I’ve helped break the bond of fear between humans and monsters.” She carefully showed the fine details of her sketch. “Met a wonderful chick named Solani. Must admit, I felt rather... motherly towards her.”

"All of this is a lot to take in for one afternoon... I think you and I will have to dedicate another afternoon to finish the rest of my questions." Zarazu gave a dry laugh. "Well, Leere, I mean, you'd be a great mom. You're wonderful with kids. All your nieces and nephews love you. If you don't want to get married, then why don't you adopt? Or you could always find a donor."

“Perhaps...” Leere settled her mind upon looking at the picture she drew of Solani. “I think the safest places I can be are here in Hyrule... or beside Mother. I would like to see Solani again, despite the risks of Teufel...” Closing her sketchbook, Leere left documentation on the Queens desk. “Be sure to get these copied after you’ve read them over. Didn’t fight the denizens of Hell so knowledge would go to waste. And tell you what. Soon as you finish up all the laws giving more freedom to gay rights, then I’ll settle down. Would you like tea with me over the weekend to continue our conversation further Zarazu?”

"Whatever you decide, it's important that you're happy." Zarazu agreed with a soft smile. "Tea sounds wonderful."

“Then I look forward to it.” Leere made her way out of the office, sighing to herself once out of earshot. She hoped she could sleep soundly tonight. Was staying in the unknown better, just as Bonegrinder forewarned? Only time would reveal that answer and more.

________________________________________________________________

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[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG127 /o/ (with rambling/pondering/speculating/ etc.)

- Albrecht Von Closen’s letter from MAG023 had been referenced twice in the series so far, and reminding myself of both gave me different kind of heartbreak. First… Tim mentioned it at the beginning of MAG033:

(MAG033) ARCHIVIST: […] Was there anything else? TIM: Oh yeah, just one. ARCHIVIST: Good lord. TIM: So, in case 8163103… it isn’t clear if Albrecht’s wife is called “Clara” or “Carla”, ‘cause you keep switching back and forth… ARCHIVIST: Well, I’m sorry if I found it hard to read a two-hundred-year-old letter, written in cursive by a native German speaker. Who complained about that one? TIM: Oh, it’s, it’s not a complaint. Hum, I just noticed actually!

94 episodes later… Tim finally got his answer ;_; It was distinctively “Carla” in MAG127. Second thing: Martin came very close to destroying Albrecht’s statement in MAG118! It was actually the statement he was about to burn when Elias finally managed to unlock the door.

(MAG0118) MARTIN: Hello. ELIAS: What. Are you. Doing. MARTIN: That one… that one was Benjamin Hatendi. You weren’t fast enough for the key! ELIAS: What. Are. You. Doing. […] MARTIN: Oh sorry! Sorry, I’m not keeping you from the show, am I? Well, well you head back, I’ll keep myself busy here. Albrecht von Closen is next, I think. It’s quite an old one! Should go up very quickly.

I really doubt that Martin meaning harm to Albrecht’s statement made Elias try to go faster to stop him or anything – he was already seething and had already left to get the key, it was really a matter of Martin burning statements which, overall, made him unable to fully focus on the group’s expedition and why he snapped hard at Martin (all going according to Martin’s keikaku). I’m more curious as to whether or not Martin… picking up this one was a total coincidence, or something partially spooky (Beholding-related intuition or Web drawing Martin towards it), since we now have confirmation that this letter was one chapter in a bigger story intrinsically tied to the creation of the Institute, and that Jon was spookily redirected towards another chapter in MAG127.

- That episode was very packed in… almost all aspects? Characters-wise, we learned about Melanie’s current state, a bit more about Martin’s state of mind when he began working with Peter, and about Jon’s own situation; we also got to hear ~*Elias*~ which gives some more food to speculate about what the eff is happening… and the statement, hoooooly Mew, the statement. Offering us a follow-up on MAG023, giving us another peek at Jonah Magnus, giving us a reminder that HI? NO, NOP, BEHOLDING IS NOT A HARMLESS ENTITY. IT’S JUST AS TERRIFYING AS THE OTHERS., and giving soooo many bits to speculate here and there…

- Jonathan Fanshawe immediately secured a place amongst the (very restricted) club of statement-givers with self-preservation skills.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) Jonah, I must first and foremost decline your generous offer of a medical position servicing Millbank Penitentiary. While the terms you’ve laid out are no doubt more than adequate, I have, over these last months, come to the unfortunate conclusion that our intimacy and friendship must cease immediately. […] In the light of what I have so recently witnessed, I can no longer in good conscience associate with any of your endeavours. Nor will I continue to collect or provide all those accounts of the esoteric and otherworldly, that you and your… Institute so eagerly require. Consider this the severing of our acquaintance. […] … Do I need to tell you what I found, Jonah? Do I need to detail what covered his organs? His bones? The inside of his skin? What clustered together in their dozens, and all turned as to focus on me as I opened his chest? Their pupils constricting in the light, with irises of every hue and colour. Because whatever it was that did this to him, I know in my heart that it is your fault. I’ve had the body burned. Please, do not write to me again. Your obedient servant, Doctor Jonathan Fanshawe.

He sounded so, so cold and rigid and deadpan and dry and accusatory, hhh… That was an excellent tone. Very satisfying. We tend to hear fear, despair, vulnerability; here, it was… covered up with a veil of unimpressed anger and resentment?

- Regarding Jonah Magnus: Jon had described in MAG041 how Robert Smirke took over the Millbank prison project in 1815 and finished it in 1821. Jon had already theorized that the tunnels under the Institute couldn’t be remnants from the old prison, but probably tunnels constructed below it (MAG041: “when it was finally closed in 1890, it was demolished. Flattened. Which meant that what I was in now couldn’t be the old prison itself. It had to be something built below it.”); we know that the Institute was founded in 1818, and though I think it’s still not confirmed whether Smirke was behind the building or not (I assumed he was but can’t find any mention about it anymore?), Leitner referred to its tunnels as part of Smirke’s work (MAG080: “Over the years I have found that it interacts with Smirke’s architecture, and those tunnels specifically, in a more predictable way.”). The whole… concept behind the Millbank prison already reeked of Beholding (MAG041, Jon: “First proposed and designed in 1799 by Jeremy Bentham, a philosopher who wished to test his theories of the panopticon prison, where cells would be arranged in a circle around a single, central guard tower, so all cells were observable at once. It was to have six such areas, arranged in hexagons, giving it from the air the shape of a vast, angular flower.”); with Jonathan Fanshawe mentioning Jonah’s offer of a job in the prison (MAG127: “I must first and foremost decline your generous offer of a medical position servicing Millbank Penitentiary. […] I do not know what interest you have in the poor condemned souls within those walls, nor do I care to guess.”), it sounds more and more likely that Jonah and Robert Smirke did actually collaborate? How did Jonah Magnus come to have such an influence in Millbank, and what was his aim, indeed?

- Chronologically, the few things we know about Jonah Magnus:

*Jonah was already known for his interest in the supernatural:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) […] I recall that during your visit last spring you mentioned your… fascination with the macabre and strange, and pressed upon me as to whether there were any such lore or legends that I myself were familiar with. Wolfgang writes me that you are acquiring quite the collection, and I feel that I now have something that belongs with it, far more than any of the fairy stories or old maids’ tales that I told you before.

*On March 31st 1816, Albrecht von Closen sent Jonah a letter, describing his adventure and a book he had retrieved, promising Jonah to show it to him:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) a book, perhaps fallen from the shelves long ago. It was in far better condition than the others, perhaps due to where it had lain, and I was able to very carefully open it. I was disappointed to see that was not written in German, or even French or Latin, but appeared to be in Arabic. It seemed to be an illuminated manuscript of sorts, produced by hand and utterly beautiful, though I could not for the life of me have told you what it concerned. […] The book, though beautiful, stubbornly refused to offer up any clues to its contents. With your permission, I’ll bring it over for your expert eyes next time I have the pleasure of your company. […] Still, I look forward to showing you the book I have acquired, and the revelations you will no doubt glean from it.

*Sometime in 1818, Jonah Magnus founded the Magnus Institute.

*On April 9th 1824, Barnabas Bennett, prisoner in Mordechai Lukas’s dimension, pleaded Jonah for his help by leaving his letter in the Institute. Jonah, according to Elias, only witnessed his demise and collected his bones. (MAG092)

[*One year prior to April 1831, Albrecht von Closen, who had previously acquired the books from the Black Forest’s mausoleum at some point, had them rebound. Jonah Magnus apparently exchanged them with fakes at this time.]

*On November 21st 1831, Jonathan Fanshawe sent a letter to Jonah about the illness and death of Albrecht von Closen, after they returned the (fake) books to the mausoleum. Albrecht’s body was filled with eyes; his wife was already dead, and he had sons at the time of his passing. What happened to the sons afterwards is unclear. (MAG127)

*On June 12th 1841, Sampson Kempthorne sent Jonah a letter about the workhouse architecture of George Gilbert Scott (Robert Smirke’s disciple’s disciple, who was a bit dangerous according to Smirke). Sampson mentioned Jonah’s state:

(MAG050, Sampson Kempthorne) Dear Jonah, It is my fondest wish that this message should find you in good health, as I have heard more than one mutual acquaintance remark on your current state of overwork. While I earnestly hope it is merely idle gossip, my knowledge of your character leads me to entreat that you allow yourself some respite, or at the very least take some further secretarial staff into your employ. Certain uncharitable quarters would have it that your life consists of little but rattling around in Edinburgh Townhouse, surrounded by piles of ghostly accounts and lunatic documentation. Piles, I am afraid to say, to which I am about to make an addition.

I’m not sure if Jon making his mind about Jonah Magnus is a Certainty (inspired by spooky Beholding magic) or an assumption:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] “Jonah Magnus”. I’ve never really given much thought to him. Not nearly as much as I should have. I suppose I had always hoped there was a chance he was… innocent, in all this. I know, I know! But I had… [EXHALE] I had just… hoped that maybe the founding of the Institute was in earnest. And not simply the foundation stone for all the terrible things that have happened here. … But no. Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man.

But if it’s the latter… I’m not sure that Jon is making a good decision by shutting down other possibilities: he’s absolutely following Jonathan Fanshawe’s opinion here, but there might have been other interpretations for what Jonah did and why? After all, he could have stolen the books in an attempt to protect Albrecht from their influence (while he had probably been heavily contaminated by them already)? I’m mostly surprised at the fact that Jon just went ahead and labelled Jonah Magnus an “evil man” and assumed that the Institute was founded for bad reasons, as if suddenly this statement was proving a point, when… it was the opinion of one person, who felt betrayed, hurt (and partially worried for) a(n ex)friend. And time had passed since the founding: maybe the Institute had originally been founded with better intentions, and maybe Jonah got worse and worse… just like Jon could. Maybe there would be more to learn about Jonah’s life, if it was a gradual descent into Beholding – maybe knowing a bit more about it could help Jon find counter-measures. But maybe it’s also an easier story for Jon to swallow, right now: to think that people don’t change, can’t become corrupted, can’t start out good and gradually lose their ability to want to protect the people they care about.

- And now, this statement put the damn books back at the forefront: indeed… where do they come from? … technically, Jonah Magnus here didn’t remind me so much of Elias or of an Archivist, but more of… Jurgen Leitner? (That’s mean, I know!)

(MAG080) LEITNER: I… thought that I could control them. That I alone had the knowledge to contain them. Back then, I believed they were simply books. Horrifying, powerful, yes; but with rules, limits that could be charted. … I was a fool. I had no idea what forces lay behind them, or that they had other servants that might come searching. I was ruthless, I will admit that. I don’t know how many assistants I sacrificed to learn the secrets of the volumes I collected. Dozens, at least. Only a few escaped with their life and mind intact, and even then they were deeply marked. But I was relentless. I saw myself as a guardian, a reverse Pandora, gathering the evils of the world and locking them away.

Accumulating statements (and books) like Leitner was accumulating books, in his own personal building constructed through Smirke’s principles? Leitner was even known for getting his books custom-(re)bound!

(MAG004, Dominic Swain) The last seller I went to did recognise the name Jurgen Leitner, though. She told me Leitner had been a big name in the literary scene during the 1990s; some rich Scandinavian recluse paying absurd amounts of money for whatever books took his fancy. It was said he’d often have books custom-bound after providing a manuscript, or even commission authors to produce works to his brief – although she didn’t actually know any writers who had worked with Leitner.

Jon had been suspicious of the amount of books in circulation, even before discovering that Leitner had only applied his seal on some but not all of them (and that he had absolutely no involvement in their creation):

(MAG070) ARCHIVIST: […] It seems to support the theory that, whatever these books are, Leitner is not entirely responsible for them. […] Books. Again and again it always seems to come back to those books. There are other artefacts that hold sinister power, certainly, but none of them seem to be quite so prevalent or… insidious as those damn books. But why? I had always assumed that Leitner had created them somehow, leasing parts of his own damned soul to give them power, or… some similar nonsense. But no. I’ve heard enough now to be sure that these books existed long before he managed to hunt them down. Not all of them, though, it would seem.

And it’s true that we only had questions in that regard. We know that the books can be anachronistic:

(MAG080) LEITNER: An unexpurgated copy of Ruskin’s The Seven Lamps of Architecture, published in 1845. Of course, Ruskin didn’t even begin writing the book until 1846, and the text of this one varies markedly from the version that was distributed.

We know that some of the books are old, written in different languages, and that a few of them must have appeared fairly recently (A Guest For Mr. Spider, and the one from MAG125 which looked like a paperback). We know that a few can write themselves (the unnamed Book of the Dead) or have new content added to it (Mary Keay’s book in human skin). We know that they can bind monsters (Ex Altiora). We’d already had one mention of a book that just tagged along or perhaps showed up out of nowhere and tried to read its reader (MAG091, Mike Crew: “I spent some time with a small grey volume, I think it was in Cyrillic, that decided it was at home amongst my bookshelves. I couldn’t read it, of course, but… when it tried to read me back, I buried it on a lonely stretch of moorland.”).  Leitner mentioned that in rare cases, they can host multiple powers (such as The Key of Solomon) – in most cases, they seem to be tied to only one. Some of them can apparently be destroyed (Gertrude and Leitner managed it in the tunnels), though some could just shift or resist (MAG080, Leitner: “Many of them wouldn’t have burned, and some even liked the flames. And those that did, I now believe, would have been released to take a different form.”), but Jon discovered recently that some can apparently lose their powers:

(MAG125, Terrance Simpson) All I could see for certain… was that she held a book in her hands. It was a paperback, old and unloved, with obvious signs of wear long before it found itself in this chaos. The cover and title were unrecognizable, now far too soaked in blood, but it was clear that at some point the woman holding it had torn it, clean in two down the spine, and now held half in each of what was left of her hands. Ross told me later that she’d gotten a good look at the pages, and that every single one of them was blank.

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: […] Another Leitner, obviously. Not one I can readily identify, though it sounds like it would now be… inert, anyway. Given the blank pages, I do wonder whether its destruction was a last-ditch effort to stop its effects, or the exact thing that released its power in such an… extreme way.

So where do they come from and/or how are they produced? Are they just… emanations, like the monsters? Are they purposefully created by avatars? Leitner told Jon that he had gathered 978 of those when his library was attacked; it’s… not that much – the Black Forest’s mausoleum could have contained more than that, and we even know that new books have appeared since then. … However, I do wonder if the books in the mausoleum weren’t rather a precursor/equivalent of… statements? I had already wondered whether “Johann von Württemberg” might be an ancient Archivist (especially after MAG053), and now that we’ve been told about the contents of the books…

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe ) […] [Albrecht] took the seat opposite me, and started to tell me… a story. And then another. And another. A stream of… strange tales began to pour out of him, and I just sat there, transfixed, [STATIC–], desperately wishing I had the strength of will to leave, but all I could do was listen. He told me of a seamstress, who laced her body with fine black thread; and when she pulled it all out in a single swift motion, her skin dropped away like a loose shift. He told me of a man so scared to die he spent a year weaving a rope blindfolded, so that he would not know the length, and could not foresee the moment it would tighten around his neck when he finally threw himself into the void. He told me of a fire that burns so hot and fierce, that to even know about it is enough to burn a man’s tongue from his head. He told me so many terrible things. [/STATIC] And at the end of it all, the only thing I could think to ask him was where he read them. My eyes darted to the books that surrounded us, but Albrecht laughed at this, and placed his hands across a spine that was simply labelled A Warning. For a moment, he looked as though he were about to wrench it from its place and hurl it into the fire. But it passed. He turned back to me. [STATIC–] “You do not understand,” he said to me in German. “I do not read the books. They read me.” [/STATIC]

… they were all stories. Like Jon himself is receiving stories through the statements… Could the Beholding folks be responsible for the books, binding a bit of other powers in them to spread them, ensuring a never-ending self-sustaining cycle of stories – people finding the books, getting terrorized by them, and the survivors having new stories to tell? What happened to the books that Jonah Magnus stole? Are they still somewhere in the Institute, did he destroy them, did he release them into circulation…?

- Even before that: when did Albrecht get his hands on the books? Had he stolen them back in 1816, and concealed that fact to Jonah in his letter? Or did he go back later? With or without Jonah? It is now… striking, that in MAG023, Albrecht was insisting on the fact that he missed his own library (MAG023: “And so began what was to be a lengthy sojourn near Schramberg, and truly have I never wished more keenly that I had been able to bring my library with me. I had but a few books with me and Wilhelm, despite his not-inconsiderable intelligence, had even fewer.”) when, oops, he got his hands on another’s in the end. The only thing he said was that he had them rebound one year prior to April 1831, and he had already been able to tell in 1816 that they were in a terrible state:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) I walked cautiously closer, until my lantern illuminated it clearly. The walls were covered with bookshelves. Packed in with such a density that it was impossible to tell if there was a real wall behind them or if the books themselves formed the only bulwark against the soil. They were, unfortunately, terribly rotten. The centuries had not been kind to them, and as I tried to move one of them, I realised that the damp had, over time, caused them to merge into a single mass of paper and bookcloth. Predictable as this may have been, I still felt the most acute pang of loss. To see such a volume of knowledge, possibly unique in all the world, utterly destroyed, was incredibly painful to me. The actual shelves were formed of the same marble as the two blocks, and seemed to have fared better. As I looked at them, I noticed a small engraving, carved at regular intervals along the edge of each one. It was a small eye, open and staring. For some reason, it was only at that moment that I began to feel afraid. Of what, I couldn’t tell you, but those small eyes filled me with a dread that I have trouble describing to you now.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) As he walked the shelves, stroking the spines of each book in turn, I started to ask him about his health, and explained why I was there, but he showed not the slightest sign that he was listening. “I had them rebound last year,” he said. “Damp can do terrible things to a book.”

- There were so many “WHAM” moments in that statement… the fact that it was another letter to Jonah! That it was once again about Albrecht von Closen! The fact that the uncanny atmosphere began even before Jonathan reached Albrecht’s house (because people were burning the tree)! The very casual mention that Carla had died and that there were now sons in the family, although they were explicitly childless and Jon hadn’t been able to trace the family line down back in MAG023! The fact that the spooky house gave me a Lonely/Beholding vibe somehow (rather than Beholding only), even before Albrecht showed up? And then, the… fact that nothing physical happened to Jonathan: but that he witnessed, had to hear and couldn’t really understand, though he was trying to work a way out. The resignation, in the fact that he was forced to hear Albrecht’s stories, and that Albrecht couldn’t stop them nor harm the books? All the mysteries as to what happened and why Jonah had apparently been involved? What was inside Albrecht’s corpse? (HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANKS JONNY…) The attempt at returning the books, Albrecht’s sudden death, the reveal that Jonah had actually stolen the real books when they were rebound?

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) I do not know how he died. I saw nothing and no one with him, and his body seemed whole and undamaged. But I do have some idea as to why it happened. For as I filled those dead shelves with freshly bound volumes, I could not help but notice that every page was blank. I have since checked with Payne’s, who I believe to be your preferred bookbinders. And I know that the books poor Albrecht was returning to the grave were not the books that were taken. I hope they bring you much wisdom, Jonah, for the cost was dear enough.

(Roger Payne was a famous bookbinder from the 18th, already dead by then, so it was probably his shop. Still, another historical figure /o/) There were so many little things changing perspective, and it raised so many questions, aaaaah!! It was definitely a very strong episode…

I don’t know what to think of what happened to Albrecht; was he a failed Archivist? The fact that he almost threw one of the books to the fire but couldn’t, that he needed help to manage top ut them back, that stories were pouring out of him… Is that another red flag about what could ultimately happen to Jon? Or was it just a Beholding curse/influence, since he had been in close contact to the books? Or was it something that Albrecht had brought down on himself since the first time he had entered the mausoleum?

(Aza confirmed me that:

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) It was the face of Albrecht von Closen. In the light, his eyes met mine, and his mouth began to work furiously, repeating the same phrase [STATIC–] over and over, increasing in volume until he was screaming it into my face: “Leg sie alle zurück. Leg sie alle zurück.” [/STATIC] Put them back. Put them back.

=> can’t be about the children, because “sie alle” means “them all” and wouldn't be used for just two things, and the verb used conveys the sense of putting things lying down and wouldn't be used for people. That's assuming that Jonny knows that much German, though.)

Big Questions, too, about… the tree. What was the deal with that one?

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) […] as we got closer, I could see that it was… a single tree that was burning: a gnarled and ancient elm, that sat removed from the rest of the forest. A small crowd surrounded the spectacle. One man, who I took to be a groundskeeper, stood closer than the others, with a lit torch in his hand. […] I asked the man why they were burning the tree when the rain was coming down so heavily. Surely it could have waited for drier weather. The man simply shrugged. […] all that I could get from him was a sense of resignation, and the insistence that his master, who I took to be Albrecht, wanted the tree dead. I’m sure that he used that word, though. Not “burned”, not “removed”, or “destroyed”. Dead. I resolved to ask Albrecht about it when I saw him.

The only “main” tree we’ve got before was at Hill Top Road: is it the same kind of thing…? What did it do, here…? (Where spiders involved in the shadows, again.)

- I remember how quick Aza had been to jump on me after I had listened to MAG023, a few months ago, because there was a Big Fandom Joke about the easter egg of the “Schwarzwald statement” directly following Martin Blackwood’s, AND NOW IT HAS COME BACK TO HAUNT US since!! Surprise surprise!! Fifteen years after his letter to Jonah from MAG023 (March 31st 1816), Albrecht, who had mentioned never managing to have children with his wife… suddenly had sons as of November 21st, 1831:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) myself and Clara [sic] have since made every effort to provide [our nephew Wilhelm] with guidance and such affection as he may have lost. This felt especially keen as we have ourselves been unable to conceive a child, and so we felt it our duty to teach Wilhelm what we would have impressed upon a son of our own.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) As I’m sure you’re aware, Albrecht’s wife Carla was taken by a fever some years ago, and his sons were away at school; so it was the housekeeper who greeted me when I arrived.

Back in MAG023, Jon had managed to track down Wilhelm’s genealogy, to discover that some of his descendants might have been Mary and Gerry Keay (which Gerry confirmed in MAG111), but he had found nothing about Albrecht:

(MAG023) ARCHIVIST: […] I did try to find out what happened to Albrecht von Closen and his book, but I can find no mention of him in any volume of history nor anywhere online. Perhaps I might find out more if I spent months sifting through the historical statements in the Archives’ back rooms, but I simply don’t have time to indulge my own curiosity like that.

(ISN’T IT CUTE HOW BEHOLDING IS SHOWING UP TWO YEARS LATE WITH ANOTHER VON CLOSEN STATEMENT WHEN JON FINALLY HAS TIME TO INDULGE HIS OWN CURIOSITY.......) So, Albrecht managed to get descendants of his own, after his adventure in the Black Forest. We know nothing about them, just that they happened, so there might be another branch of the Von Closen somewhere, with perhaps a change of name at some point. As @justasmalltownai​ highlighted, there is an old (historical and literary) tradition of naming abandoned/magic children after the place they were found, which would be “Schwartzwald” for them… Which…………………. indeed……………. puts Martin Blackwood to mind………… … On a meta level, Jonny Sims not above giving reasons to yell at him with random things, either. Remember how, in MAG017, Jon was reading about how someone should have had trouble with the police when he was interrupted by Elias “I Have Killed And Will Kill Again And Will Be Sent To Prison For This” Bouchard of all people?

(MAG017) ARCHIVIST: […] He was always very careful to stop before he did anything that might get the police involved, and I guess there was enough leftover affection from a childhood spent together that I never really thought about reporting him. It wa– [DOOR OPENING] ARCHIVIST: Oh, erm, hello Elias. ELIAS: Do you have a moment?

(Yes, that one is a very “jONNY” scene in retrospect. And trousersless!Martin interrupted Albrecht’s statement in the same fashion, when Albrecht was getting ready to enter the crypt.)

On the one hand, Gerry asserted that blood ties don’t matter for the Entities – and, indeed, it sounds… more in synch with the series to think that choices and personality are the things that determine you(r fate). But on the other hand: it’s still so curious that Gerry was so deeply rooted into Beholding powers, when Wilhelm von Closen had been so close to the Beholding mausoleum?

(MAG012, Lesere Saraki) […] watching [Gerard], standing and walking despite the burns covering eighty percent of his body, despite the sheer quantity of painkillers we had given him… he just made me very afraid. […] I followed him, asked what he was doing. I got no answer, but he seemed to know the code to the door immediately and strode right in, scanning the shelves for something. He saw what he was after and picked up a small object wrapped in paper and plastic. I recognised it immediately as a sterile scalpel.

(Gerry even technically demonstrated powers that were… very close to Jon’s? His body was still able to function when it shouldn’t have been able to; he just knew things; he was able to tell that MAG048’s statement-giver had been “marked” just by staring at her…)

So. While we were all focusing on the potential of Martin Lukas, was it actually Martin von Closen (/whatever Albrecht’s sons were: monsters stolen from the crypt? Emanations from the books? Non-spooky babies who got contaminated by the books? The Beholding equivalent of whatever Agnès was for the Desolation?) all along, or The Unholy Encounter Of The Two.

(Or as usual: is Martin still… absolutely normal, without any spooky roots nor anything.)

- Biggest initial shock was to hear Jon… revealing that he was Genre Savvy.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE, FAST] Statement of doctor Jonathan Fanshawe, regarding the months leading up to the death and autopsy of Albrecht Von Closen. […] Disconcerting to find my namesake in a statement. Especially one connected so directly to the Institute. […] Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man. … Exactly two hundred years, in fact. Don’t think that little detail has evaded me.

(Jon, stop staring at the camera/tape recorder, I feel called out.) He spotted the name (though there have been a lot of variations around “John” in all the names involved in all the statements), he revealed that he’s aware that is the 200th anniversary, and that something bad is likely coming. That’s a lot from him!

- Amazingly, we’ve already learned where Jon was hurt and what with!

(MAG127) BASIRA: But she did want me to… apologise. ARCHIVIST: Oh. BASIRA: From her. For… the shoulder. ARCHIVIST: Oh. It, it’s fine; scalpel wounds… they heal quickly. BASIRA: Hm. ARCHIVIST: Too quickly, really. BASIRA: Already? ARCHIVIST: Just another scar for the collection! BASIRA: Hm.

Jon’s self-deprecative dry humour makes me laugh and cry at the same time, and ha, in the list of things he’s savvy about: the fact that he’s collecting them indeed. (Now, to know whether that serves a grand purpose…)

- I LOVE THAT OVERALL, JON IS TRYING…………..

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m sorry Basira, I–I will try to keep anything I learn about you to myself. My priorities haven’t changed; I hope you can believe that. [SIGHS] I’m still on your side. You can trust me.

And I perfectly understand that Basira might want to stay cautious: of course, a liar would lie about that, too ;; And Jon, after all, is trying a new approach – laying it all down in the open, instead of hiding himself. It’s good, but it can understandably raise suspicions for Basira ;;

- The trend of Jon sounding So Thirsty about getting anything about Martin, any news about Martin, is still going strong:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m still on your side. You can trust me. BASIRA: [EXHALES] … Yeah. People keep saying that. ARCHIVIST: Do they? … W–w–who else– Did Martin say something?

I KNOW THAT HE HAS LEGITIMATE REASONS TO BE WORRIED… but w o w Jon, you’re sounding more and more desperate. (I do understand!! Last original assistant alive, Martin being in a bad place since he’s working with Peter and all… But the sheer contrast with season 1 is just astounding, and I’m still not getting used to it. I’m used to Martin gratuitously thinking about Jon; not to Jon… spontaneously thinking about Martin, as one of his concerns.)

- Jon’s life sounds like a succession of… doors? It’s definitely his biggest recurring motif. Mr. Spider’s door, that he never knocked on. “Michael”-then-“Helen”’s door: the one through which Helen disappeared right in front of him (MAG047), the one he used to flee from Not!Sasha (MAG079), the one he should have opened to die and the one that ultimately saved him from Nikola (MAG101), the one that had been haunting his dreams:

(MAG120) ELIAS: […] There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out. The Archivist turns away.

And now, the image of the “door” he used to describe the power that has been the most prevalent since he woke up:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: I’m not “snooping”, I’m not looking. That’s not… how this works. BASIRA: Explain it, then. ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not sure I can. BASIRA: Humour me. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] It’s… hard. It’s like there’s a–a–a door, in my mind. And behind it, is… i–is the entire ocean. Before, I didn’t notice it, but now, I know it’s there, and I can’t forget it, and I can feel the pressure of the water on it. I, I, I can keep it closed… but sometimes, when I’m around p–people, or–or places, or… ideas, a drop or two will push through the cracks, at the edges of the door. And I’ll… know something. BASIRA: … What happens, if you open the door? [PAUSE] ARCHIVIST: I drown.

Jon ;; (That mental picture… was really striking, and now, we know what could ultimately happen, what will probably happen…)

- Same as last episode: Jon’s powers, when they direct him towards statements… make him dig into the past? Is it a way to keep him detached from the present, as time continues to pass and as Jon knows that something is coming?

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man. … Exactly two hundred years, in fact. Don’t think that little detail has evaded me. I don’t know the precise date the Institute was founded, but I do know that it was in 1818. … Something’s coming. I know it is. … But I just don’t know what I need to do. […] BASIRA: And what was that you were doing yesterday? ARCHIVIST: … When…? BASIRA: You were sat on the floor for like four hours. ARCHIVIST: … Oh! Er, n–n–no, I was, er, I was… listening. Y’know, it’s, trying to see if any of the statements… called to me. BASIRA: And? ARCHIVIST: [FLIPS PAPER] BASIRA: Brilliant.

(yfhudscjnfed I love getting something about how Jon is perceived from the outside, but at the same time? At the same time, isn’t it a fairly standard thing to sit or lay on the floor while you’re waiting for something or inspiration to strike, Basira, why do you depict it as odd.) (Does it mean that Basira regularly went to take a peak during these four hours, though.)

Or is Beholding trying to give Jon a clue to assert the situation, to get the bigger picture and to understand what he could do (whether it’s to… contribute to The Watcher’s Crown or to sabotage it)? Jon once again acknowledged that he is lacking direction:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] Something’s coming. I know it is. … But I just don’t know what I need to do. […] [SIGHS] So what do we do now…? BASIRA: You tell me. Just don’t expect much on trust these days. ARCHIVIST: … Yes, I… I suppose that’s fair. [CLICK.]

And ;; I guess that either he’s still waiting for spooky insights directing him towards some statements, either he’ll have to wait for something else (the tapes Elias mentioned? Getting a hold on Martin again? Waiting for Peter Lukas to reveal himself? Waiting to get a visitor?), either he’ll have to get a bit more creative (leaving the Institute again to try to talk with other avatars? Tracking Adelard down, since Jon knows that he knew Gertrude and worked with her a bit, having even moved out the explosives for her?).

- I’m sad but also relieved for Melanie… Even though we’re not hearing her, it seems like she’s getting back some of her feelings, some of her individuality; she’s not a ball of nerves and instinct anymore? It sounds like she’s having a rough time but… also like she’s recovering a bit? ;;

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: How’s Melanie? BASIRA: How do you think? ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course. Er, she has… […] Do–do you think it worked? Is she… BASIRA: I don’t know. She seems more… coherent, I guess. And you did get an apology. ARCHIVIST: Yeah. BASIRA: She said she can cry now, which is, hum… ARCHIVIST: Oh… BASIRA: Progress, I think? ARCHIVIST: Uh… BASIRA: She’s still angry but, she hasn’t attacked anyone. Not even sure she has it in her anymore. ARCHIVIST: Well that’s, that’s good! BASIRA: Hm.

(It’s also good that Jon quickly accepted that if Melanie doesn’t want to see him, it means he won’t try to see her? He’s trying so hard to fix things, but also to manoeuvre without hurting others, and gosh ;;) (… Now that Melanie is out of her downwards spiral, maybe Jon will switch his focus to getting Martin back?)

- I’m a bit torn about Martin’s mother: on the one hand, I’m obviously “AOUCH???” and almost offended because??? Can we give Martin a break p l e a s e??? He had learned about Sasha’s death in April 2017 (and also that, surprise! He was bound forever to the Archives.), Tim died and Jon fell into a coma in August, his mom died around October, that’s a rough six months??? On the other hand, that’s still textbook fridging, and it felt a bit dry to me (even for the series!) given that… we only knew about her through indirect mentions and violations of privacy: Jon digging through Martin’s stuff to discover the letter to his mother, and Elias using his powers on Martin in MAG118. The only time Martin himself mentioned her was to contextualize why he had lied on his application:

(MAG042) ARCHIVIST: […] there is an unfinished letter, addressed to his mother in Devon, in which he mentions that he is worried about “the others finding out I’ve been lying”. It may be nothing, some… inconsequential deception or other – after all, it is ostensibly written to his mother – but if it was actually to be sent to someone else… I will keep my eye on Martin.

(MAG056) MARTIN: I don’t have a Master’s in parapsychology, I don’t even have a degree. When I was 17, my mom, she… had… she had some problems, and I ended up dropping out of school, t– trying to support us.

The fact that he had to take care of his mother shaped Martin’s whole life; it contributed to leading him to the Institute, it probably prevented him from socializing much, it’s probably why he doesn’t live very well (Stockwell isn’t the fanciest of neighbourhoods), since he had to pay for her care and then carehome. Yet, even with Elias, Martin avoided to mention his relationship with her and, obviously, we never heard her (we don’t even know what illness she was afflicted with!). She was distant in all senses (geographically, communication-wise, information-wise). The thing I mostly hope for (and which would feel a bit better for me?) would be to finally get Martin… talking about his relationship with her?, instead of having people doing that in his stead. It was obviously a sore spot already; after MAG118, it… was probably worse (Elias wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t supposed to hurt on the long run and keep Martin in check.) I don’t know if we’ll have the time for characters to even consider that they can afford to take care of themselves and treat themselves a bit by trying to unpack their issues, though. But I’d really love to finally hear Martin talk about his mother, and not other characters describing their relationship from the outside? (I want to think she died of natural causes, since she was sick for a long time, but obviously, can’t help but wonder if Lonely fuckedupness didn’t contribute somehow, since Peter wanted Martin. Though I doubt it for meta-reasons, since killing/hurting someone just to get a reaction out of one of the main characters, without hearing the victim’s own feelings about it, wouldn’t feel like the series, I think?)

- What happened to Martin’s mother… also explains why Basira was a bit defensive of him back in MAG123:

(MAG123) BASIRA: Yeah, he comes and goes. He’s busy. Well, he seems it. ARCHIVIST: Working for Peter Lukas. BASIRA: Don’t be too hard on him, Jon. Your, er… “situation”, it hit him. Hard. ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALES] Yes. Well, I’m sure there are better ways to deal with it than getting cosy with Elias’s successor. Who I’ve yet to meet, by the way.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] W–w–who else– Did Martin say something? BASIRA: … It was a few months back. After the attack. He’d started spending time with Lukas. At least, he said he was. And I wanted answers. He kept telling me to trust him, to hear the guy out even though he still wouldn’t actually show his face. I told him he could… drop me an email or vanish me. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: Honestly, I kind of regret not just… grabbing Martin and shaking an explanation out of him. But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mom and everything, so I didn’t press it. Now, I try and bring it up, he just… disappears. Nothing to be done. ARCHIVIST: So–sorry, you said… What happened with his mother? BASIRA: Oh, yeah. She died. About two months– ARCHIVIST: Oh… BASIRA: –after you, er… … Martin was… … He tried to stay strong. Keep it together but, that sort of thing… ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] BASIRA: [SIGHS] Then those Flesh things busted in, and well, here we are! ARCHIVIST: … God. BASIRA: He didn’t tell you? ARCHIVIST: No… BASIRA: Hm. Guess you don’t know everything, then. ARCHIVIST: No, I, I–I guess not.

(I wonder if Basira’s mention that Martin “just… disappears” is literal, or if she means that he just leaves? We heard him walk away, back in MAG125 with Jon, but… Peter just appears Like That, so…)

;; Slowly, we’re also filling in the gap between MAG120 and MAG121 a bit – at the same time as Jon does. Tim died, Jon went into his “coma”; Elias was arrested, Peter became Head of the Institute; two months after, Martin’s mother died; two months after, The Flesh attacked (Basira told Jon it happened “About two months ago” in MAG123); two months after, Jon woke up. We’re still not sure when the season 4 trailer happened exactly – was it before or after The Flesh? (Martin sounded at his end, back then, so I’d like to think right after but the other option is not impossible either…).

- GODS, I LOVE BASIRA… She’s Judging and assessing, not talking a lot with Jon (so many non-committal “Hm.”), but also frankly expressing her disapproval or that she thinks Jon is crossing lines; not closing communication but also highlighting the limits… And what a LEGEND, honestly. The fact that she didn’t even threaten to leave but just started to leave as soon as Elias began to Act All Elias. Not taking any of his bullshit (SHE GOT HIS POSH MOUTH TO SAY “BULLSHIT” =D) redjrefdujire,d. I’m love her. And I’m also so worried for her because Elias talking to you means Problems in general.

- Squinting at how Elias “I Can Complain About How ‘Oh, good lord, don’t be so dramatic, Jon!’ Because I’m An S-Class Dramatist Myself Have You Heard MAG092 And MAG120 And My Perfect Sense Of Timing” Bouchard greeted Basira with that… “Detective”?

(MAG127) ELIAS: … Good evening. Detective. [STEPS COMING CLOSER] BASIRA: I’m not a detective. ELIAS: Of course.

Elias rarely says seemingly gratuitous things if it’s not actually meant to hurt (even a few months later), or to mock, or to manipulate, so what’s the deal there. It could be a nod to Daisy (since she was the detective), or… a kind of ~I know what you’ve been doing~, if Basira has been researching on some delicate matters (that she still wouldn’t have shared with Jon)? I also wonder if it’s not… once again, Elias just quoting what other people said when he wasn’t there and shouldn’t have known, since Georgie had also called Basira a “detective” in MAG122 (right before they discovered that Jon had woken up), and Basira hadn’t reacted back then:

(MAG122) BASIRA: Alright. And you don’t know why this guy would have left a tape recorder? GEORGIE: You’re the detective. BASIRA: And you’re sure it was him who left it?

Reminder: Elias Does That and has a sucky sense of humour. He was already doing it back in season 1 (MAG039, Jon: “I can’t really stand up yet. I need you to describe what’s going on. For the record.” / Elias, in another place, right after: “You [Sasha] did bring a tape recorder. I just thought Jon would appreciate as many supplementary recordings as possible. For the record.”). We know that Basira wasn’t against presenting herself as an “investigator” for fun:

(MAG106) BASIRA: I should probably go check in with Martin. Y’know, if he’s in for drinks. MELANIE: So you can double-check your gossip~? BASIRA: I don’t gossip! I have the mind of an investigator.

… but that’s not the term that Elias used. Sooo… why the “Detective”, indeed. It doesn’t sound like a Beholding title (a bit too police-oriented) compared to “Watcher” or “Archivist” (Leitner had also called Jon “the observer”)…

- Elias is having it rough in prison, it’s a treat to hear <333 Kudos to Ben for the… raspier, tighter, incommodious? voice that deeeefinitely conveyed that Elias is not sitting on his throne anymore. … Actually, some of it reminded me a bit of Jon going through statements-withdrawal in MAG107, so I wonder if Elias isn’t having a personal form of withdrawal somehow, too, by being far from the Institute for such an extended period of time?

I’m… a bit lost as to why he even tried to pretend that he wasn’t spying on Basira&co in the first place, only to admit that he knew things when Basira told him off?

(MAG127) ELIAS: Er, I’ve found one of these in my cell? It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. BASIRA: … ELIAS: … Basira? BASIRA: Can we cut the bullshit? ELIAS: What “bullshit” might that be? BASIRA: The part where you pretend you don’t spend your whole time watching us. ELIAS: … Sometimes I’m eating. BASIRA: You know he’s back. You’ve seen him. ELIAS: Fine! Yes.

Why even bother? He had implied to Martin that the distance wouldn’t prevent him from spying on them (MAG120: “Best of luck, Martin. Ah, let the others know I shall be thinking of them. […] G–goodbye, Martin. Be seeing you.”) and his comments to Basira about “trust” are a clear reference to her discussion with Jon earlier in the episode:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m still on your side. You can trust me. BASIRA: [EXHALES] … Yeah. People keep saying that. […] Just don’t expect much on trust these days. ARCHIVIST: … Yes, I… I suppose that’s fair.

(MAG127) BASIRA: Right. So, what? You figured you’d record us for him? Sow some distrust from afar? ELIAS: Our… arrangement with the Inspector notwithstanding, I… rather feel that right now all the distrust is very much your own.

So nop, he’s still a pesky misery-sucking voyeuristic mosquito even from further distance and even though Peter/the Lonely has taken over the Institute – he’s still able to spy on them.

One thing I wondered was whether he wasn’t having trouble watching Jon, with his new status and all, hence the pretending that he had guessed that Jon was awake through deduction and not just… sheer observation; but he did admit that he knew and had indeed seen him when Basira pushed it. So!! That actually clears something up for me: Elias might be using the “I assume(d)” expression as a loophole when he’s lying-without-personally-feeling-that-he’s-lying (MAG040, Elias: “so, I assumed [Gertrude] was dead and left the investigation to the police, for all that good it did me.”). That counts as lying for me, but maybe not for him, apparently :w

Plus, Elias’s reasoning about the tape recorders seem to follow Jon’s, a bit in the same fashion (possibly overheard him, and is using his arguments?):

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: […] There was a tape recorder waiting for me when I sat down. […] I’ve decided to let the tapes run. They’ve… proved useful before, so…

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so…

Not the exact same phrasing for once, but roughly the same intention, except for one thing: “THE RECORDINGS HAVE HELPED” WHOM/WHAT, ELIAS. (I’m really not sure he meant “they helped Jon in the past” here.)

- In the same fashion: I wonder whether he can see what Martin is currently doing, or if Peter’s influence prevents him from accessing him, since they’re working closely together? What does Elias think of Martin working directly under Peter, and “isolating” himself? You’d think that even if Elias only felt mostly disgust towards Martin, cheating on Beholding would be a big enough offender for him to snap about that…?

FUN THING: Elias… still has NEVER EVER. MENTIONED. EVEN. ONCE. “PETER LUKAS”.

He never acknowledged that Peter had taken over the Institute. He didn’t even mention that Peter might be supposed to protect the Archives team? If Peter is not great with computers and with administration work with “too many variables” (from a sea captain??? Really??), nor is he supposed to protect the Archives, nor does he share Elias’s priority of setting off the Watcher's Crown (as Peter is focusing on Adelard’s investigations instead)… why was Peter chosen as an interim director? What was he supposed to do, in Elias’s mind? I’m going back to this, once again: does Elias even know that Peter has taken over the Institute? And/or does “Peter” truly exist as a person/avatar/monster? Jon had immediately thought about the possibility that he wasn’t “real”:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: Sorry, you haven’t– BASIRA: Nop. Never seen him. As far as I can tell, Martin’s the only one who has. ARCHIVIST: … right. A–and you’re sure he’s… real? BASIRA: We get emails from him. Memos. […] ARCHIVIST: But i–if you’ve never…seen him, I mean…

And it’s true that Peter wasn’t exactly interacting with his surroundings in past appearances: he was isolated when drinking his coffee in MAG033 and then… didn’t actually command The Tundra (Carlita only spotted him when they left the boat at night). In-series, he only appeared to people when they were alone (MAG100 for Bryan; MAG108, MAG120, MAG126 for Martin). The only cases in which there were multiple people involved around him were in MAG066, when he and Salesa freed Vincent Yang from the box (… and Peter was implied to have betted on Vincent having died in said box), and in MAG101, when Michael recounted that Michael Shelley and Gertrude had met with Peter to get transportation to the Great Twisting. MAG126 implied that Martin might have been the one writing Peter’s emails (since Peter ~can’t stand computers~): is that because Peter can barely interact with the world around him / is only perceptible to people who have been marked by the Lonely? Or is that part of the plan to isolate Martin further – by making everyone think that Martin is actually “Peter Lukas” and deceiving everyone?

Alternatively: Elias is not mentioning Peter on purpose, knows in excruciating detail what is happening around Peter, and, whatever is currently happening, they’re in on it together, and it really doesn’t bode well for Martin even if the New Threat is actually a thing. ;;

- Biggest plot-twist, for me, was to learn that Elias doesn’t want Jon to see him and has taken extra measures to ensure that they wouldn’t meet. Basira had already mentioned that Elias had made a deal with the police (MAG122: “A bunch of Section’d officers took him in. He made some sort of deal, I think. But… he’s not getting out anytime soon.”) and we still don’t know the details of that one, though Elias just mentioned his “cooperation” (is it just behaving without making people’s lives hell in the prison? Or is it actively helping Section 31’d officers? I’m guessing that… selective omniscient powers might be relevant to their interests?)

Elias not wanting Jon to see him leads me to wonder about two things: what is Elias waiting for – he described Jon as being in transition, so when and how is Jon supposed to reach the next stage (AND HOW CAN HE AVOID IT)? And why does Elias want to avoid being in Jon’s presence? Because Jon would punch him in the face? (Definitely, but there is a long queue :w) Because Jon would most definitely do the exact contrary of what Elias seems to be aiming for? (Nothing new in that regard :w) Orrr… because Elias thinks that Jon has reached a stage where Jon’s compulsion might work on him?

Anyway: there is something definitely funny in the way that… for both Martin and Elias, Jon is a ~*HIM*~-who-doesn’t-need-to-be-named:

(MAG126) MARTIN: […] It’s because he’s back, isn’t it. [SIGHS] He’s back, so now you’re going to be… around, again. Listening in. Mff. You missed him, didn’t you. … Yeah. … [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] Yeah, me too. […] PETER: You talked to him. MARTIN: I… I, I tried not to, I–I, I didn’t mean to… PETER: You talked to him. And that’s understandable, Martin, of course it is! Please don’t think I’m upset, it’s just… not ideal. Shows how much work we still have ahead of us. MARTIN: If I keep avoiding him, people will get suspicious. […] You said he’d probably never wake up. […] When all this is over, I’m telling him everything, with or without your permission.

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. […] BASIRA: You know he’s back. You’ve seen him. […] You figured you’d record us for him? […] Fine. So you won’t see him, but you’re happy for him to hear our conversations. ELIAS: He can listen all he wants, but he’s at a very delicate stage right now, and I… fear my presence would be a… a distraction. I’ve made it clear my cooperation’s contingent on his not seeing me, and my terms have been accepted thus far.

(Only moment Elias said Jon’s name was to diss him: “Then again: you are beset by enemies on all sides, Basira. And unless you expect Jon to record them into submission […]”. So Jon only has a name when it’s about trashing him and the fact he’s a nerd who can’t win in a fight. Elias, please.)

- By the way! The many shackle sounds gave us an indication: Elias must have the habit of using a loooot of hand gestures for emphasis, since it was clicking all the time when he was talking!

- Not the first time that Elias has acknowledged the tape recorders (MAG098: Melanie: “… Did…? Did you turn that on?” / Elias: “Hmm? Oh. You get used to it.”) or used them as a means of communication between him and Jon (he addressed Jon directly when recording in MAG092 and MAG120), but first time that he’s been directly asked about what he knows about them!

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so… BASIRA: … Do you know what they are? ELIAS: What a question.

WHICH TECHNICALLY MEANS SHIT, THANK YOU E-LIE-AS. Could mean that He Knows Exactly What They Are And How They Operate; could mean that he has a vague idea; could mean that he has absolutely no idea and is bullshitting his way out of the question. Eff you, grinning man. (Sidenote: Ben’s delivery on that last line was so satisfying somehow??)

- “Sometimes I’m eating.” … Yyyyyeah but, Elias. Do you sleep? Jury’s out on the question. Relatedly: I wonder if Jon is wishing he didn’t need to sleep, but at the same time… he hasn’t mentioned sleeping since season 4 started, and we still don’t know if he’s still having The Dreams. When Basira listed off the overview of Jon’s powers, it would have been the perfect moment to try to sort out what’s up with those:

(MAG127) BASIRA: … So. You can’t be killed by a collapsing building. Major injuries scar up fast. You can force the truth out of people and knowledge pops into your head whenever you need it. ARCHIVIST: Yes. I, I think that about, that about covers it.

But Jon didn’t add anything. I have no inkling of what is going on in Jon’s head: was he actually less aware of the true nature of his dreams than we had accounted for at the end of season 3 (MAG113: “I’m not too concerned, to be honest, my dreams are, uh… Well, let’s just say I don’t think they’re going to be letting anyone else in… any time soon.”)? Was he made to forget about the content of his dreams when he woke up from his coma, in the same way that he forgot the end of the Unknowing? Is he hiding that information from Basira because he’s trying to make her trust him again, and feels like it could be a deal-breaker? (He’s making efforts to be transparent with her, though… but is he exhaustive in that transparency? He, of all people, should know that hiding things has proven to be a wrong course of action, and so far in season 4 he has been precisely sharing and trying to talk to people, though…).

I guess that we’ll need to wait for a push in order to find out what Jon knows/remembers about his dreams: whether an old statement-giver coming back, whether a new person coming to give a live statement (what will Jon do in such a situation?), whether… MAG120’s tape resurfacing, which could be soon.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: […] There was a tape recorder waiting for me when I sat down. They’re not even hiding it anymore. There weren’t any tapes from when I was… away – I checked. Whatever they are, they are here for me.

(MAG127) ELIAS: Er, I’ve found one of these in my cell? It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so…

^He’s probably referring to the time he was comatose but, technically, Jon went “away” at the end of MAG117, so that could include the tapes of MAG118 and MAG120. Both involving Elias. Elias clearly said “the tapes”, plural, in MAG127, so maybe getting that tape recorder will unlock the missing ones, which could just… reappear? No idea.

- Oh My Gods, Elias:

(MAG127) BASIRA: … So why am I here? What do you want that’s so important you needed to tell me to my face? ELIAS: I believe you’ve recently lost Melanie. BASIRA: … We saved Melanie. ELIAS: As a person, yes, but as a defender…

Melanie, from off-screen: STOP TELLING PEOPLE I’M DEAD. (That was so mean and gratuitous and savage, ELIAS???)

There is something absolutely disgusting in the way Elias managed to turn one of the only good things that have happened recently (they managed to remove the bullet from Melanie! She’s a bit more of herself again! She’s getting emotions back!) into… a loss. Was it because she was infected by The Slaughter that Elias wanted to hire her in MAG084? We know from MAG106 that the fact that she didn’t have many people around her helped:

(MAG106) MELANIE: Threaten then. I’ve got nothing. ELIAS: That’s… almost true. Your life is indeed shockingly absent of any meaningful connections. That’s actually one of the reasons I chose you for this job. [PAUSE] Your father was your last real anchor, wasn’t he? [STATIC BEGINS.]

But it was “one of the reasons” (potential others being: Melanie listing how she’s reached the end of her options in MAG084); did Elias already know about the Slaughter-infected wound?

… ;; I REALLY don’t like that Elias is ~offering his help~ for the Archives now that this part is getting better. What is the trick. How is he planning to get some power back through the option he’s ~generously~ mentioning to Basira.

(MAG127) ELIAS: As a person, yes, but as a defender… I would have thought you would want all the help you could get, or… have you forgotten what happened last time you lay your guard down? BASIRA: … We’ll work it out. ELIAS: Possibly. Then again: you are beset by enemies on all sides, Basira. And unless you expect Jon to record them into submission, it would seem you’re in rather dire need of another option. BASIRA: … And you just happen to have one. ELIAS: I might have an idea, yes. BASIRA: And what does it cost? ELIAS: Just some of your time, Basira. Just your time. BASIRA: … [SIGHS] Okay. Let’s hear it.

(Gods!!! I hate it!! I love how he’s good at what he’s doing!! Hitting where it hurts – that “last time you lay your guard down” might be about The Flesh attack? And as usual, he sounds totally rational, getting you when you’re in a weak spot, when you’d need help!! There are obvious parallels with the way Peter handled Martin in the meantime: both playing on the way Basira&Martin feel responsible for the others’ safety, both being ~logical~ and insisting that their deal is mostly in your interest…)

What is the triiiiiiiiiick, WHAT IS THAT INSISTENCE ABOUT “TIME”………..

1°) I really hope that whatever he told Basira, Basira won’t play along with his game. The tape recorder cut at this point; Jon won’t know about Elias’s offer if Basira doesn’t tell him. I really hope that she’s not planning dissimulation – Martin is already doing that and it… doesn’t sound good already. If they scatter, if they hide and keep things from each other, they can be sure that Elias will get some power back this way……………

2°) Regarding the ~cliffhanger~ of Elias having a suggestion to make regarding the Archives team’s new “Defender”, there are many options and, even amongst characters we have already met, they’re all interesting.

Daisy? Sounds the most logical, since we can assume (from a narrative standpoint) that she’s not totally dead + Elias mistakenly called Basira “detective” and called her in – she would be the one who would agree to do anything to get Daisy back. (Though… anyway, Elias couldn’t have called anyone else: Melanie would have skinned him anyway, Martin is off, and Elias doesn’t want Jon to see him.) Is the mention that Basira would only have to give “time” because she would be supposed to take her place inside of the coffin…? (Past victims seem to just disappear inside of it, though.)

Simon Fairchild? Jon said that he didn’t want to meet him a few episodes ago (MAG124: “Fairchild seems to travel far and wide for his victims, with no motivation other than… variety. I do not think I ever wish to meet him.”), would be Very Elias to just throw the old man at Jon as a result.

The Section’d officer who arrested Elias / the Legend who punched Elias? He sounded like an awful guy but HEY!!! He punched Elias. Melanie would love to hear about how it felt, and she needs some cheering up. And I wouldn’t put it past Elias to rec the guy who punched him.

JUDE PERRY? Would be amazingly awful for Jon and also worst choice ever, which is why Elias could go for that one.

Julia&Trevor, having managed to come back from the US? Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t dream of Trevor hunting in the Archives. (Okay, maybe I just want to hear Julia again because nnggg. Maybe.) (Also!! They burned down Ivy Meadows (and Melanie’s father), so if anyone should get to meet them, it’s Melanie.)

Spider-people and/or Annabelle? Can’t say for sure, but I feel like whatever the spiders are doing, they’re enjoying their lurking in the shadows for now (and given that they sent Oliver to wake up Jon, they seem to avoid direct interactions with him).

Mikaele Salesa? He had contacts with the Institute, knew Gertrude a bit, and we only know that he disappeared(status is unknown, “he hasn’t been seen for almost two years now” in MAG045, which took place in September 2016). Plus, Salesa knew Peter Lukas…

Breekon or Hope, depending on which of them survived Daisy’s wrath? I really don’t think so (if anything… the surviving one might be a threat for the Archives), but their fake accent would drive Jon CRAZY so fast, probably, and I’d be here for this.

Sadly, if Jon’s dreams from MAG120 are any indication, he’s presumably dead, but I can’t help but think about Mike Crew for the Hilarity. I mean! He wrecked Jon (a bit) and:

(MAG091) MIKE: You’re sure I can’t get you a cup of tea? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it–it’s fine, really. MIKE: Okay. You just seem a bit… jumpy, is all. […] ARCHIVIST: You… There was, there was a book? Er, two of them, at least. Er… Ex Altiora, The Boneturner’s Tale. You, uh… I think you threw a guy off a skyscraper in Paris. MIKE: Hmm. Last chance for that cup of tea. ARCHIVIST: I… [STATIC] Where did you get that scar? MIKE: [LONG SIGH AS THE SOUND OF RUSHING AIR RISES] And I was trying so hard to be polite. […] We have a lot in common, really. After all, what, what good’s the height, the terrifying draw of gravity, unless you, unless you really know the scale of what you’re facing?

He said they Vast and Beholding had “lot in common”! He makes tea!! (Wrong person, but still. He likes to make and offer tea. A spot was left… vacant, for that role.)

tl:dr BEHOLDING-STATEMENT YIIISSS, and I’m so glad and mad to have heard Elias again, already =DD

We already have MAG128’s title soooo… personal speculation would be about Breekon &/or Hope, maybe the coffin already? And/or a Buried statement? Regarding the title’s double-meaning (/if taken literally): Sounds Like A Big Lie anyway :|

[ask-de-writer]

GREEN VELVET : Classical Fantasy : Part 5

GREEN VELVET

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

24116 words

© 2018 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat

Written 2003

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

Express permission is granted for all sorts of fan activity, whether music, written or art.  Fair use of characters and settings in fan works, whether art or written, is encouraged, provided that proper credit is given for their origin. Reblogging on Tumblr is allowed.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

New to the story?  Part 1 is here!

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Turning to me, he asked, “Might I have permission to speak freely to you, Lord Caer Dunn?  I wish you to know where I stand without offense, though you may not like what you hear.”

“Speak then,” I replied.  “If you are the Queen’s true man, your opinion will make no enemy of me.”

“I shall be blunt.  I do not like you.  You are a Mortal.”

“I expected as much.  I heard what you told Queen Organe.  You have good reason for your hate. Bear in mind that mortals are each different, as are your own kind. Speak on,” I said quietly.

“I understand what you mean but my heart does not feel it,” he said, brow furrowed in thought.  “I oppose your presence at Organe’s Court and if asked, I will say so.  I opposed Thomas, too.  His loss has brought so much pain to my Queen that I may have been wrong.  I was wrong not to go to Her at once and let Her undo the geas and find the traitors before their plot was carried through.  I am not sorry for my opposition, only for Her Majesty’s agony.  Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” I acknowledged.  “While you may be opposed to me, I am only against your opinion, not yourself.  In the matter of our Queen, we are perfectly aligned.  This also I will say.  From what I have seen of you, in any combat, including the courtly, I will not fear from you a foul blow.  If you dissemble, you do it too well for me.”

“Our Queen?” he looked startled at the thought.  “I did not know that you had sworn yourself to her service.”

“He has not,” said Organe’s deep, yet still feminine voice.  “All that he has done, at my mere request, without proof that I was royalty, was renounce utterly his lands, his title, his father, his brothers and all else that he held dear.  I used no sorcery to influence what he did in any whit.  That is more than pledge enough for me.  Can you think of a more sincere one?”

Once again, his thick thatch of black hair almost met his eyebrows as he concentrated.  “Majesty, of freely given oaths, I cannot.  Only sorcery could bind more strongly.”  He thought again for a few moments and Organe gave him time, turning an eye to me, quietly warning me to silence also.  “I have said, and I repeat, I am opposed to him, as a Mortal, being in your Court.  If you are determined that he have a place, then swear him to you in full Court and install him in the place that you think fit.  Be sure that all are witness, so that none may gainsay your intent.  If he is willing, enforce the oath by your magic.”

“You are well aware that I do not like to do that, especially to folk that I have grown to trust,” she replied sharply.

I spoke incredulously, “You mean that you have no hostages to bind your Court?”

Both of her green eyes stared at me, horns aimed at me like drawn arrows along her deadly muzzle, ears laid flat along her neck.  “I have had such in the past,” she said distastefully.  “I prefer free will.”

“Naytheless, I think that I see a way to smoke out your disloyal plotters without harm to your principles or your true subjects,” I returned excitedly.

Both she and Braxon regarded me with wide eyed interest, her ears spread wide, “Tell me, then what might do this!”

“Do all as you have planned. Use the occasion of Earl Desmarche’s demotion to announce that, a moon hence, all the Court, to maintain their lands and titles, must swear binding fealty to you, that they never have nor ever will willingly work against your known will,” I looked for approval.  I did not see it.  Organe’s ears were laid almost flat back.

It was Braxon who spoke their mutual disfavor.  “You have just heard her say that she will not bind her subjects in this fashion.  Some Courts do.  We have beaten all of them in battle for the reason of their Oaths limiting their scope of action.  Free will is better.  Our Queen acts with restraint because She can be terrible.”

“I understand that.  Her subjects will not be bound in any whit, nor will she have told any falsehood about the Oath of Fealty.”

Her head was tilted to one side, ears spread in curiosity, “How, then?”

“Only one small part of the Oath will actually be bound by magic, and that voluntarily.  Have them swear that they are your loyal vassals who will never act against your known will and who never have willingly acted against your expressed will.  Only that last bit will be bound and, as it affects only past action, it cannot affect their freedom.  The moon hence is for those who will, to come forth to you, asking such forgiveness as is possible.  The others will find ‘pressing business on their estates’ or other reasons to flee, thereby revealing themselves,” I explained earnestly.

Braxon and the dragon looked at each other, nodding slowly.  Stroking his short, neatly trimmed beard, the Earl said grudgingly, “It will work, my Queen.  It will work.  With your permission, I can attend to the details.”  Her huge head nodded, eyes shutting to hard slits.  He continued.  “Trust me on this, My Queen, the first thing to do is leave your left hand seat formally unfilled.”  He gestured at me as though he could not bring himself to speak my name.  “Let him remain there for the time being.  Find a pretext to move Mechan one place further to your right.”

Puzzled, she said, “I do not understand, move Mechan?  Why?”

Braxon managed to get out, “If you do it, you will come to understand...” before he fell in a gasping fit apparently unable to breathe.  Instantly, I was by his side, lowering him onto one of the large cushions that dotted the room.  I was trying to get him air as you would for a drowned swimmer, to no avail.

“It is the geas!” I heard from behind me.  “It is strangling him!”

“Can you break it?” I cried still laboring.

“Only at the cost of losing My proof of its maker!” she answered, torn.  “If this were any but Braxon... Move aside,” she added heavily, her voice small again.  I did.  The Organe that I first had met, came and stood over him.  She exhaled toward him.  This time, it was dragon fire or appeared to be, blue-white, streaked with yellow, jetting from her mouth, something that you might see in the hottest part of a forge.  Nothing of Braxon or the cushion was harmed in the least.  Something within him burned back at her mightily, black, red, flickering orange flame was twining up her blast, trying to reach her.  Tendrils of the black flame, bolstered by the rest, leapt up towards her eyes and nose.  Less than inches from her face, it failed and withered away to nothing.  Clearly exhausted, she flopped into a chair, discouraged.

“He is saved, but all that I had hoped to learn is gone, even the memory of what the geas was protecting is vanished with it.”

“Your Majesty, I am in much pain, yet feel as though some direful thing is lifted from me,” croaked Braxon.  “I can barely move.”

To be CONTINUED

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[jungiyara]

Ever Since We Met [SF9 Dawon AU]

Man I’m a sucker for cheesy one shots. @fyeah-bubblekey this ones for you :3

Text Key:

[ sample ]: author notes

SAMPLE: Your thoughts

SAMPLE: Dawons Thoughts

SAMPLE: Same thought at same time

———————————

Ever Since We Met [Based off the song Nearly Witches by Panic! At the Disco]

Song for reference (Live ver. 2011) 

Song for reference (Org, with lyrics)

Dear lord I hate school. 5 tests, 3 essays, and a presentation in 3 weeks?

It was the beginning of the second semester of your 11th year in high school [secondary school?]. This was the most important year of your education. The year where all your grades and extracurricular actually mean something. Everything seemed to fall on top of you at once. If you had it your way, you would have dropped out and gone to performance school. But your parents would never allow that. So you dragged your ass out of bed into Hell. You didn’t care for much. But you only cared about one thing. Cheesy as it is, the school's music program is the only reason why you even try; your parents wouldn’t let you be in the music program if your grades were awful. You were the president of the program, you sang, danced and played both the clarinet and guitar.

The best part about this program was not just the fact it wasn’t a boring classical orchestral highschool band, but that it was a versatile program, where there were guitarists, drummers, bass players, singers, and dancers. It was to focus on different styles while promoting individuality and unity. Most students played more than one instrument and everyone was like a family.

You enjoyed adding new people to the program each year. But when your director said that there was a new singer who transferred in, you felt nervous yet excited. Since the seniors graduated last year, the program lacked any singers, and while you were amazing, it wasn’t your focus as was dance and guitar.

“Lee Sanghyuk is his real name but prefers to be called Dawon, I believe,” said your teacher. “He’s a singer and dancer, doesn’t play any instruments.” Wow, so I have a bit of competition now? “It’s your responsibility as president to introduce him to the program. I expect you to make an announcement to all three music class periods. And I believe he’s joining your class. Make sure you update on our set list for the concert in a month. I haven’t handed out the parts yet, but I heard the kid sing.” You relaxed at his expression. He seemed excited by it. “He’s one of the best I heard since our last male singer graduated.”

You took a look at the setlist. 2 general orchestral pieces and 1 instrumental alternative piece for the high school, 1 indie for the 8th graders, 2 combined 6th and 7th-grade pieces, few jazz ensemble pieces and a drum line piece. With a dance performance put in, the concert would run about an hour and a half.

“Nearly Witches? Isn’t that a Panic! At the Disco piece? For the high school” You asked. “Indeed it is. It’s the last song on the piece. It’s probably going to be a duo.”

Oh no. Your the only female singer right now and you haven’t even heard the new kid yet. “I know what you’re thinking y/n, and don’t worry, your voices match each other.” The bell rang, meaning you had to go to your last class. “Good luck kiddo, you can do it!” You loved your teacher. He was almost like a second parent.

Next Day:

You came to school early so you could run to the music room and meet the new kid. As you walked in your heart skipped a beat.

Oh god he’s hot. Almost tripping over the instrument cable damn 8th graders you walked into the office. You were trying hard to keep your composure. He had soft black hard and beautiful brown eyes, was a little taller than you were, though you were in heels. He had a smile that was so bright you thought you needed sunglasses. Your teacher read your mind and started giggling as he instructed you to sit.

Okay, professionalism. You gotta know the kid for the benefit of the program.

“Hi I’m Sanghyuk, but you could call me Dawon!” His voice was bright and I feel like he's comedic and outgoing. “Hi Dawon! I’m Y/N, the president. I heard you’re a vocalist? I know this is fast but we have a concert in about a month. Do you have a free period so we can discuss?” I’m talking so fast oh god. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m staring.

“Uh, I think 4th period?” You saw his schedule. I share 4 classes including free period. This should be fun.

“Do you dance Dawon? After school on Thursdays we have a dance class. We do stuff from hip hop to alternative and traditional. I can introduce you to the Dance team leader for you.” 

“I actually love dancing, I’ll take you up on that offer.” Does she know that I’m really fuckin nervous. 

“I think you’re gonna be a great addition to the program Dawon!” said your teacher, noticing the slight tension. 

The bell rang, and the first music class came in. The three music classes were the two highschool and the one middle school. The first was High school A. Your friends Taeyang, Zuho and Rowoon walk in. They greet you and Dawon; Taeyang walks by and whispers in your ear “he’s cute, I approve.” and you hit him playfully. “Dawon, I’d like you to meet the dance team leader and the most awful best friend in the world. Taeyang, we have a new member for Dance.”

He took one look at Dawon. “Like I said, I approve. Talk to me after school newbie.” 

“Well I wouldn’t bet on it, I have about 100 other things I gotta do, you gotta prove to be a priority!” I hope she found that comment funny or I’m gonna launch myself out the window. Oh my god and he’s comedic. Please don’t let me fall for this boy. You, Taeyang, Rowoon and Zuho are laughing. Thank god. 

As the class settles in, you walk in and introduce him to the group. Everyone muttered in delight; another singer. He shot finger guns at everyone when you described him, and everyone giggled. Oh boy a class clown. Everyones gonna love him. 

Throughout the day, you led him through the school. You two seemed to bond on your mutual hatred for the stupid amount of work you have as 11th graders. “5 test and 2 essays??” “And a presentation!” “How are you alive at this school?” How do i tell him that this music program is the reason why I even try. “I mean, I have music I guess, its my passion.” Oh my god she’s amazing. I can’t believe I met someone who loves music this much. He seems to love music as well. This might be fun.

During your free period, which you previously shared with only Zuho, you two helped Dawon catch up with music stuff. “Our teacher said he wants you and I to sing this song as a duet for the concert.” Nearly Witches by Panic! At the Disco? You both looked at the lyrics while Zuho sat at the table doing his homework. “Ever since we met, I only shoot up with your perfume, Its the only thing, that makes me feel as good as you do” oh god I hope the blushing isn’t noticeable.  

“Okay so the lyrics are a little... lovey... Its strictly professional though. Lets spend the next few minutes splitting up the parts and listening to the song.” My teacher is really trying to set me up with this kid isn’t he. You text Taeyang the song lyrics and he responds with the heart eyes and laughing emoji and you send back the middle finger one. 

“We’re having the whole group sing the first part in french. Seeing that you seem to have a funny bone in you, you can take the ‘Here I am, composing a burlesque part’“ She thinks I’m funny?? 

“You can sing the first verse, I’ll take the second verse following the burlesque line. You can sing the pre-chorus, we can sing the chorus together.” 

He knows what he’s doing oh wow. 

The lunch bell rang. Soon after was the music class. After everyones part was handed out, you two went into the practice room to sing vocals while the rest of the group practiced their part. 

The practice room was a bit on the smaller side; 1 speaker and a music stand. 

“Alright lets get this shit done Dawon.” 

“Don’t you mean... lets get this  shit Done...won...” That was the dumbest joke I’ve made oh lord- ShES LAUGHING?” 

You gave a disapproving laughter at his pun. God he’s cute. ok ok ok focus...

The next 30 minutes were spent singing the parts following the song as it was playing. 

As class ended, you realized he wrote his number on the back of your sheet music with a note. “You know, we might be partners, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” I hope that wasn’t too much. HIS NUMBER OH LORD. I hope this works out...

______________

You two spent the next two weeks bonding over whatever. You two got along really well. You had a mutual love for dancing. He’s such a good dancer. You found out that it’s been his dream to be a performer/singer. This only made you love him more.

He became everyone's favorite joker, the teachers loved him because he did his work, the students loved him because he made funny, snarky comments about people. Basically he opened up real quick to everyone and fit in right away. 

The best part was during rehearsals. There was a part in the song where the right way to sing the line is in a prissy valley girl accent and every time he does it, the entire class erupts in laughter and you feel yourself falling for him even more. At this point it became a full blown crush on this dude. And during dance practice, Taeyang made sure that you two were close together (he knows all).

He hung out with your general group of friends a lot. I hope she likes me back at some point. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. You noticed how whenever he’s around you he pulls out really bad puns and jokingly flirts with you. Rowoon keeps telling you that he thinks he likes you, but you deny it.

“The song is strictly professionalism.”

The day of the concert was getting closer and closer. You two were told that because it was the last song on the show that you two had to put on a performance. Performance? Its a love song and we’re making it a duet. This could be my chance to pull something. I can’t perform that well, I can show emotion but putting on an act?

The day before the concert you had a sound check/dress rehearsal. This was the time to practice with the amount of space.

“Okay so the beginning is us turned around facing the ensemble. As the song goes into the guitars, we turn around and start dancing. It’ll be mild impromptu.” you explain.

“How should I do my valley girl accent?” he asked everyone, but directed towards you. He starts reenacting that part several times with different poses and accents until the whole group including the teacher is laughing uncontrollably. Dear lord I love him. Your heart rushed with happiness and affection as you told him “Whatever you like. Every time I make her laugh, the happier I feel and the more love I feel for her. 

THE DAY OF THE CONCERT:

You were wearing a short blue dress, white necklace, light make up and your hair falling to your sides. Dawon was wearing a short sleeved blue collared shirt and black jeans, with faux glasses and he hair straightened. Wow. She/He’s hot.

The songs passed, one by one, each group walked off stage and you stood by the door praising everyone. The dance performance came. You couldn’t perform as you requested not to; it was a particularly difficult song and you wanted to watch your boys. Taeyang, Zuho, Rowoon, Dawon as well as Inseong, Jaeyoon, Hwiyoung, Chani and Youngbin all performed a self choreographed and produced song called K.O. At Dawons part you couldn’t stop staring at him. God he’s so good. Is she watching. I hope shes watching. She better be watching, I’m using all of my energy.

As the song ended, you greeted them with hugs as the audience and students cheered. The dance performances usually got the most response.

Soon it was time for the duet. Usually you were nervous, but this time, with Dawon, you felt at ease. 

The whole group walked onto the stage. Here we go. 

“My wing tips waltz across naive wood floors. They creak innocently down the stairs.” You start.

Dawons part came up. Oh boy. 

“HERE I AM, COMPOSING A BURLESQUE, OUT OF WHERE THEY REST THEIR NECKS” Dawon did a 360 degree turn, jumped off the stage, sassily stood with his arm up and hand facing down, his eyes closed and in the most high pitch voice sang with his heart. The audience loved it. You loved it. You loved him. 

You two sung through the whole song, but what confused you was that he walked by Taeyang and grabbed something and hid it behind him halfway through, but you didn’t pay much attention to it.

You two sang the last part together. Waltzing on stage, pretending to be lovers.

“And my one regret is you~~” which was repeated about 4 times.

The last time you two sang that line, he turned around, pulled out something which made the audience gasp and aww. Then turned to you. Here goes nothing.

“And my one regret is you.” A FLOWER! 

As he handed you the flower, you almost in tears, him with a goofy smile and on one knee, the song ends. This is a dream. She accepted it! The whole audience and ensemble is cheering.

You two walk out on stage, flower in one hand, your other hand holding his, and bow down.

After the concert, you two walk back to the music room. As you two pack up your things, as well as in the post concert commotion, he throws the question. At this point it’s just you two alone in the instrument closet.

“So, Y/N... do you, maybe wanna go out some time?” please say yes please say yes.

Truly a dream come true oh my god oh my god! 

You kiss his cheek. “Does that answer that for you?” 

To break the tension he replys in a sarcastic voice, “No actually it doesn’t!” 

“Yes of course I’ll go out with you you big goof.”

He kisses your cheek just as the rest of you friends look through the window. Rowoon walks in shouting.

“HEY LOVE BIRDS WE’RE GONNA GO CELEBRATE AT THAT ONE BOUGIE RESTAURANT DOWNTOWN, CARE TO JOIN OR ARE Y’ALL GONNA FUCK?” 

Dawon starts laughing and you hit Rowoon with a music stand, but agree to go.

The music program truly was the one thing that made you happy.

[ikonislife]

Drabble #4

-Hanbin x Reader

-Friend to lover drabble.

-Is this too long to be a drabble? If it is lemme know, I’ll just move it to the normal masterlist. 

You had thought by this age, those days of enthusing over your crush on a boy who would never look your way would be long gone, a thing of the past. Who knew the boy would only upgraded to a man, and you still very much gushing about him in your diary near daily. If you have to be really honest with yourself, all this seems a bit childish considering you’re no longer a teenage girl with only a kiss under your belt to count as “dating experience”. Yet if you think really hard, there’d be no other way for you to openly dream of the man without it getting back to his ears by the end of the night. Your guy best friend and roommate, Bobby? Also his best friend and boy, has he got loose lips. Your girl best friend? She got scooped up by Bobby faster than you could even finished introducing them to one another. Although you know she wouldn’t mention this tiny crush to her dear boyfriend, the chance of it getting out by some freak accident still greater than you’d care to risk. Plus, you didn’t want to burden her, having putting on her the need to lie to Bobby, whom she had never lied to before. 

1/1/18

- Once again, Hanbin had made it quite difficult for my poor heart to function. Why does he feels the need to roam this apartment as if he lives here. Honestly who does this boy think he is, showing up unannounced looking mighty fine in that giant white button up he stole from Bobby. 

Also, what is it with him and Bobby being shirtless 25 hours a day. Does neither of them know of this concept call PJ shirts or are they just too broke to afford shirts. What happened to mutually respecting the common space between roommies. 

On that note, he got yet another tattoo and lord does it

The sudden thunderous bang of the front door had your heart near leaping out of your chest, the neat rows of unfinished thought permanently ruined with a giant jagged black line wiggling its way through the page before the pen too, tumbling out of your grasp fro shock.

“Hey Y/n!!!!”

“God, Hanbin. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these day. Why are you here again, where’s the bunny.” 

Of course out of all the day for him to walk in on you penning down your deepest thought, it’d be the day where you finally convinced yourself to enjoy the living room, taking the chance to utilize the space without Bobby’s incessant screaming at the TV. Seriously, what even made you think writing in your diary in the common space would be a good idea, you should’ve known this would happen even as sure as you were they had gone out for dinner. The cosmic hates you, of course this would happen.

“He ran into his girl, she was on her way up and they abandoned me so I came back to hang with you. Well, more like I didn’t wanna be third wheel.” Eyes lingering in your wide open book, his lips suddenly curl up in a mischievous smirk. “Ooooo diary. Whatcha wrote? I saw my name.” 

Is it possible for your blood to physically drains from your body in an instant, because if it is, you were sure that’s what happening right this second. Even in the muddy reflection of the Tv screen, you could tell your face had just gone ghost white from the sudden reminder that the gateway to your most secretive thoughts is still very much in public domain... Worse, Hanbin’s domain. 

“NOTHING!” As your panicking self regaining a bit of composure after a less than normal scream for an answer, the leather bound book slowly closing and as inconspicuous as you could, slid it away from sight under the cushion. “I mean, nothing, it’s nothing.”

Giant puffy coat shed, Hanbin settles just beside your warm body, stealing body heat and no doubt already craving skin-ship in the short 10 minutes since Bobby had left him to have his own fun. A stupidly adorable pout blooming on his cherry soft lips, those doe eyes working you into a stupor but before it could accomplish its mission of prying info out of you, his desire for skin contact overdrive every other function in his body as Hanbin nudges his nose right into the crook of your neck. 

“Please, tell me! Y/n~ I saw my name~”

“It’s nothing.” You sigh in relief, mentally thanking yourself for having written your deepest, most intimate thought in (insert your language). At least you’re not all dumb and daze when it comes to Hanbin... Although, you’re this close to just giving him the damn book just to shut his whiny ass up. Seriously, how could a grown man be on par with a three years old, Bobby really didn’t named him whine king for no reason. 

“Please~ I promise I won’t tell anyone. I saw my name, Y/n~~”

“It’s private, Binnie, I can’t...” You’re struggling, the truth teetering at the tip of your tongue, asking, begging to see the light of day especially when hanbin is practically on his knees, dying to know. You aren’t even sure what’s worse, fighting the urge to kiss him right there on the spot or keeping this secret. He had made it near impossible not to let your gaze lingers on those sharp collar bones peeking from the wide neckline white tee sheer enough for you to make out the dark patch of ink so handsome on his smooth skin. 

Yet you’re scare, fearful of the catastrophic power of the words waiting to be unleash, would it pummel this friendship into nothingness? You’re too much of a coward to find out, even with the sweet begging and gentle whisper... You just couldn’t.

“Oh...” How Hanbin could shift from sounding like honey to this icy tone cutting at your heart in a mere second, you’re too drunk in him to keep up with. “It can’t be too good then if you’re so afraid of me finding out.” Gone were the little teasing smirk, gone too was the soft nudges and tight hug around your waist. In place, a bitter chuckle, almost in disbelief that you could think of him as anything else other than a friend. Had he done anything wrong, offended you somehow that you’d resort to badmouthing him in a diary. A dreary sigh rips from his lungs as the handsome man shy away from your touch, getting up preparing for another trek in the cold night. 

“No, Hanbin. That’s not what-”

“It’s okay, Y/n. I know I can be a lot sometimes, the bunny told me all the time. I understand.” Even when he’s upset with you, Hanbin couldn’t help but does his best to soften the blow with a weak smile. Actually, he’s not upset with you really, just the situation. As he pull back the jacket that hadn’t had a chance to dry, Hanbin mentally curses himself for being so careless, for forcing you into revealing things that no one should see in the first place. 

“Binnie, just listen for one second, please.” Before his cold fingertips could reach for the handle of the front door, you had thrown your body in between his and the wooden barrier, a desperate gaze in your eyes. “I’ll tell you, just, promise me you won’t be angry.”

“You don’t have to, I’m sorry for pressing. I know diary is something precious and really, you don’t have to. Just tell me that it’s not something bad. I shouldn’t have look in the first place, i’m sorry.” And with that Hanbin remains silent, his gaze intently on your shifting features but those beautiful eyes no longer as stormy. 

“I want to tell you for awhile now, just, I’m too much of a coward to.” No longer could you bear the burning of his gaze so yours downcast to his chest, the place where you had always associate with warmth and comfort through the many movie night he’d let you rest your weary mind on. “I wrote that you made it difficult for me, for my heart.” His lips parted in what you guess, shock, and you could feel the force of thousand storm forming into word at his tongue. “Just let me finish, don’t say anything yet.”

Your eyes searching for his, looking for any sign at all but all you got was an undecipherable mixture of emotion flashing, mingling with confusion. Nevertheless, hanbin respects your wish and kept his lips tight. 

“Thank you.” Your eyes flutter close, the most strenuous sigh dances its way from your quivering lips. “I said you made it difficult because my poor heart overworks itself every time you’re near me. It’s like any second, you could look my way steal all the air out of my lungs and honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can handle it. I like you, Hanbin, I like you so much that it’s unbearable but I know you won’t ever look my way. I don’t know if you’ve never notice the way I act around you or chose not to but it’s unlike how I am with any other guys. And I know it’s stupid to write in some stupid diary but it’s the only way I could stop myself from overbearing you.”

Once again, your search for any emotion on his face fail as your heart breaks at the blank canvas, lacking any and all response to the giant bomb you had just dropped on him. Unknowingly, your lips whisper a meek “please say something” with tears pricking at your lashes but Hanbin stays still. 

“I’m sorry, this must all be so suffocating for you. Now that you know what I wrote, you’re welcome to leave.” A small apology chokes out of you before your body moves aside, clearing the doorway for the stunned man to make his way into the night. At this point, you’re not sure if you want to linger and watch Hanbin leaves at in the light of your crush made public and also its demise within just a few minutes, so you walk away. 

“Goodbye, Hanbin.”

Even before the last syllable of his name hits the air, a strong hold on your wrist cast yet another mystifying shadow on your features and before you could even process which way was up, Hanbin already got you in his arms, clinging on tighter than he had ever done before. 

“You didn’t even give me a chance to breathe before condemning me right into the friend zone. That’s just mean, Y/n.” 

“What?”

“You say this is suffocating for me but, have you notice?” 

As much as you’d like to forever stay in his arms, resting your cheeks on his chest as your skin soaks in the rumble of his steady heartbeat, you’ve got to know what he’s on about. Pushing the clingy boy just as far as you could without him fighting to pull you back in, you gaze up at his face only to find the cheekiest smirk and a small kiss to your nose. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I suffocate you with my body all the time, and I don’t see you complaining. Like 5 minutes ago, I quite literally thrown myself into your lap on the couch.”

“You’re just teasing me now...” 

With a long sigh and a slight scrunch of his nose, Hanbin presses yet another kiss onto your skin, this time your cheek.

“What am I going to do with my clueless girl. I like you, for awhile now but I’m bad with words. I kept thinking of how to ask you on a date but it’s hard expressing so much emotion into words. So i smother you with affection instead.”

“You mean it?” You had always want to believe there’s just a bit extra love in the way he display his affection toward you but never once let yourself actually buy into it. To know it was all his effort to convey what he couldn’t say sets your heart ablaze. 

“Always! Get your coat, let’s go out too. Then maybe after, we’ll cuddle and you can say all those things you want to write down about me to my face. I’ll listen to it all, even all the things from the past.” 

“Promise??!”

“Promise!”