#ive had this man for less than a day and i need more gems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luluwquidprocrow · 4 years ago

Text

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst, canon compliant, with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse, epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other, and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.

-------

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.

And then you were gone.

-------

Kit came by again, after.

We sat in that silence.

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.

“I underestimated him,” she said.

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.

-------

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

-------

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.

-------

We can’t go on like this.

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.

-------

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?

--------

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.

It didn’t end with the article.

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.

-------

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.

I’m

thinking.

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

-------

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.

I’m scared to die.

I don’t think you are.

I’m not sorry.

-------

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?

-------

After all this, I—

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.

-------

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you—are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.

Until then, with all my love,

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

Bertrand

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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kimyoonmiauthor · 4 years ago

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Gender

Lower engagement, but higher personal satisfaction... let’s go for that.

How I define my gender.

I’ve never really been 100% committed to being a woman.

https://www.quora.com/How-do-I-know-I-am-cisgender-Ive-heard-some-cis-people-do-question-their-gender-and-Im-trying-to-tell-whether-Im-trans-or-one-of-these-cases Taking the questions from here... it would split this way: Gender dysphoria- when I was younger, a little. Gender Euphoria- never. Gender Politics (beyond basic empathy for others)- Oh fuck no. I don’t get why so many, particularly cis men are hung up on men must wear pants and not pink. I *do* look for women in history, but it’s more like a solidarity and hating erasure of marginalized groups and celebrating those marginalized groups. So political one way, but not particularly on the philosophical performance part. I also tend to spend a lot of time on things I don’t understand.

“Do you feel equally comfortable in men and women’s fashion, only noticing the practical differences?” Pretty much. If you give me a man’s suit I’d wear it. I had no issues with playing as a man for a skit.

Are you basically ambivalent about makeup? 50/50. Sometimes I do care and do it for “funsies” but most of the time I don’t care because I don’t like “woman as object and consumerism.”

“Do you ‘play along’ when someone tells you what your assignment should be doing, but also don’t really care?”

Pretty much true. Like I was told girls aren’t supposed to like dirt. Screw that. girls aren’t supposed to like sports. I was like screw that. Girls aren’t supposed to like bugs. So what?

I did tend to read more women-led fiction over men’s fiction, but that’s mostly because men’s fiction has “gems” that sexualize women in ways that made me squirm. Cis het men’s writing about women usually piss me off, so I usually don’t try. And I’m all about the fairness. (But also note I’m gray-aro and read a crapton of romance, so who knows how that all works. I’m also gray-a and read a crapton of romance, though not sex repulsed (more like somewhere between sex neutral and receptive? I rated myself a 6-7... on a 0-9 scale.)) Gender tests I’ve taken: 50/50. Usually get something like demi-boy or demi girl. Though I don’t really have that much dysphoria. I do occasionally feel pissed off about my sex presentation, but that’s not really dysphoria as in I hate my body parts actively. It’s more like, why do I have to bother with it? It’s so much work to have to worry in the first place.

When you look in the mirror, do you feel like there’s nothing that really needs to be changed?

This one is more like why do I have to care so much? I feel gender fucked. Like why do I have to go through the steps?

Are you happy with your hair, your chest, the shape of your face?

50/50 on this one.

Aside from maybe wanting to bulk up, wash your hair, or lose a few pounds, are you generally pleased with your appearance?

I give no shits?

Do you appreciate your genitals?

75%/25% appreciation/hate. Sometimes I hate they exist.

Do you like the idea of using them in sex or to make a baby?

This is more like my ace side, I think, but meh? Take it or leave it.

Do they make you feel connected to other people with the same genitals socially, such as complaining about periods, or talking about dick length?

Not really. I’m more like why do you care so fucking much? But I’m not sure how much this is an ace thing.

Do you feel like even if you don’t use them, it’s comfortable just having them around?

Sometimes, not always. Might also be an ace thing.

If you were in a social group of only your assigned gender, would you be happy with it?

Not always. I don’t evaluate that way. Trans people are cool. I pick usually by belief systems and who the person is, morally.

Would it be fairly easy to communicate and find things in common?

I feel ambivalent sometimes towards other women, especially when they go off on tangents about mall shopping, clothes, etc. I feel the same about men talking about watching sports and warfare.

Would you feel harmonious and homogeneous with the group, if the individuals had personalities you liked?

Meh? I also listen to people I don’t like.

If you took away all the physical features that made up your assignment, what gender are you now? Where does that feeling come from?

I’m still me. I don’t care.

If you got to choose your gender upon reincarnation, what would you pick?

Flip a coin. Roll a dice. I don’t give a fuck.

If a wizard changed your sex permanently, would you be pissed or excited?

Meh. Don’t care.

What gender characters do you generally play in RPGs, and what options do you wish were more frequently available?

I’ve generally played women, given no other options besides binary, but also moonlighted as men, but then felt sick because male privilege.

“Do I FEEL like my assigned gender?”*

Shrugs. Not that committed. If you got an all-expenses paid trip to womanhood spa central, and became a socially idealized version of yourself, THEN would you feel like a woman?

No. I oscillate between liking make up for the pure knowledge of it, and not giving a fuck. I’ve never understood the hours of make up, hair performance, etc.

As a child, I was the type that wanted to be good at *everything* and was upset that my Dad wouldn’t give me the time of day for “masculine” things. I was *also* good at figuring things out. I *also* wanted to be good at sports. I *also* like girly things occasionally. I wanted it all and didn’t see why my brother or me got compliments for different things and felt deep insult when I couldn’t do that too and also get compliments for it. (If you’re imagining an annoying precocious child--that’s about right) I don’t see the point of the gender construct when it re-enforces ideas of genders can do only certain things, when it’s never been proven true. So why are people so effing committed to performing it? I wear hanbok. I’ll wear a male one. I’ll make an androgynous one. I wear those without issue. I’ll cross dress if I like, because I don’t really see the point and European and European-derived defined genders as fucked in the first place. What is this men==violence and horses thing? What is this women==weakness and capitalism thing? I don’t get it. And why do I have to wear European-derived clothes in the first place? Plus from my academic study of gender and gender history, that just cemented for me how fucked up the White European and White European diaspora is about gender in the first place and I feel even less committed to it. I do perform usually more like a woman than a man, but it’s more like whatever is convenient, rather than an absolute commitment to the role. ‘cause you know, my gender is my least concern here, (probably along with ace aro) while not quite hating on it. I wear my hair long, because money and I don’t feel like cutting it very often and I like to be able to keep it out of my food, as well.

I don’t mind masculine pronouns in theory, because whatever floats your boat. But I do care if you think foreign name==men, because that’s giving into masculine hegemony and that is rude to other people unlike me who might be more committed to their genders, and that I definitely care about.

#gender #gender identity

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elvencantation · 4 years ago

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aladdin 2019 liveblog

OMG THE WAY THEY GOT HIM TO SING ARABIAN NIGHTS WORKED SO WELL. also the kids are adorable. and the ship

though some of the lyric changes are… a bit too on the nose

too cute first meeting

PARKOUR

oh yes thank you for the songs give me hope. i didn’t even see mulan but i watched enough reviews that i know i dont rly wanna

jafar aint creepy enough. sorry he just isn’t

ahhh his place is so cool! with the hidden stairs and stuff. love shit like that

its not like what? were you planning to give it back? OH it was abu that tracks

OH MY GOD IVE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO HER DRESSES

also this prince is dressed so badly. wow. so gaudy

why did they add him hes so annoying go away boy

HEY STOP BEING A DICK TO JASMINE JAFAR NOBODY LIKES U ALSO UR OUTFIT IS STUPID

YOU ARE NOT QUALIFIED TO SPEAK TO HER

can we just let rajah eat him pls

omg jasmine trying to get dahlia to pretend she’s the princess. i mean, im not sure if i quite felt the need to include her character, especially as someone trying to convince jasmine to let go of her well meaning ambition and get married

“why are you being weird” omg i love her

jasmine looks so pleased with herself while dahlia is acting so weird

just stop talking dahlia nobody expect u to talk to him just be haughty

DONT GET COCKY DUMBASS OH MY GOD

idk how i feel about jafar apparently being ‘a common thief’ once upon a time, ‘just like aladdin’. like for all we know u stole the hair thingy with magic. we know u a manipulative fuck

also like- how are we gonna handle the her not recognizing him when he’s in prince getup? like, she recognized him in weird servant getup

wait since when was the cave a lion? i thought it was a tiger…

i like how abu smacks him to get him out of gem trance XD

ok so abu already touched a bunch of treasure. and nothing happened. uhhh what

omg the carpet is adorable yes thank you

and aldadin is stepping all over the treasure. i am confusion

ooooo pretty lava!!!

omg its time for the genie!! tho i do wish they hadn’t made him literally blue. ah well. excited to see what will smith can make of it. nobody can top robin williams, but there have been other genies. there will be more (yes i mean broadway. tho i haven’t seen any broadway aladdin shows. i do love their blue outfits for the genie)

also damn i love genie’s gold tattoo/ornament thingys under the cuffs on his arms. want some for myself

WHAT DID U DO TO ABU THATS RUDE

oh my god poor abu having to be the accompaniment. pls tell me u replace him with an orchestra genie, u rly do need one for this song

ok that was short

there we go!

oh this is fun!!!

baklava is magic and should be respected as such

ok the puppet thing is a bit creepy tho i do think they did that in the original as well

uhhh can we nix the rap pls

oh man i love his pants!!

omg the splits i cant

DONT THINK I DIDNT SEE THIS

oh ofc its genie magic that makes him unrecognizable. i mean, lying about his identity was half the plot of the movie but still im a bit sad

omg its time for the big entrance omg

oh god genie why the hat thats bigger than ur body

omg dalia’s approving little expression that was adorable

poor boy looks so uncomfortable

why is it so important that he has so many animals? is that the only way to show wealth? or just the flashiest?

“so yummy boy”???!??! i cant im laughing so hard rn

oh my god this is gonna be so awkward when he has to talk to actual royalty tho not looking forward to the second hand embarrassment

aww i do miss genie turning into weird TV personalities when talking about the animals tho

yuppp i knew it was gonna be this awkward

i cannot do this i have to turn off the volume or i will flee this tab and try to skip this scene when i come back

ok i had to scroll down, and still even reading the subtitles made me embarrassed. why am i like this

MY GOD HER PEACOCK OUTFIT IS SO BEAUTIFUL

WHY ARE YOU MAKING HIM DANCE LIKE THIS MY SECONDHAND EMBARASSMENT CANT HANDLE IT GENIE

ok finally he kinda got the hang of it. dont be fanciful genie just copy the other guys pls

bit of a weird dance tho…

oh nooo genie getting fanciful

i went from, oh this is cute to, oh no pls stop

ok now that ppl are clapping i feel less awkward. brain why u gotta do this to me. but also u rly dont have to have aladdin breakdance

ok he jumped on the fountain and this stated going back into ridiculous and why territory

and jasmine ran away. cant blame her. it makes him look kinda like an attention seeking person

awwww dalia’s little ‘excuse me for a moment’ i kinda expected her to scream but this was also cute

my god her room is so pretty. and the moment with the apples was adorable

I AM NOT TEARING UP AT A WHOLE NEW WORLD I AM NOT. I JUST HAVENT WATCHED ANY VERSION OF ALADDIN IN A LONG TIME

i just REALLY LOVE THIS SONG OK IDK WHY IM CRYING. AND THEYRE ADORABLE HELP

and the HARMONIES IVE ALWAYS LOVED THEM!!!

ughhhh he had a moment where he could’ve come clean

oh i love a dramatic near death experience

omg yes destroy the staff how lovely and yes dramatic. can u tell i like some good drama. not the weird relationship kind

ur not the same on the inside. not quite

ARE YOU KIDDING ME U DIDNT NOTICE SOMEONE STEALING FROM U

see this is what he meant by u changing. u can never forget ur past

oh i love the dark instrumental version of ‘never had a friend like me’. also the pretty sparkly magic. always love some good aesthetic cgi

OMG I KNOW THIS IS THE MOMENT FOR HER SONG AND I CANNOT WAIT OMGOGMG

OH MY GOD YES EVEN THO IM SAD NOBODY GOT TO HEAR HER SONG I DO LOVE THIS!! YES YOU KNOW ALL THESE PEOPLE YOU CARE YOU KNOW THEIR NAMES AND THEIR STORIES AND THAT MATTERS

OMG HER BABA IS SO PROUD OF HER AAAAAAA

oh that was a lovely moment. too bad jafar is a massive prick

oh this is interesting! i love a dramatic disappearance. poor guy. drowning, hypothermia, fun stuff to do within a day

love some ice parkour!

👀

WAIT U CANT KILL THE CARPET ITS AN ANIMATE OBJECT WTF THATS RUDE

the decent part of me is glad they didn’t put jasmine in a slave leia type outfit, but the gay part of me is a bit disappointed…

OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS PART YES YOU MANIPULATE HIM U CLEVER BOY SLYTHERIN WOULD BE PROUD OF U. EVEN IF U DO HAVE A GRYFFINDOR HEART

omg the dark little smirk on aladdin’s face. u HAVE to admit that was hot

just loOK AT IT I HAD TO GIF IT I HAD NO CHOICE

GET YOUR OWN JAMS. that was cute

“also i want children” 😂

WAIT WAIT HOW DID I NOT PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER OMG THIS IS ADORABLE

PLS TELL ME SHE GOES TO HIS SECRET LITTLE TOWER PLACE

omg this is hilarious “stop thief, your sultan commands it” I CANNOT 😂

DID HE SERIOUSLY GET MARRIED WITHOUT EVEN A CHANGE OF OUTFIT. ah ok sorry shouldn’t have spoken so soon THEY BOTH LOOK STUNNING GOD THE OUTFITS IN THIS MOVIE WERE FUCKING GORGEOUS

i also dont mind the more “feminist” storyline they gave jasmine. it worked

#aladdin 2019 #aladdin 2019 liveblog #blue watches #naomi scott #wow im supre gay ok #mena massoud #i loved him srsly #will smith #not bad not bad #aladdin #princess jasmine #ok making that gif makes me wanna go back and gif some very self indulgent moments #we'll see

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flowesona · 6 years ago

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Ultimatum Part IV

Yandere! Taehyung x reader

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

With her life falling apart due to debt, she must lean on the support of a man who will reap much more than he sows.

An eerie silence was their companion in the car. (Y/N) couldn’t bring herself to address the sounds she’d heard or his burning wrath. Luckily he’d calmed down quickly enough, eyes set on the road in front of him and his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

“You missed the turn.” She commented, noting that they were in a different part of the neighbourhood than before.

“We’re not going home.” was all he said, still avoiding looking at her.

“Where are we going then?” Taehyung finally met her eyes, giving her a soft smile through the rear view mirror.

“You’ll see.”

✨

The pier was quiet enough to make it a serene setting. The soft sound of waves hitting the shore and the occasional squawk of gulls provided for a scene straight out of a movie, as Taehyung led her along, basking in the romantic moment.

For a second she forgot that she wasn’t here by will. She forgot about the murder, the debt, the cool way the he monopolised her life. All that she knew about him was that his hand was warm and his heart was even warmer.

They sat at the end of the pier with their legs dangling over the edges, a salty sea spray coating the smart shoes they'd worn for the formal occasion but that didn’t matter.

“I love you so much, (Y/N).” Taehyung’s voice cut through the sublime, and (Y/N) responded by resting her head onto his shoulder. She felt how his pulse seemed to increase at her touch like it never normally did. However, she couldn’t stay in such a position for long as she felt his arm dig around in his pocket.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, and now would be a better time than ever.” (Y/N) felt herself become tense, knowing what was coming next. He found a small velvet box and offered it to her.

Her fingers shook holding it, and it wasn’t until she received a slight nudge from her partner she realised she’d been dwelling for far too long. Sure enough, when she opened the box she found a ring studded with tiny gems.

“Marry me, (Y/N).”

“I-I can’t!” Most brides-to-be would be pleasantly surprised but (Y/N) only felt the deepest of dread in her stomach. She wasn’t prepared to be bonded to this man for her whole life, not when she had so little knowledge about him.

“Why is that? I thought we agreed you would give me your heart?” Those words snapped (Y/N) back into reality, as she was reminded that with Taehyung choice was a mere illusion with the power he wielded over her.

“I mean, I can’t accept this ring! It’s way too flashy, you know I don’t want to be a show-off!” Taehyung bought into her bluff easily enough, smiling as he slid the band onto her finger ad pressed a soft kiss into it.

“I think it’s perfect. It can remind everyone of who your heart belongs to, because only I can provide this for you.”

Never had (Y/N) hated Jimin more than in this moment.

✨

“I’ve got to talk with the venue owners about payment. I’ll only be an hour at most.” Taehyung placed a kiss on his fiancé's cheek before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind him. Such simple things only reminded (Y/N) how much she was under his thumb, yet part of her was somewhat accepting of it. She couldn’t help but try to normalise their relationship, try to pretend he was the caring partner he presented himself to be whilst brushing aside his more possessive and dominating personality traits.

Today was one of the days she was experiencing a bout of acceptance and love for him. Now that she had the apartment to herself she wanted to explore and find out something about her fiancé that he’d hidden. Childhood photos, a stuffed toy, a diary even. Something that showed his more humane side so that she could fall in love with him like he wanted.

What her search uncovered was quite the opposite. Sure, she’d found some pictures of a dog that he’d owned at some point which made her smile, particularly in the he held the Pomeranian as if it was a baby. Whilst (Y/N) dreaded to think of a future beyond their imminent marriage, the sight comforted her with the suggestion he could be a caring father.

However, hidden amongst other photo albums in his desk drawer was a box, labelled with her name. She forgot all about her search I favour of digging out the box and opening it up. Inside were hundreds of photos. Of her.

Some she could remember being taken. A picture of her sat on their balcony in the morning when he’d asked to capture the moment. Some were less consensual - pictures of her asleep in his bed, hair neatly fanned out around her as if we was being posed for a museum portrait. The worst part was ones that were definitely not taken with her permission. Pictures of her out in public with friends, family - memories of a time before she’d known of Kim Taehyung’s existence.

She emptied out the box with terror running through her veins. Some of the pictures were from months, even years ago showing her with different hair and at different work places. (Y/N) was on the verge of vomiting seeing that they’re connection hadn't begun on pure coincidence through a mutual friend. He had been stalking her for years, awaiting to opportunity to arise for him to swoop in and trap her in his web.

Among the photos was a small USB drive. She picked it out amidst the chaos and booted up Taehyung’s computer, a sick want to see just what he was storing away overriding her instincts tell her to hide everything and pretend she didn't know before escaping at the first chance.

The drive contained many files. As she looked further she realised each was an evidence file, not fully filled out but detailing DNA evidence. The person pinned under every piece of evidence? (Y/N) herself.

He had never truly covered up the murder. Rather he’d hidden it away until further notice, until he wanted to expose her. Blackmail. Just so she could never get away.

It was too late to try to think when she heard the apartment door closing, implying he had returned. In a blind panic she switched off the computer and hid the USB under the mattress before scrabbling to pick up every picture. The blood rushing through her ears was enough to block out his voice calling out for her. She was much too terrified to function, the vinyl photos slipping out from her as she tried to pick them up with sweaty hands leaving the box only half full when Taehyung entered.

“I can see you’ve been up to no good whilst I’ve been gone, love.” The iciness of his voice cut through the room like a knife as (Y/N) stared up at him with a look akin to a sheep staring down the eyes of the wolf. He sat on the floor next to her petrified body, taking the photos out of her hands and tidying them up himself.

“Now, where’s the USB?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Tae.” The eerie calmness of his voice sent shiver down her spine, the excuse falling out of her lips in a desperate attempt to not be a victim of his wrath.

“I’ll give you one more chance (Y/N). Give me that USB back and I’ll go easy on you.” When (Y/N) could not even speak, as a final act of defiance, he snarled and pushed her to the ground, using the weight of his body over her to hold her down.

“You’ve said you'll be my wife. I suppose that means we don’t have secrets between us.” Taehyung leant over to start searching through one of the lower drawers in his desk, an area that had gone unsearched by (Y/N). “We both know that you can’t possibly have anything hidden from me, so I shouldn’t be hiding anything about myself to you.”

He finally found what he was looking for, a roll of duct tape.

“I haven’t told you about all the fantasies I have about you. One of them is to see you all tied up and reliant only on me for everything.” The sound of the duct tape unravelling sparked a new fear in (Y/N), struggling to heave him off her torso, but he was quick enough to tie her wrists together before doing the same to her legs.

“You’re fucking crazy, I hate you-” (Y/N)’s acidic words were cut off when he sealed her mouth, smiling.

“This is everything I imagined it to be.” Taehyung stepped back, reaching for his camera. She glowered as him as fiercely as she could, but he was too deluded to realise how insane his actions had become.

The flash of the camera stung her eyes.

“Ah, so beautiful. You’d be worthy of being in a gallery but this sight is only for me.” Taehyung stared lovingly at the picture displayed on the small screen before it placing down on his desk, his attention returning to his distressed fiancé.

He knelt down next to her, fingers tracing her chin as he whispered into her ear.

“Now, since you’re not going to tell me where you’ve hidden the USB I'll have to find it myself.” (Y/N) squirmed at his touch but was defenceless as his fingers trailed over her face gently.

He observed how her eyes had flickered over to the bed, subconsciously telling him everything he needed to know unintentionally. Taehyung’s echoing steps as he paced around the bed before his fingers inched under the mattress until he found his target were torturous enough but only made worse by the taunting way he held it up once he found it.

(Y/N)’s fiancé tucked the small stick away in his pocket before giving her a look of fake empathy.

“You can stay here for a while love. This is a punishment for us both.” (Y/N) whimpered as he walked away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable on the floor. Before he closed the door he gave her a final smile. “I love you.”

#yandere kpop #yandere bts #Yandere Taehyung #yandere x reader #Yandere Taehyung x reader #Yandere BTS AU

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thenovelartist · 6 years ago

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Catalyst, chapter 1

So, it’s no longer a secret that @miraculouspaon and I got each other as Secret Santa’s this year (I’m still finding that hilarious) for @mlsecretsanta exchange. I was hyped to see Gabriel/Nathalie, but for the life of me, I COULD NOT plot out a Magic AU that I would be remotely proud to post.

Hopefully she won’t kill me that I scrapped the Magic AU all together and wrote a story I’m now very proud to present: a long 5(+? It’s not fully finished yet) chapter story that revolved around Gabriel/Nathalie fluff and Gabriel/Nathalie/Adrien family! fluff.

Hope you enjoy!

Next>>> AO3 Fanfiction

...

This was what rock bottom felt like.

“Master,” Nooroo had said. “If she keeps using the miraculous, it will kill her too.”

“I know that,” he had spat back. “Which is why it is imperative to get Chat Noir’s and Ladybug’s Miraculous fast.”

“Master,” Nooroo said again. “What if you don’t get them in time?”

“I will!”

Nooroo had been silent for the longest time before whispering, “Even at the cost of her?”

“It’s not a cost if I don’t lose her in the first place.”

That had been the end of the conversation.

That had been before Nathalie had passed out.

That had been before the ambulance had taken her away.

“Master,” Nooroo said. “If she continues using the miraculous, she won’t have much time. And if you gain both miraculous, the ultimate power can only bring one back. Are you willing to bring back one at the cost of the other?”

Gabriel was silent.

“And if you do, will you regret it?”

That was truly the question, wasn’t it?

…

The soft beeping was irritating. Exhaustion was begging her to come back under, but she fought it. Her chest was tight, like something heavy was crushing her, making it hard to draw a breath. She almost felt like she was choking, but she was too tired to cough.

She tried to force her eyes open, barely cracking them before the exertion turned her headache into a stabbing pain. She groaned.

“Nathalie?”

The voice sounded so familiar. But she couldn’t place it.

“Nathalie!”

And that was the last thing she heard before she went under.

…

Gabriel stared at the peacock miraculous. The one that had taken the love of his life from him and was going to take his one steady rock, as well.

“Master.”

“Yes, Nooroo.”

“I think you know what the right choice is.”

“I don’t want to give her up.”

“You’re not,” the little kwami assured. “Every human comes and goes. And most will leave someone behind. It hurts. But magic or no, you can’t stop it. Not without consequences.”

Gabriel continued staring at the peacock miraculous.

Silence filled the room for a long moment.

“Master.”

“Yes, Nooroo.”

“Are you going to make the same mistake twice?”

Gabriel blinked at him.

The kwami fluttered down to the desk to touch the peacock miraculous. “Are you going to let broken magic take someone twice?”

Gabriel stared at the miraculous a long moment, warring with what he had to do. It took so much energy to place it in a box and place a lid over top of it.

Nooroo smiled. “I’m proud of you, Master.”

…

Adrien was worried. So worried. Nathalie had been in the hospital for two weeks now, fading in and out of consciousness. And Father…

Father was hiding in his office. Again. Just like when they lost Mom.

At least Hawkmoth hadn’t sent out an akuma once in that time—which caused him and his lady to wonder just what was going on—but Adrien couldn’t stand what was going on in his own home. So, after a pep-talk from Ladybug and a talking at by Plagg, Adrien knocked on the door to his father’s office.

“Come in.”

He opened the door. “Father,” he greeted, shutting the door behind him. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Adrien,” he dismissed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Adrien shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure,” he said.

A short silence lapsed between them.

“Any news on Nathalie?”

At this, his father became still as a statue. “No,” he answered.

Adrien sighed heavily.

“Is that all?”

With a nod, Adrien headed out the door again. “Well,” he mumbled, as he shut the door behind him, “so much for that.”

…

“Master.”

“What is it, Nooroo?”

“Adrien’s just as worried as you are.”

Gabriel paused. “And?”

“You don’t have to go through suffering alone.”

“Who said I was suffering?”

Nooroo was silent, knowing better than to push his master.

Gabriel went back to his design pad.

“Are you going to make your son suffer alone?”

That got Gabriel to pause.

“Because he’s hurting,” Nooroo continued. “And he knows less than you. He doesn’t know about a broken miraculous. All he knows is Nathalie passed out and hasn’t woken up.”

Gabriel stared at the door his son had disappeared out of. He was loathe to admit that Nooroo was right. Again. For the umpteenth time in two weeks.

But Gabriel didn’t need Nooroo’s prompting to know he needed to remedy it.

…

It almost hurt just how shocked his son was to see him in the car.

“Father,” Adrien said, slowly climbing in the car. “What… what brings you?”

“I’m worried for Nathalie, too.”

The shocking silence was tremendously uncomfortable.

“We’re going to check up on her.”

Adrien blinked. “What?”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ve been checking up on her condition daily. You can come with me today.”

There was a silence that stretched on for a moment before Adrien’s smile grew. “Thank you, Father.”

Gabriel simply nodded.

…

Seeing Nathalie unconscious in the hospital bed was going to be his undoing. And his son’s reaction was going to be the striking match to his gasoline. Gabriel watched from the doorway as Adrien stepped forward to Nathalie’s bedside. He tentatively reached for her hand before sitting down in the chair Gabriel had taken up partial residence in over the last few weeks.

It broke Gabriel’s heart once again that Nathalie hadn’t moved. Not since that one time he thought she’d flinched and the doctors had to forcibly remove him from the room.

Not his finest moment.

Adrien turned back to his father, worry clear in his eyes.

Gabriel sighed, then shrugged before pulling over another chair to sit at Nathalie’s other side.

And they stayed there for a good while.

…

“Nooroo,” Gabriel said in the middle of the night after being woken from the countless nightmare in the longest sixteen days of his life. “Is there anything I can do?”

The kwami was silent. Hesitant silent. “One,” he admitted.

“And that is?”

Nooroo was quiet once again. “Will you let me go for a moment?” he tentatively asked.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the kwami.

“I’ll be right back,” Nooroo assured. “I promise.”

Gabriel let his eyes close. He was reluctant, but at his wit’s end and desperate to make it stop, he didn’t have a choice. “Go.”

…

“I heard you were looking for me.”

Gabriel looked up to see a short Asian man standing in his office. His brow furrowed. “How did you get in here?”

“Nooroo let me in,” the man said with a smile.

And that’s when Gabriel’s eyes widened. The guardian.

“It is a pleasure to meet you civilly, Hawkmoth.”

Gabriel was silent, mostly because he was so stunned.

“You have faced more magic than you can take, I’m certain.”

He grunted. “The side-effects, more like.”

The man smiled. “May I see the peacock miraculous, please.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. The audacity of this man!

“Master,” Nooroo said. “He can save Nathalie.”

“What?” And in an instant, his anger melted away.

“The magic is not broken,” the man spoke, strong and steady. “It is simply overwhelmed.”

“What do you mean?” Gabriel challenged.

“When a miraculous holder is injured,” the man explained. “The miraculous must take energy from somewhere to restore their holder. If someone steals the miraculous of an injured person, then the thief will suffer while the true wielder of the miraculous heals with energy stolen from the thief. I am not calling your wife a thief, but she was on the wrong side of the miraculous connection.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed.

“And when Nathalie chose to pick up the miraculous,” the man continued. “She was not supporting one, but two bodies that had passed on.”

The words were like a hit to his chest, crushing his ribs and forcing all air from his lungs until his stood there lightheaded and numb. Everything around him faded away to the point he barely noticed the man give him a single nod. “No,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.

“Denial is a powerful and terrifying thing,” the man said.

And that’s when Gabriel collapsed into a chair behind him, weak and powerless and empty.

“Gabriel Agreste,” the man said, walking forward to stand in front of him. “I need to take back the peacock miraculous. No one deserves to suffer the fate of fading away simply because their energy is being stolen.”

But Gabriel was numb. Empty. He could barely register the man’s words.

“Master,” Nooroo said, floating in front of Gabriel’s face. “Master, it’s time.”

The world was gray and hazy but somehow, Gabriel ended up handing over the peacock miraculous to the man, feeling numb all the while.

“You are not all evil, Hawkmoth,” the man said, taking the gem. “Let this be the first of many steps that proves it.”

…

The pain wasn’t as strong as before, and her exhaustion not as overwhelming. For the first time, she could clearly feel the mask on her face and the IV in her arm. She could hear the beep of what she assumed was a heart monitor. And she could recall that the last thing she fully remembered was Gabriel shouting her name while removing her miraculous.

That hurt her heart.

Slowly, her eyes drifted open, but the light was so bright, she shut them with a groan.

“Nathalie?”

It was a male’s voice. One that was familiar but couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Nathalie?”

A hand came to rest on her arm, and then another set of hands on her other.

She opened her eyes again, only to see Adrien and Gabriel both looking down at her. She was able to keep her eyes open long enough to see Adrien grin widely and Gabriel sigh in relief.

“Tired,” she mumbled, her eyes closing again.

“Then rest, Nathalie,” Gabriel said, his hand squeezing hers tightly. “We’re just glad to see you wake for a moment.”

It wasn’t long before she took his advice and slipped back to sleep.

…

Ten days later, Nathalie was able to go back home. Well, the Agreste’s home. Gabriel had insisted that she stay with them to recover a little more, and Adrien had readily agreed.

“I’m fine,” she had insisted.

But that had garnered a “don’t argue with me” look from both Agreste men.

So, she didn’t.

She sat in the back with Gabriel at her side while Adrien prattled on about school from the passenger’s seat. When they arrived at the house, Adrien practically leapt out of the car, rushing around to her side to assist her out.

She almost argued that she wasn’t helpless, but the realization that these two men were actually bonding over caring for her kept her mouth shut. With Gabriel at her right side, his arm looped through hers, and Adrien on her left, watching her like a hawk, they guided her up to her room for the next… undetermined amount of time.

Nathalie would cross that bridge whenever she got to it.

However, there was one issue.

“I can go get your things from your apartment, Nathalie,” Adrien quickly volunteered.

She pursed her lips. “I’d rather you not go dig through my things.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

But since it was clear he wanted to help, Nathalie didn’t want to tell him no. It wasn’t as though she didn’t trust Adrien, she just didn’t want a male digging through her private things. “If Miss Dupain-Cheng would help you to gather my clothes, I’ll allow it.”

Adrien lit up. “I’m sure she would.”

“Go call her then,” Gabriel said.

With a nod, Adrien headed out the door. Leaving Gabriel and Nathalie truly alone for the first time in a while.

“You had me so worried,” Gabriel admitted, holding her hand in both of his.

“I knew the risks, and I took them,” she simply answered.

“Never again,” he said. “Never again will I come so close to losing you.”

Her eyes widened as she turned to face him.

Before she could say another word, Adrien came back in. “She said she could come help now.”

“Fair enough,” Nathalie relented.

“Then your bodyguard can escort you,” Gabriel granted.

A few minutes later, with Nathalie’s apartment keys in hand, Adrien was off to collect Marinette before bringing back Nathalie’s things.

Leaving Nathalie to lounge in her new room with Gabriel by her side.

“I gave up the peacock miraculous.”

If Nathalie didn’t know better, she thought she would have received an electric shock. And a large one, at that. “What?”

He nodded. “Back to the guardian.”

Speechless was the best word for it. She wasn’t sure how to react to such information. “So what now?” Nathalie asked after a long minute of silence.

“I’m not going to lose you again,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

Nathalie felt her cheeks warm and her heart flutter even though her mind was screaming at her to stop. Gabriel had given his miraculous up before, but that didn’t stop him from going back. Furthermore, it wasn’t his that he gave up. He still held onto it. Onto that temptation.

Don’t be a foolish woman a second time. She warned herself. Don’t let yourself get hurt again.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #mlsecretsanta2k18 #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #adrien agreste

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missjackil · 6 years ago

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Miss Jacki’s Top 30 Favorite Episodes

#12

The Raid 12x14

I love this episode for so many reasons! I feel like this was the main introduction of Leader!Sam. Its not the first time that Sam has been a leader, but this is the first time it was focused on. Ill get to that more in a minute, because I want to talk about something else first.

In the beginning, we have a continuation of an argument that Sam and Dean are having with Mary, from the episode before. Family Feud. She has just admitted to them that she has been working with the BMOL and Sam and Dean are less than happy about it. For obvious and totally justifiable reasons, Sam and Dean dont trust them, and theyre visibly hurt that Mom went to work for them. Dean really lays into her.

Dean and Mary argue back and forth. How dare she chose to work with the Brits after what they did to Sam? Because theyre doing good work and killing monster, and why cant she act like a mom? Because shes more than just a mom and they are not children. So, Dean dramatically calls her Mary, and tells her “there’s the door” and leaves. Now, Sam, who is always the peace maker, always the more understanding of the two, surely, she can talk to him...but, like Ive said before, Sam is a man of few words, but those words always pack a meaniful punch. He tells her “You should go”. This is like Dean rabbit punching her till she’s worn down, and Sam landing the final right hook to finish her off. If Sam Winchester tells you to leave, you done fucked up. If Sam Winchester tells his own mother to leave? You may as well stuff yourself into a canon and light the fuse. However, a few days pass. and Mary is blowing up their phones via text. Sam has had time to cool down, Dean has not. Sam thinks they should hear mom out, Dean is just done. He tells Sam the peacemaker schtick is getting old, “For once, why dont you pick a side?” Which, in Dean-ease means “Why dont you pick MY side?” And thats fair really, in this situation, the bros should be on the same page, but really... that doesnt happen often (draaamaaaa). This reminds us that even though Sam and Dean are different sides of the same coin, those sides are very different. They both hold grudges when someone hurts them, but if youre a friend or family member, Sam will calm down after a bit and hear you out. Dean hurts worse if youre a friend or family member and wronged him/them.

Dean goes out to drink, and Sam decides to go see Mom and get her side. He gets a tour of the satalite base for the BMOL and he’s not terribly impressed until he learns theyve nearly rid the Mid West Region of vamps. Now they have his attention.

Its not long before the base is attacked by vamps, and no one knows what to do. Sam just slips right into leader mode! Sam is a different kind of leader than Dean is. Sam can lead large groups, and Dean is better at the small ones. Dean uses the strength of the individuals, and Sam uses the strengths of the group. At another time Ill go into more depth about that, but right now Im just going to talk about this episode.

Already Sam learns that they are fed inaccurate information. The Alpha Vamp is not in Moracco like they think, because Sam met him in Hoople ND. Sam is getting a migraine. How can these people be so smart and so stupid at the same time? Anyway, Sam wants all the weapons gathered, and they dont have much. Mary tells Mick to go get “it” and “it” just so happens to be The Colt. When Sam sees this, he gets visibly emotional. This scene is wonderful acting by Jared. A perfect example of how fantastic he is at saying 1000 words with just his face.

In only a few seconds time, we see him run through all the ways this gun was involved with his family. From their hunt with Dad for it, his own act of shooting Dad in the leg when he was posessed, Dean killing Azazel after Sam was brought back to life, Jake using it to open the gate to Hell, Sam shooting Dean’s crossroads demon, and Dean shooting Lucifer. Even going back to see Samuel Colt. I could see all these memories flooding back on him. He asks Mary where she got it... she says “I stole it... from Ramiel” and Sam nearly breaks into tears.

However, he collects himself, swallows it down... again... because he has a job to do. From MEMORY Sam recalls the spell used to make the bullets powerful enough to kill anything, and this is accomplished just in time for the Alpha to show up and start killing people. The Alpha Vamp is by far my favorite bad guy! Sucks hes gone now :P

Sam has The Colt and threatens the Alpha, but is the gun loaded? We didnt see him load it? So Sam starts bargaining with him, and I really believed him. I really believed he was gonna ditch these morons and take his Mom and go. Go back to the fair fight, and hand Mick over to the Alpha. Little did we know that Sam managed to communicate to Mick to get a bullet to him, and they worked it out during a scuffle.

Sam and the Alpha have a little battle of wits, and the Alpha realizes Sam manage to get the gun loaded when he wasnt looking. “Clever clever boy” and Sam cocks the Colt. The effects and direction are so good here. Sam’s long slender finger wrapping around the trigger, steady hand as he fires, and the slow motion drama of going through the Alpha’s head, so clean we can see through the hole was AMAZING!! BRAVO!! We end the episode with Sam and Dean meeting up again. And this is what I want y’all to go back and see. Sam asks Dean why he came out there, “You dont care about these guys, and you didnt even know I was here” and Dean looks at Mom... Sam looks a little salty when he realizes Dean came out to help Mom “Right... of course” I think this is that quiet, but not entirely hidden, jealousy that Sam has that Dean might love someone thats not him. *wink wink* So Sam tells Mick he’s on board and just give him some time with Dean. I dont like that Sam didnt tell Dean right away, because honestly, they can talk each other into anything, and dont need to be sneaky, but fortunately, it was resolved in the next episode. So there ya have it, coming in at #12, another under appreciated gem from S12.

#my top 30 favs #12 #the raid #sam winchester #leader!sam #badass sam

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1dreversebang · 7 years ago

Photo

Thank you!

We’d like to take a minute to thank everyone who made our first 1D Reverse Bang such a wonderful success. We ended up with more than 40 fantastic fics and dozens of works of art, play lists, and mood boards. Thank you to all the authors and artists that participated, as well as all of you who read and recommended and reblogged posts. We couldn’t have done it without you.

In case you missed any of the fics that were posted, here’s a master post (in order of posting date) so you can catch up (most of it is under the cut)!

All I Want Is To Be Free by @lululawrence / prompt & art by @harrehleh

Uh, you saw photos? Of me wearing the shirt?”

The guy nodded eagerly while he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah! I took a picture of the photo I saw so I could remember to look it up. Hold on.”

The guy scrolled through his phone and made a happy sound when he found it. “Here!”

Louis grabbed his phone to look at the picture. Yep. That confirmed it. He was going crazy.

The photo he was looking at was definitely one of him wearing his beloved shirt, but there was a taller man standing beside him, looking at him and laughing as Louis had his hand resting possessively on the guy’s hip. Louis had absolutely no recollection of this ever happening.

Or the one where Louis keeps finding photos around campus of him with a man he's never met before, and the only logical explanation must be he's going crazy.

I Want To Write You A Song by pigslay / @anna-wa // prompt & art by @birdstattoo

Harry Styles is a time traveler who uses the guitar, the microphone, and photography to ignore the pull in his stomach. Zayn Malik is a professional nature photographer who never expected to fall in love with something other than his work, much less a time traveler with brown curly locks. Together they go on an adventure more magical than either of them ever expected.

Let’s Watch The Flowers Grow by shhhhharlotte / @thwrites // prompt & playlist by @polkadotsvstripes

After finishing med school, Dr. Louis Tomlinson returns to his small hometown to give back to the place where his mother spent her last days. Dealing with recent loss and heartbreak make loving and opening up to people difficult, but something about Harry Styles makes it possible.

Gem and The Hunters: The Treasure of Babylon by AsphodelKnox / @iamasphodelknox // prompt & art by @neon--diamonds

“Were you so sure I would say yes?” Louis asked, already knowing the answer. “You’re my best friend, Louis Tomlinson. I know you better than you know yourself.” Niall pointed at him. “You say losing Babylon was terrible and you’re right, it was. But you wouldn’t turn down a second chance.” Louis rolled his eyes at his friend. “What makes you say that?” Niall just grinned. “You’re too curious.” - Louis Tomlinson wished, for one thing, his whole life: to find the ancient city of Babylon. After one failed attempt, he swore to never again attempt a search for the city. His friend, Niall Horan never pushed the issue, but when his family finds themselves in trouble, Niall’s only option is to convince Louis to try and find Babylon again. Niall enlists the help of two famous treasure hunters: Harry and Gemma Styles and their friend Liam Payne. Harry and Gemma love ancient cultures as much as Louis and would give anything to find Babylon. Liam is just along for the ride, running from a shade in his past. The five embark on the adventure of a lifetime… and find much more than any of them bargained for.

No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow // prompt & art by @tomlinshires

Dear Niall,

I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

We’re What’s Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite // prompt & mood board by @alivingfire

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Too Much To Bare by soloistharold / @flickeralbum // prompt, art, & original song by @be-brave13

"From where Harry was sitting, Louis’ face looked more angular, more mature. He found himself studying Louis’ features, from the way his hair fell against his forehead, to the prominence of his cheekbones, to the dip of his cupid’s bow, and finally, to the subtle curve of his small lips.

He stared and stared and stared, noticing how his eyes crinkled every time he laughed at one of Chandler’s stupid jokes, watching the way his mouth moved when he smiled, feeling a slight yearning in his chest for more contact. He wanted to reach forward, maybe tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, press his lips against the warmth of Louis’ cheek… perhaps let them wander to the right a bit and capture Louis’ lips in a kiss.

He wondered what Louis would do if Harry kissed him. Would he get mad and push him away? Or would he welcome it? Maybe bring a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek and use the other to stroke his hair.”

Harry has been in love with Louis for as long as he can remember despite his many efforts to move on, until finally, in a last ditch attempt to put it all behind him, Harry pushes away everyone he loves.

I Ain’t Leaving Without Your Love by calmemal / @youngandmadeoflightning prompt & art by @harrehleh

Anne puts her hand on Harry’s bicep and looks at him, obviously concerned. “Are you alright, m’love? What is back there that’s had you distracted all night?”

There is no way Harry is getting into this discussion with his family, especially not in the middle of the dining room, so he just shrugs it off. “Nothing, mum,” he promises, “just thought I recognised someone. It’s nothing.”

Later that night, they have family game night in Anne and Robin’s room. Harry loves it, really; it’s a tradition that he cherishes, especially now that he sees his family so rarely. It’s just hard for him to focus. There’s a guy somewhere in this resort, a really, really handsome guy, and he may or may not be wearing Harry’s hoodie.

How is he going to find him? And more importantly, did that guy really take his clothes?

Or, a holiday AU in which Harry goes to St. Ives for Gemma’s wedding and his baggage gets lost at the airport, only for him to find a stranger at his resort who is definitely wearing his clothes and definitely won’t admit it. The little shit.

Sounds of you sounds like love by @sweariwouldnt / prompt & art by @curleduphl

Louis can’t sleep. Enter a very special YouTube channel.

A love story about how something ordinary can become very extraordinary, and how feeling rootless and like you’re drifting can - with a little bit of help from fate - turn out okay.

Sunrise on Your Sins by cuppalouie / @same-white-shirt // prompt, mood board, & play list by @dimpled-halo

Louis Tomlinson is at his wit’s end trying to keep up with all the responsibilities and demands that come along with being the Crown Prince of England. Exhausted and desperate for an escape, his life is suddenly derailed when in walks Harry Styles, renowned rentboy and expert on all things BDSM. Blessing or curse, Louis decides to see where this unlikely partnership will lead.

Or: Sometimes the things that aren’t meant to last end up being the only reason we keep holding on.

watch what happens by fakeheaux / @fourgoddesses // mood board by @jessimond

“Liam,” Louis says slowly, turning to him bodily. His hands are clasped together in front of him, as if in prayer. “I’m not the one who bit the bleedin’ prince!”

“You bit me?” Prince Harry cries, hands shooting, inexplicably, to his chest, hands covering where his nipples must be under his shirt. “Are you insane?”

or liam bites harry, the prince of england

Quite Unconventional by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird / prompt & art by @harrehleh

Louis Tomlinson's mother asked for one thing for her birthday, a murder mystery party. One of the families invited drops out last minute, and Louis absolutely needs to find replacements for their characters or the party will be ruined. A hero emerges in the form of the cute new guy at work that Louis has been crushing on from a far.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy / @daisyharry / prompt, mood board, and interactive travel blog by @allwaswell16

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Boots & Boys by Ashtarok / prompt & mood board by @suddenclarityharry

Model Louis Tomlinson had a hard climb to the top, fraught with betrayal and lies. He’s been there long enough to be tired of the same old games. Could Harry Styles, up and coming, way too endearing for this kind of cutthroat industry photographer, be the one to pull him out of his funk?

Like One of Your French Girls by @elsi-bee / prompt & art by @curleduphl

Harry thumbs through his sketchpad before he stops on a blank page. He looks Louis over for a moment, seemingly studying him. It’s a odd feeling, even if it is what Louis signed up for, just sitting in a crowd in broad daylight while a stranger looks him up and down. Louis is the subject of Harry’s first year art project, and what starts as an assignment blossoms into a friendship. It’s unfortunate that only one of them wishes it could be more.

Yellow by 13ways / @13ways-of-looking // prompt & art by @twopoppies

The city of Gotham turns blood red with a new, mysterious criminal element, a beautiful woman named the Blind Cupid.

She threatens to tear the fabric of the city apart, aided by her deadly protégé, the Cat.

Can Batman stop them?

Will he resist the bewitching allures of the Cat?

A Batman/ Catwoman AU

Burn by @anchortied / prompt & art by @pupperlouis

Louis is plagued by nightmares of being burned at the stake. Every time he closes his eyes he can see the flames, smell the smoke, taste the acrid smell of his own death in his nostrils. There is nothing he fears more than this. Besides being something other than what he truly is. Which is, to say in the very least, a powerful witch. One of the most powerful in in the world, as far as he knows. His magic can't even be matched by Liam, who learned quicker than anyone he's ever met, or Niall, who's magic fire could burn through a whole village in a mere moment if he wanted to. When Louis meets Harry however, he realizes that his magic isn't as strong as he thought. And as he tries to navigate through this magic, and the trials of friendships and lost loves that come along with it, Louis finds that being powerful is more of a plague than he realized. A plague that infects more people than he is comfortable with. (A Witch AU based off of The Craft -a very loose interpretation)

Just Holding On For Something Great by DuchessKitty16 / @duchessknowseverything // prompt & art by @crurulbys

Steve and Louis have been best friends since they were kids. They’ve seen each other through good times, family dramas, bad haircuts, first loves, first heartbreaks, and all of the milestones that make up the bonds of friendship. The BFF roommates share a ramshackle cottage in Venice Beach, CA, and a large cat named Smoky. They also have a band with their friends Ed and Niall, and while they dream of making it big, the reality is that they’re just a semi-popular local band that plays gigs in the Santa Monica bar scene a few times a month. Steve is getting engaged, moving in with his girlfriend and moving on with his new life. Everything seems to be changing fast; Louis isn’t sure he’s ready to handle growing up and being the adult he’s been so good at avoiding becoming. Will Louis finally buckle down and finish his degree and get a job that doesn’t require waiting tables? Will he finally get up the nerve to ask the cute guy that comes to his coffee shop everyday and to all of their shows, out on a date? And when an unexpected opportunity lands in the band’s lap, will the 4 friends be able to capitalize on it and finally get the big break that they’ve wanted for so long?

Un Verso Que Hiciste De Mi by messofgorgeouschaos / @goldbootsandvans // prompt & art by @becomeawendybird

Harry froze as he looked up to his handler’s face. He found himself staring at the most beautiful twin pools of blue he’d ever see, and had to take a second to breathe before he remembered what to say.

“Please, don’t kill my friend,” he whispered.

Louis looked over at the red headed man. “You are to go back to your manor, and tell his family he will only be brought back if my ransom is met.”

or a Scottish Borderlands AU where Louis is a laird that kidnaps his rival’s betrothed, and Harry just happens to be that betrothed.

the stars look very different today by colourexolosion / @jessimond // prompt & mood board by @juliusschmidt

Harry's an alien who blogs about aliens. Liam's a human. Or is he?

an AU

In This Life I Shall Have Joy by polka_stripes / @polkadotsvstripes // prompt & art by @tomlinshires

Assigned to be Mormon missionary companions together in Cortez, Colorado, Elders Styles and Tomlinson find a little more joy in their service than they anticipated.

(we will be) as if chosen by @alivingfire // prompt & art by @harrehleh

There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight.

Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

Boiling Blood Will Circulate by whoknows / @crazyupsetter // prompt & mood board by @louehvolution

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

Let’s Move Into Our Old House by stylindad / @larrystylingsun // prompt & mood board by @juliusschmidt

“He’s your son now!” Harry said, clapping his hands together before he leaned over to give some butt scratches to the dor.

“What? Son?”

“Oh, that’s his name! Watson!” Harry insisted. He grabbed onto Zayn’s shoulders and shook him a bit. “You need to keep him, Z! He’s perfect.”

It did worry Zayn, the thought that something big was going to change in his life with the arrival of a new pet. He loved his job, loved his friends, didn’t think he was ready to start a relationship.

In the end the change was none of those things. It happened the day after getting Watson, and began with a knock on the door.

---

Zayn is a Uni dropout/inventor/pet dad who is suddenly surprised by the death of his great aunt, who left her entire house in his name. There is one catch, though (and no, it's not Liam the realtor).

Funny How The Stars Crossed Right by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove // prompt & art by @tamikare

Liam and Louis round the corner to see a horse trotting around the ring. She (or maybe he) is a beautiful animal, with a dark black coat and white socks. A tall man in riding clothes sits atop the horse, speaking softly. He’s completely focused on the horse, and doesn’t notice their entrance at all. Dark brown curls spill out from beneath his helmet, and his expression is one of total joy.

“Who’s that?” Louis asks, finding himself oddly breathless.

“That’s Chester,” Liam says. “He’s an angel.”

Louis is about to comment that he looks like an angel, but then pauses. “The human or the horse?”

~*~*~

Louis is a photography student, assigned to do a project at Greenfield Stables. Harry is a veterinary student, working part-time at Greenfield to gain experience and make a little money. They both have something to teach the other.

a hundred red balloons (a thousand sleepless nights) by neonmoonlight / @grapesodalou // prompt & art by @pattern-pals

The nights where they got to walk around were some of Louis’ favorite. The two of them would just walk in companionable silence for the most of it, Louis doling bits of his life back home before he moved out for university. Some of his favorite times to walk around the city were the hot and humid nights after a rainstorm when everything was soupy and kind of hazy around the edges. Those nights were soaked in the weird orange color of the streetlamps and tasted like milkshakes and salty fries Louis was fond of getting at the diner near his apartment building.

Louis felt as if Niall was a gift from the universe sometimes.

or the one with vague magic, lirry being meddling mom friends, a dog named Bob Ross the Second, binge watching questionable shows, sunrises and sunsets and nouis being soft with each other.

You Smiled by @taggiecb / prompt & art by @londonfoginacup

Just then, the man looks up, and catches Harry's eye. Harry freezes, feeling as though he's the one trapped. The man doesn't smile, just watches Harry watch him, until finally he lifts his eyebrows in question, and Harry somehow manages to release himself from the spell that he feels he's under.

It's 1758 and on the eve of a battle with the French, Captain Harry Styles of the British army has just begun his appointment as a prison warden in Louisbourgh, Nova Scotia. Harry prepares himself and his guards for their prisoners of war, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the most beautiful man he has ever seen- who is now his prisoner.

Hands Clasped Tight by @afirethatcannotdie / prompt & art by @harrehleh

“What am I looking at here?” Harry asks.

“This, my friends, is a ‘proof’ Instagram account, run by your students,” Liam announces.

“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall adds.

“I heard about that,” says one of the math teachers. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence that you’re dating is pretty damning.”

“Really,” Louis says dryly. “Do you think being married for three years might have something to do with it?”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married.

Calling Out For Somebody by beautifully_cyan / @girlthatsnotafraid // prompt & mood boards by @pretty-pebbles

“Oh, Louis, hi. Do you need something?” Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Yes, I need something. What I need is my phone back,” Louis says slightly annoyed. How has he not realized that he doesn’t have the right phone yet? “Oh, well I don’t have it, sorry mate,” Harry sounds confused, and Louis is going to kill him. Louis lets out a steady breath to stay calm and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Harry, babe, do me a favor. Turn your phone over and see if there’s the initials 'LT' painted in white nail polish on the back of your case.” Louis takes another deep breath staring at Liam as he listens into the phone for Harry checking the phone. “There is,” Harry slowly admits. “Perfect. Now that we’re on the same page, when can we meet up and switch back?”

or the one where Harry and Louis accidentally switch phones the day before Harry leaves for his world tour

memories of light and green by @sitandadmire / prompt & art by @pattern-pals

“You have all of me,” Louis whispered softly, but clearly. His mouth was so close again that Harry could see his lips moving with each new word. “Please know this and remember it well every day that I’m away.”

Or: The year is 1880. After the sudden passing of his beloved uncle, 24 year old Harry Styles inherits the property left behind. Together with his mother Anne, sisters Gemma and Mabel, and their dog Rufus, he relocates from London’s dark and winding streets to the Cheshire countryside. It isn’t long before he falls in love with the fresh air, the horses, and wandering through the gardens. Anything that keeps his mind off of his own future.

Years later, with questions still left unanswered, Harry runs into Louis Tomlinson: the man and artist he’d only ever heard of through Gemma’s drawn out stories. From lazy afternoons to a dinner party at the infamous Malik estate and an end-of-summer ball by invitation of Lady Stewart, Harry soon finds himself on another journey - feeling confused and drawn to Louis’ presence more than he imagined possible. A Late Victorian AU about life and death, and all the days in between, featuring floral suits, moonlight kisses, and a puppy (or two).

Wanderlust by SexyAssWoman / @thesexyasswoman // prompt & art by @louistomlinsons

As he splashed some water on his face, his mind drifted back again towards the strange picture. Why was he so drawn towards it? It wasn’t even a nice picture. It was jittery and blurry on the edges and just overall not thoughtfully taken. No one looked prepared. But maybe that was the whole reason why it looked so alive. It wasn't fair either that the boy in the picture was utterly attractive. Harry was a mess of tired brain cells.

He wiped his face with a tissue as he dragged his feet out of the restroom, closing the door lightly behind him. The water did not help at all because he still felt sleepy as he sighed in defeat. He really needed some coffee.

It wasn't until a warm breeze hit his face that Harry was forced to open his eyes. Did they crank up the heater or something? Even if they did, it still wouldn't explain the sudden breeze he was hit with. He was inside a bloody building after all.

Except when he opened his eyes, he wasn't.

He was now stood on a sidewalk.

What the actual fuck?

or,

Harry wanted to sleep, not get lost in a city he never visited, nor in the boy with sparkling blue eyes.

We’ll Rise Up by FallingLikeThis / @suddenclarityharry // prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

“So,” Liam begins with a smile, “you were the associate pastor at your last church?”

“Yes,” Louis can already feel himself scrunching down in his seat, shrinking against even the reminder of the church he was forced from.

“Was that a good experience for you?” Liam steeples his hands in front of him as he leans his elbows on the desk in interest.

“It was for a while but, to be honest, things ended rather badly,” Louis leans forward too, he needs to get this out and he wants to tell Liam everything, have everything on the table.

Leaning forward even more, Liam seems to be looking for the same thing, “What happened?”

Louis can feel the trembles in his hands again, so he sits on them, biting his lip before admitting, “They found out I’m gay.”

In the hallway, there’s a terribly loud thump and then a grunt of pain and Louis twists around to see Harry, sprawled out on the ground just outside the doorway.

Louis is a Pastor with no church and a heart filled with uncertainty. Pastor Payne is more than willing to give Louis a new place to work, but it's Music Director Harry that helps him rebuild his faith.

Can I just be the same? by Star_Henderson / @tommosgun // prompt & mood board by @suddenclarityharry

“Are you skint?” Louis studied his face. “I can give you the bloody bus fare home, Harry. You don't have to walk.” His voice was soft. Caring.

Harry stopped, his body tingling. Fuck. He shouldn’t have crossed the road. Keep walking. Always keep walking.

“I’m not skint, but thanks for the offer. There’s not many kind people like you around. You’re lovely, you know that?” Harry reached his hand out tentatively, cupping Louis’ elbow and squeezing. “Thank you.” His voice hitched a little.

He’d roamed the country for centuries, coming in and out of people’s lives, never able to forge bonds. Or, if he did, breaking them and suffering the pain of lost love. That was his life forever. Stuck in this limbo with not one other person in the whole world who cared about him. So the kindness of a stranger really hit home, and this stranger with the bluest eyes and brightest smile was making Harry feel alive again. Reminding him of what he was missing

OR Harry is a two hundred year old Vampire with no one in the whole world and Louis is the kind hearted stranger who comes into Harry's life bringing something that Harry had missed. Love. But Harry is forever running, can Louis be the one to change all that?

nobody knows you baby the way I do by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou // prompt & video by @larrystylingsun

Harry meets Louis at university. Once he finally gets the nerve to take their friendship to the next level, Louis vanishes without a trace. Harry doesn’t see him again for four years. Only now he goes by Charlie, and pretends not to know who Harry is. Now Harry wants answers more than ever.

Running in the Shadows by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowninja // prompt & manip by @sparkling-larry

“Zayn was right,” Liam says. “Someone is searching for his asset, and they’ve got about a month’s head start on us.” “And I assume this is where I come in?” Louis asks wryly. “We don’t have a lot of information – Zayn did a very thorough job protecting him – but we think there are three strong contenders: a photographer, a baker, and a yoga instructor.” “Seriously? Do we even know this bloke’s real name?” Liam shoots Louis a small grin and shrugs. “Yeah, actually. The man you’re looking for? His name is Harry Styles.”

Louis is a MI6 agent, and Harry is...difficult to find.

Blacks Stars and Endless Seas by objectlesson / @horsegirlharry // prompt & art by @twopoppies

A Star Trek Original Series AU where Lt. Styles is a young science officer on his first away mission, and Louis is the headstrong ensign assigned to his security detail, and maybe they would be able to function together professionally in a normal setting, but not when their shuttlecraft crash-lands and they end up marooned together on an improbably and unfairly beautiful planet.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites // prompt & art by @twopoppies

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly. ***** OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

Sleep of the Sword by KelliDiane / @ladsnightout // art by @sleepymouses

The next morning sees Liam leaving the castle’s courtyard among cheers and a massive fanfare that only the King himself could have arranged. He bows once before the royal family, taking note of the pure anger upon the princess’ face, and mounts his horse to begin his quest. He is excited to finally have a proper quest to help him feel like he has earned his position in society. He loves that his father left him with such a title and wealth that would mean he could be barred from nowhere, but the thought of working for all of his wealth and glory was rather appealing as well. He would not fail.

Liam recites a lot of pretty poetry, Louis tries to get Liam to see what’s wrong with his love life, Harry hops along for the ride, Zayn has a fiery temper, and Niall just really like to rhyme.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by @indiaalphawhiskey / prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

An AU in two parts. Two boys, two stories, and hopefully, two chances at love.

Underneath by secretswekeepxx / @theficwritersblock // prompt & mood board by @dimpled-halo

“And this is how fucking horror movies begin. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, taking a right onto ‘Payne Lane.” He mutters to himself as he flips his turn signal on and starts making his way slowly down the bumpy lane.

He’s surrounded on both sides by expansive, fenced fields with sparse trees, randomly placed sheds and lean-tos, and various breeds of livestock grazing about. The grass is long and rustles in waves with the dry, late August breeze. There’s a beauty to it, though Zayn’s momentarily unable to appreciate it because the further along he goes the stronger the urge to turn around becomes. It’s as the lane opens up and he can finally see a house materializing in front of him that he sees the sign for ‘Payne Farm’.

Tiny, Beautiful Unknowns by offwiththeirheads / @hazzabooween // prompt & art by @pattern-pals

“If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;”

Louis knows hard work and small dreams, empty pockets and debt. He perfects the art of obscurity, paints the human chaos, and will never wear his heart on his sleeve.

So when Harry Styles, seemingly pretentious art enthusiast crosses paths with him, Louis feels like he's being tested.

#1d reverse bang #1D reverse bang authors #1d reverse bang round 1

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deepfriedtwinkie · 7 years ago

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Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VI)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2kw

note: this is the only part without any Merlin in it BUT IT’S IMPORTANT FOR LATER OKAY (don’t cry, Harry will think you don’t like him)

pt. I | pt. II | pt. III | pt. IV | pt. V

By now, the compound has been home for so long that Harry is almost enamored to see London again. It’s easy to forget how much he loves these streets, the shops, the throngs of people going about their days. Easy to forget, but easier to remember.

He walks primly at the elbow of his proposing agent, a man named Martin Turner. The same who’d first met him as a ten-year-old, enthralling him with images of the world of gentleman spies. A world he’d never known to be real, until then, even with what his mother did for a living. Gentlemen were a much rarer breed in her work, after all. Some of her stories could turn a woman to the nunnery.

As Agent Lamorak, Martin has been kept away for nearly the whole of Harry’s training so far, busy with some mission or other, always jet-setting this way or that. They’ve spoken only a couple of times, but it’s no bother. Obviously, it’s more than understandable. All the more reason to take him up on his sudden invitation, delivered in person this morning in the training room, clear out of the blue.

They enter the tailor shop, Martin holding the door. Harry smiles, hands in his pockets, taking in the atmosphere for the first time through a proper candidate’s eyes. His last visit here felt like a new world. This time, it feels like coming home. He’s quite ready to get used to that feeling.

“’Morning, Simons,” Martin greets the headtailor.

“Good morning to you, sir.” The old man’s only movement seems to be the quiver of his mustache. “May I be of assistance to you gentlemen?”

“Yes, in fact, you may, Simons.” Martin’s head tips toward him. “I’d like for you to meet Harry Hart, my proposal for one of the open positions.”

As he was raised to do, Harry gives his hand, and the headtailor accepts. They shake. “How do you do, sir,” Harry says with a smile.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Simons here is nothing less than the best this business has got, Harry,” Martin boasts. “You’ll be taken good care of with him.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, sir.”

Then he blinks so rapidly he may have to blame the mothballs.

“Wait, sir… ‘Taken care of?’”

Simons politely withdraws his hand, which is fine, because it leaves Harry’s free to drop to his side like the dead weight it is. The way Martin is looking at him makes him wonder if perhaps there’s a television camera hidden somewhere, and his own expression will be plastered on newsstands and billboards by morning.

“You didn’t think I’d let you finish out the program without your own Kingsman souvenir, did you?” Martin grins. “The hell with that. It’s time you were fitted for your first proper bespoke. Unless you object, of course.”

“No sir!” Well, that could have been less of a yelp. He swallows, tempers himself, and tries again, managing formality despite his whole face splitting ear-to-ear. “I mean…no, sir. Thank you, sir. I’d be quite honored.”

“Mmhm. That’s what I thought.” The agent points to a heavy door of oak, off to Harry’s left. Simons comes out from behind the counter, a cloth tape measure hung over his shoulder, and Martin claps him on the back. “Give him the works now. This young man is our honored guest.”

“Of course, sir.” Simons does his best impersonation of a five-star doorman, motioning Harry into the room. “This way, please, Mr. Hart. Fitting room one.”

It’s the last thing on earth he’d have to be asked twice. He hustles forward, grateful it doesn’t turn into a cartwheel.

“I’ll be out here when you’re through,” Martin calls.

The fitting room is one of the plainest cubicles of space ever knocked together by man, little more than patterned wallpaper, brass hooks, and varnished wainscoting, but it takes Harry all of four seconds to decide that he loves it every bit as much as the rest of the place. He’s patient with Simons’s meticulous taking of his measurements, lifting arms on command, turning this way and that, holding various swatches of fabric to his chest for God knows how long. That’s the difference between the Kingsman Tailors and anywhere else. When he works here, he’s going to have to do something kind for Simons. A thank-you note, perhaps, with something for his trouble inside. Cinema tickets or something. It’s terribly kind of him to go out of his way for this.

In good time, the tailor excuses himself, returning moments later with a garment bag draping both tabled arms. “Try this, sir,” he bids, hanging the bag on one of the hooks. “It should give you a fair idea. If you find it’s to your liking, then we will proceed with alterations.”

He’s never stared so reverently at a bag before. “Thank you… Thank you kindly.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

This is it. This is the moment he’s imagined since he was a ten-year-old boy, pinning horrible drawings of suits between the butterflies on his walls. The concrete start of his new life.

The garment bag is shed to the floor before Simons is even fully gone. His brain suggests some analogy to a chrysalis, but he can’t be bothered to spare a thought to connect it. He strips to briefs and socks, dressing quickly, his back turned staunchly to the mirror. Stealing a glance too soon will ruin something about this. He isn’t sure what, but it matters.

In a moment, it’s done. He feels the places that need taking in—cuffs at his knuckles, rumpled elbows, puddles at his feet—but he doesn’t care. It’s the most comfortable thing in the world.

He turns around.

The suit is blue, he notices properly. A very, very dark navy blue. Fine pinstripes crawl the length of it. Simons has picked him a tie to match. Navy, with a slim white stripe, centered with a slimmer note of red. He takes in the two rows of handmade buttons. The press of the lapel.

Harry blinks the blur from his eyes. It is the most exquisite thing he’s ever worn.

We’ve done it, Mother. I wish you could see your boy now.

He’s making a mental note to phone her as soon as possible when another tap comes on the door. “Pardon me, sir. Agent Lamorak requests to have a look, if you’ll oblige coming out for a moment.”

He’s absolutely bursting to show someone, anyway. Lamorak will do wonderfully for now. Harry turns the heavy knob, consciously matching his stride to the elegance a suit like this commands. His expression, on the other hand, is under no such control.

Martin stands from the couch, letting out a long whistle. “You’ve outdone yourself, Simons. A few tucks and it’s a work of art.”

“Very kind of you to say, sir.”

“And this comes in the lot, yes?”

“Already ordered to your specifications, sir.”

“You’re a fucking gem.” Martin smiles Harry’s way, holding out a finger with each next word. “Bulletproof, water-resistant, flame-resistant, and conceals up to thirteen highly-classified armaments. There’ll be nothing you can’t do in this, believe you me.”

He believed it already. In front of the showroom mirror, Harry gives a crisp tug to the jacket, straightening his posture even further than it was to begin with. “I really don’t know what to say, sir. I can’t possibly thank you enough; I know this isn’t typical for only a candidate…”

“Nonsense. You’ve earned it.” His mentor takes a pull from a rock glass he’s been holding. Gin, it looks like. “Your weapons and written test scores were absolutely phenomenal.”

Yes, they were, weren’t they? He can’t help it. He’s had a feeling.

“And I’m not permitted to tell you specifics, but I can say that you’ve earned Arthur’s attention on almost every one of your practical tasks.”

That reminds him to ask. He makes eye contact through the mirror, rather than twist round in the suit. “If I may, sir, what was in those parcels we retrieved on the mountain, anyway?”

“In the envelopes? Those were floppy disks.” Swallowing another sip, Martin makes quotations with his hands. “‘Encrypted files of critical importance to international security.’ That’s this year’s bullshit for ‘Arthur’s Doctor Who fan club mailing list.’ Gives him an excuse for missing the last fifteen meetings.”

“You’re kidding.” Of course he isn’t.

“Of course I’m not.”

Why did I ask?

He’s basking in the jovial moment until Martin’s demeanor goes stony, his gaze laser-focused through the window. His tone changes in the drop of a hat.

“Harry, do as I say. Whatever you do, don’t counteract or seem suspicious,” he mutters levelly. “Time to prove your place in the family business.”

The miniature bell above the door jingles. In comes a portly man in an expensive windbreaker, lighting directly on Lamorak. Harry watches, indifferent neutrality on his face, as the newcomer ignores Simons entirely, no acknowledgment—sorry, Simons, he’d do well to remember you’re a person, too—and instead, steps up to grasp Lamorak’s hand.

They shake cordially. “Mr. Kuznetsov,” Lamorak’s far brighter with his greeting than he might’ve been. “On schedule as always.”

“Mr. Evansbee.” An alias; his name is Turner. And this man’s accent is Russian. “How could I miss one of our treasured conversations?” Lamorak set this meeting. Not the first, or the tenth, either. What kind of conversations?

“Please, allow me to introduce a star pupil of mine from the university. I’m helping him to look his finest when he represents us at St. Hugh’s next month. Oliver Greene, this is Mr. Kuznetsov, one of my trustworthiest colleagues.”

Harry doesn’t need a cue. Seamlessly he adopts his new self, shaking the hand he’s offered. “How do you do, sir.”

“I get by.”

He sends Lamorak the most innocuous look he’s got. “Shall I leave you to it, Professor? You’ve been more than enough help already.”

It’s the right decision. Nothing he gets in return suggests a forthcoming reprimand. “Yes, good lad, Oliver. You can go and get your things. I’ll see you in lecture on Monday.”

“Very good, sir. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Kuznetsov.”

“The pleasure is all mine, of course.”

Whatever you do, don’t counteract. His only move is to beeline for the fitting room, then, the outing finished just as quick as it began. The last he sees of Martin, he’s hooked an arm around the Russian’s shoulders, leading the way to the sofas, carrying on a lively discussion in whispers.

So this trip was no coincidence. Harry is implicitly careful as he removes each piece of his suit, hanging one at a time for Simons to collect. He isn’t disappointed. It should have occurred to him from this morning. Whatever Lamorak’s working on must be drawing to a close.

Besides. He could have met the contact here alone. No part of that required having a custom suit made.

Be grateful you were invited in the first place, and don’t ask why it’s over.

Well. He can’t make promises about the second part.

“Good-bye, Simons,” he says aloud near the exit, after saying a silent one to the suit in the fitting room. “I’ve left everything sorted for you.”

“Wonderful, sir. Good-bye.” It’s almost their last exchange, until the tailor catches himself. “Oh, and one more thing, sir?” He’s scribbling in a leather folder.

Harry stops, halfway through the door jamb, hoping it doesn’t count as counteraction. “Yes?”

Simons looks up, beaming friendliness. “I’ve located your file with us to store your measurements. Isn’t today your birthday, sir?”

Yes, it is. He’s all but forgotten that for the past ten minutes.

Harry smiles back. “Twenty-first,” he confirms.

“Happy birthday, sir.”

It’s certainly shaping up to be.

pt. VII | pt. VIII | pt. IX

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing #p.s. nobody asked but in case anyone's wondering: his mother's Peggy Carter of SHIELD and his other one is Angie Martinelli #it's @faeriviera's fault and now it's law so there #I leave it vague in this on purpose so y'all can speculate however you want but there it is so have fun

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janto-nassimi · 8 years ago

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Warsinger: Eternity

Warsinger IV

Running Hot

Survival

One day before the jungle assault...

If you flip a coin, you have about as good a chance of predicting what a human will tell you about the gods as any other method. To some, the gods are ancient history. The ability to worship them is one reason we fought the White Mantle over two hundred years ago, sure, but that’s just a footnote in history. That war also placed the line of Doric back on the throne, which lasts today. It’s a very real part of our daily lives. The effect is something we can still see.

To others, it’s a matter of faith. The gods were once very active, we’re told, and today they still grant us boons we simply cannot see. But they’re there in battle, beside our grave, in every gust of wind and behind every mask. But that’s never been for me.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with faith. When you take the gods out of it, using that word sounds hopelessly sappy. I have faith in you. I have faith we’ll win. We just have to believe in ourselves. That sort of thing. But faith is more than that. It’s real. Any soldier who has survived the battlefield will tell you that the more numbers you add to a fight, the less an individual’s skill matters. What counts is cohesion, it’s the way you and your fellow soldiers can operate together.

What counts is you knowing the man next to you will do his job right if you do yours. That’s faith. As a 35-year-old… I don’t know — a 35-year-old something, I’ve got a long list of failures. And at the heart of every one of them is a moment when I lost faith.

These were my quiet thoughts as I sat in my once busy PI office on the Melandru High Road in the citadel of Divinity’s Reach. My time as a PI was behind me, ultimately a brief chapter in my life.

I’d cleaned the dust off the desk my feet were propped up on, and as I faced the closed door with guitar in hand I balanced my wooden chair on the back two legs. The chair was an old, wooden thing, and that’s why I liked it. I just wished I had somewhere else to keep it.

Dust still covered the other desk in the corner, as well as shelves of old books, notes and journals. A smattering of asura equipment in the corner was the only fixture that seemed clean.

The song I was softly strumming did nothing to brighten the room. It was something I’d heard from the hylek when I sailed to Orr. A low, rumbling dirge for the fallen.

At least the sword I’d propped up against the wall seemed immune to grime as it glowed with a supernatural blackness. The pommel was a black gem, and the crossguard was a gaudy mess of black wings and red magic. But the long blade was something great and powerful. It shimmered like a pool of water, but reflected only the night sky. Some called it Twilight, and that named seemed to fit as well as any other.

Twilight wasn’t the sort of weapon I was ordinarily interested in using, but I had been ordered to have it ready just in case. It was time for war, and the enemy was powerful and ancient.

A black and red ink began to flow from Twilight until it created a small pool from which grew the wispy image of a woman dressed in a traveler’s vest and heavy breaches. The spirit considered me with a motherly expression before drifting through the air to lounge across my desk. Her knees arched as though to avoid my feet, but misted around them.

“You shouldn’t play that alone,” Nasrin said. I’d named the old spirit after Inasis Nassimi’s long dead mother. At the time, Inasis wasn’t my lover, and the sentiment had felt more appropriate.

I watched Nasrin for a moment while she propped her ghost head on her ghost palm. The mist that formed her body splashed on impact.

“I like it,” I said.

“You feel obligated.”

When I stopped playing and let go of the guitar in my lap it made a sharp, scratching sound. Nasrin winced, and I reached under my shirt to fish out a pale blue orb bound to the chain that held my old Seraph tags. Mist swirled within the orb, but every so often I caught the image of an Oakheart. It had been the power that infused a legendary longbow that once sprouted pink and white flowers, and created magic arrows. Now it just gave off an aura of sorrow to match my own.

Tindorin had called it Yolaru. He was dead now.

I released Yolaru and pressed my left thumb into my right palm to massage it.

“You should play with someone else,” Nasrin said. “The sylvari. Magnolia.”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“You do a lot of that, lately.”

That made me scowl at her, but she was right. I was stuck just talking about a lot, not only playing with Magnolia. I’d talked about marrying Inasis, about trying to give an actual purpose to my guild, Mithril Lantern, about a hundred acts of justice that needed to be carried out. But the world kept moving, the dragons keep coming, and so much gets left behind lately. I feel like I’m just treading water.

“How are the other spirits?” I asked, leaning my head toward the Twilight.

“Better. One or two move on every few weeks,” she said.

“What about you?”

She sat up and folded her arms over her chest. “I will when I’m ready,” she said. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“It’s my fault.” I couldn’t say it louder than a whisper. Tindorin had been a light in a dark world. Like the hero from a storybook, the sylvari would appear when he was needed most, and would never falter. With him, it was simple. Good was… good. He once came to my rescue when I thought I was lost to torture, and I never forgot the righteousness in his heart, or the indignation in his sword.

He was the kind of sylvari who would have sooner died than let the Nightmare take him. And he did.

“I thought you learned better than this when you and I first met.”

Nasrin was right, but I didn’t listen. Instead I propped my guitar up against the wall and shuffled my feet off the desk, sending her misty form scattering for an instant. The room was silent except for the clacking of metal parts as I suited up, not in my Exemplar’s uniform, but in my own armor. I strapped my swordbelt on last, but left Twilight where it rested.

“One last mission before we fly to war,” I said. “Keep an eye on things here for me.”

Lion’s Arch was no longer the hodgepodge of rotting ships and crumbling bricks the pirates who lorded over it had let it become. It had taken the invasion of a maniacal Nightmare courtier, an army, and a flying drill right through the city’s heart, to make the Captain’s Council decide to take their responsibility seriously. I only wish it hadn’t taken an avoidable massacre to wake them up.

Reports indicate they had plenty of warning before Scarlett attacked, but once the city was in ruins, they had built over top of it. If I didn’t know they were too incompetent to plan so far ahead, I’d say that was the plan all along.

With the help of The Consortium, an asura-styled business that had once taken advantage of a number of refugees, Lion’s Arch rivaled the architecture of Ebonhawk. It hadn’t been rebuilt with the consideration of Divinity’s Reach, but smooth, stone bridges, streets and squares divided blocks of fort-like houses. There were still the cramped apartments built inside the hulls of ships, but at least they had been moved inside the safety of cliffsides.

The crisp sea breeze carried in a tropical scent, and the odor of fish. Mixed with spiced foods and the banging of distant, busy forges, it was a unique atmosphere found nowhere else in Tyria. Right out a plaza guarding the Asura Gates, I was met by the cries of hawkers, and the shouts of adventurers looking for another good armsman or magic user. But none of it was my concern today.

I was inconspicuous without my gold and blue uniform, just another warrior in a sea of adventurers that moved about the city, some with purpose, others with unharnessed wanderlust.

I escaped the crowd by ducking down an alleyway into one what was once one of the oldest neighborhoods of the city. One either side of the alley were the giant stone bricks of new businesses. The one on the left stood where the section of an old cargo ship had once been before Scarlett smashed it to dust. It had also once been the site of a home I shared with my wife almost 10 years ago.

There were fewer people on the next street I turned on, and even less of them appeared to be travelers. For the most part, these locals minded their own business and paid me no mind. Two men sat in front of a general store talking about taxes on the Black Lion Trading Company, a laborer pushed an assortment of tools home on a wheelbarrow, and a strong armed housewife paused from sweeping dust out her front door to shield her eyes from the setting sun and inspect the scaffolding of continuing construction overhead.

My destination would be at an old tavern one block over, with the back facing an alleyway. I was supposed to meet with two other exemplars stationed in the city and help carry home the ornate cascabel of a cannon that dated back nearly to the searing. An elementalist had apparently managed to craft it in such a way that it would infuse magic into volleys. If we were about to join the Pact on a frontal assault into Maguuma Jungle, we’d bring with all the firepower we could.

Apparently we had worked with the Order of Whispers in acquiring the cascabel from a pirate captain in the swamps south of Lion’s Arch. He had taken to calling it The Bandersnatch. They weren’t my favorite group to party with. In fact, I’ve often wondered if they’ll betray us all as soon as the dragons are dealt with. They were formed by a foreign power, after all.

I’d heard some concerns about the Pact’s plan. It was always dangerous to put all of your eggs in one basket, but a frontal assault with overwhelming firepower was hard to say no to, especially when your enemy was mired in a massive jungle with the ability to carve tunnels on a whim. I could only imagine the nightmare of fighting that campaign on the ground, especially with a seemingly endless supply of enemies that had literally no compunction about dying for the cause. Orr had been hell enough.

Instead of turning into the most direct alley I took an extra block to make my way around the front of the tavern and have a look. The Two Leaping Hares was built out of scrap and driftwood after the destruction of Lion’s Arch, and even though it had since been abandoned, it still stood by some miracle. The windows were boarded up, and the front door seemed fused into the frame by a mess of nails. I didn’t walk too close to the building, but I got close enough to tell there was no one inside. At least, no one I could hear.

I circled the block again and entered the alley. Half way down, I found the descending staircase that lead to The Two Leaping Hares’ back door. Slumped against the wooden door were the bodies of a man and a woman, each dressed as beggars. Dressed, because with them lying in a dead pile it was easy to spot the way their pistols pressed against their rags from underneath. I couldn’t say if they were Whispers or exemplars without a thorough look at their faces — that was time I couldn’t take.

I cast a look at the rooftops overhead. The new construction was sturdy, and it would be easy to run across them without making much noise. The rickety tavern would make plenty of noise with someone on top. That left two buildings across the alleyway, one in either direction, with clear lines of sight.

If I went right for the door I could be shot dead before I had it open. But wasting too much time in the alleyway meant that if someone had entered another way, perhaps magically, I was giving them plenty of time to escape. And I had no idea how far away reinforcements were.

“Easy, simple mission,” I muttered under my breath as I threw myself backwards so hard I stumbled across the alley and smacked into a stone wall. At least I was temporarily out of the line of sight of any shooter, thanks to the stretching, curved design of the eaves above me shaped to resemble an upside down bow of a ship.

“A bard should be more genre savvy,” I muttered.

I had just an instant to size up the door. The dust around it seemed still, so there was no easy way to spot an illusion. But that did tell me no one had been fussing around the door to set a trap. Probably. I could spot a portion of the door’s bottom between the foot and shoulder of each slain person. There was the imprint of a boot beneath the frame, but a bit old. At the very least, that meant no one had cleaned or evened things out to lay a wire. The other side of the door still left a lot to question, though, but at the very least I was reasonably sure there was nothing immediately lethal on this side.

I freed the knot on my helm and covered my head. No time to waste.

Drawing my sword, I stomped my foot into the stone ground beneath me. With a moment of acute concentration I activated an earth rune on the cuisse of my armor. A vibrant flash of brown and orange heralded the power Inasis had infused my equipment with, and a small boulder flew through the air in an invisible line I’d set by my boot.

It crashed through the door, sending splinters into the darkness and toward the ceiling, then vanished when it struck the floor. I waited only a heartbeat. No explosion. No horrible magic. Oookay. I made for the back door at a sprint, gauntlets raised to cover my head as best I could.

There were no gunshots as I rushed through into the dark tavern, and I found myself standing awkwardly in a still commons. Silence, and blades of light filtered through cracks in the wall and dirt, greeted me. The light revealed a half dozen broken tables, and a bar without a single mug. I could make out a dart board in one corner.

And then movement.

Whoever it was, they moved so subtly they seemed to disturb the light no more than the dust did. But dust didn’t cast a shadow the same way, not a solid one. I stilled my breath with purpose before I exhaled, trying to prime my senses when I drew my sword. I just needed one more good sign of movement and I’d hound the intruder.

A shiver shot up my spine at the sensation of a dagger sliding between the rim of my helmet and the back of my breastplate.

Eternity

The day of the jungle assault...

Though wrongly named, the Jade Wind was a proud Krytan vessel. She cut through the clouds with a broad, iron deck, held aloft by a balloon of heavy deldrimor silk. Blue magitech mesh fastened the balloon to the ship and its single floor below deck. It was a marvel of technology, a symbol of a changing, impressive world with fewer limits. And none of it made me feel very safe.

I had set myself aloof after leaving Twilight below deck, and leaned against the outside of the Jade Wind’s bridge. I still had a simple longsword with me, and a new pistol holster was attached to the other side of my belt. The single-shot pistol inside was primed and ready, custom fit by Murdok Blastfire to deliver an obsidian shot backed up by destroyer-powered gunpowder.

Other exemplars moved around deck - a total of six, counting me. A few leaned over the side, watching the ground rush past beneath us as we flew to join the Pact fleet. One stood alone, but not aside the way I did.

Exemplar Layla Spencer was the very image of the Shining Blade. Arms folded over her blue and gold armor, she seemed to never flinch from the wind as she stared straight ahead. She did it as though she was staring down Mordremoth herself.

With her helmet cradled under a shoulder, she bared a head of cropped brown hair barely moved. Her armor and weapons were immaculate. Her mithril sword hung from a loop on her belt, but she forewent a scabbard. Crisp white and yellow sigils marked the blade’s length, much like those on my own weapon. The Shining Blade were the guards of Her Majesty Queen Jennah, and Exemplar Spencer… if someone could ever be called the crown’s sword, it would be her.

I was no slouch, either. But I wasn’t feeling so bold. I knew these airships could be deathtraps.

When I glanced across the deck memories flashed through my mind in a dizzy haze — memories of toxic gas and Zhaitan’s undead dragons.. It melted steel. It melted people — those who didn’t jump to their death, or who weren’t snatched up in an undead mouth. I faced it during my second breach into Orr after barely surviving a landing party from the sea on my first arrival. The sea had been worse, but the air I still survived by luck alone. Luck, and determination. That was too commonly the case in war.

A familiar voice brought me back.

“You don’t face this alone, exemplar.” It was a green sylvari with patches of brown bark. He smiled as he set a hand on my shoulder, and it seemed to make his veins glow a subtle purple.

I returned the smile easily. I often did, but it helped that it was for a sylvari. Ever since Orr, ever since the sylvari were a light of hope in every battlefield, I’d kept an oath to treat them all as brothers and sisters.

“I know,” I said, raking in a shaky breath. “I just can’t help but remember the last time I was on an airship flying to war.”

The sylvari gave an “Mmm” sound, and glanced toward the bow of the ship.

“I wasn’t in Orr,” he said. “I wasn’t born yet.”

Damn. That made him, what, two or three years old at the most? That was far too young for war. I know sylvari are born adult, at least as best they can be, but people deserve time to make memories, and time to live. Especially sylvari. When you come prepacked with knowledge, you deserve time to carve out your own identity.

Then again, it’s not like I had ever had much time to live without violence.

“Not our ranger, then?”

I pressed my thumb into my palm. Tindorin had volunteered as a ranger for more than one mission to the front against Mordremoth in the past year. He had seen myself and other exemplars safely back from behind enemy lines numerous times.

“I am, actually,” the sylvari said. “I learned from a norn.”

He offered me his hand. “Lysander.”

“Janto Cadell. Exemplar Cadell.”

“Well, Janto Cadell, I’m not half as experienced as you, but I’ll do what I can to watch your back if you promise to keep me safe when this gets dangerous.”

I laughed, but it was pleasant and warm.

“Sure thing. You’ve got my word.”

Cowardice

Five years ago...

“Janto Adega Cadell, get out of my way.”

It was cold, and wet. It was the third straight day of rain, and we were all dirty from the mud, snow, and blood of our enemies. My friends and I were on our first mission for the Order of Whispers, sent into the mountains to help protect a village and gather information on a sickness that had been reported. A few of us had already joined up, and my lover, Aosheng, had been sent to keep an eye on us.

“What, Ao, you’re my mother now? I’m not moving, not for you or anyone else.”

I was standing in the doorway of a wooden shelter, my hands pressed against the frame on either side. No one was getting past me to where the sick were gathered. Huddled into corners and wrapped up the best they could, men, women, and children had been piled into the shelter until someone could figure out how to help them. The rest of the villagers stayed in their homes as much as possible.

“Then you’re going to end up responsible when the rest of the village dies,” Aosheng said, glaring at me from the bottom of a few wooden steps.

She was a tall woman who wore her black leathers like a second skin. She never wore a helmet or mask, and her raven hair was cut short. A Canthan woman, Aosheng wasn’t pretty, but she was fit and capable. The sword and dagger on her belt were both flat and thin, and she wielded them like no other master I had ever seen.

“If you really feel that way, then you know how to get through me,” I said. We both knew she could beat me if it came to a fight, and it wouldn’t be hard for her.

“Janto… I do not want to do that, but think about this-”

“There’s nothing to think about! They’re not dead yet, so we’re waiting. We’re giving them a damn chance.”

She stepped up to me.

“Janto. No one has found a cure for Zhaitan’s corruption. No one has come back from it. When they die, they’ll be gone like the rest. They will turn on us. We’ll be unable to protect the rest of these people.”

I stepped down to her. “We don’t know they’re all going to die. Some could make it.”

“And just be killed by the others in there with them? They must be culled.”

Cull them. Like cattle. Like animals.

“Fuck you,” I said, and swung for her.

She grabbed my arm, pivoted, and tossed me out into the mud on my ass. Aosheng stepped into the building and looked back down at me. “Stop me, Janto Cadell. Show me you really know the Order is wrong about this.”

She went inside, and I stayed there. I didn’t go after her, or try to stop her. Maybe I just wanted someone to keep me from being able to stand in the way, so I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about what had to happen. I was responsible for those people being murdered, and I didn’t even have the guts to do it myself.

I’ll never make the same mistake again. But I have. So many times in Orr. Daxx. Tindorin.

Free will

Three years ago...

“Mister Cadell, I hope you understand just what you’re asking us to approve.”

Bureaucracy is the cold and safe heart of law enforcement. Out on the streets as a Seraph, I understood what life was like for people who drew a bad hand. The poor, refugees, orphans — they all start in the dirt, and in the dirt it’s easy to reach up and find the wrong hand waiting to help you. It’s easy to make bad decisions. It’s even easier when a mesmer tries to rob you of your ability to make sound decisions.

“I’m not asking you to do anything out of the ordinary,” I said.

At a polished wooden table, I sat facing a tribunal on raised seats. The six of us were surrounded by a fence of wood only three feet high. It was easy to scale, and only there for show to keep rows of onlookers at bay. Or, really, to separate rows of onlookers from the proceeding. To keep everything in its right place, safe and sound. Her Majesty did not need these people — cowards, really — to rule her kingdom. Her throne room was open and inviting. It was a place where even a goat farmer could approach and be heard.

But for now, this was the reality we were stuck in. At least the viewing seats were mercifully empty. And if I was honest, everyone I faced wasn’t so bad. Two of them were ministers, with falsely thoughtful faces and enough facial hair to trick children into thinking they were wisened. But in the middle was a magistrate and on one side there was Exemplar Layla Spencer in her blue and gold. On the other was Seraph Commander Mansfield in his dress uniform.

“You really think we can afford to let some lunatic free? She’s a threat to Divinity’s Reach. Perhaps you are, too, if you are in league with her,” said one of the ministers.

“Minister, there aren’t any adoring crowds here for you to fool, so try to relax,” Mansfield said in a drawl. “Janto Cadell served honorably under my command for 10 years. His loyalty isn’t in question. But son… what you’re proposing…”

This was the best I could get Deci, a teenage girl no one else seemed to give a damn about. As a commoner, the most she was entitled to after a murder and an assault was a hearing from a magistrate. Every favor anyone owed me for my 10 years of service had been only enough to allow my former commanding officer to advise with an exemplar he trusted. But that came with the condition of the advisement of two ministers as well.

The door behind me opened and cast a shadow with the light from the hallway. Someone quiet and small stepped lightly around the outside of the room to take a seat and watch. Another witness. It had to be Ana.

“I’m not proposing anything out of the ordinary,” I said. “When someone commits a crime, especially murder, they face the consequences. But when they’re under duress, when someone forces them to act out of their character, we are lenient.”

“Rotting in prison is lenient, isn’t it?” asked a minister.

“What the minister means to say,” Layla Spencer said in even tones. “Is that what you are describing might save someone from an execution. But Deci has murdered someone-”

“- a noble!”

“- and attacked someone else. How can we let her go free?”

“Because this isn’t an ordinary situation. When someone is under duress, even though they may still act out of character, they still maintain the burden of morality. But when someone is tricked by magic, fooled out of their mind, they can’t carry the same burden.”

Ana sat down in my peripheral vision. Her long blond hair spilled over her shoulder in curls, and she looked pretty in a white dress with a blue sash. I couldn’t look straight at my sister. I don’t know if she could look straight at me. Maybe we never would again.

She needs to be killed before she hurts anyone else. She almost killed Tao!

We aren’t killing anyone, Ana. You’re talking like the Whispers. Everyone deserves a chance to do better. It’s the same chance we were given.

We weren’t a risk to everyone around us.

Is that what you’ve spent the past 25 years telling yourself? You never looked in a mirror and wondered?

My little sister, separated from me for so long. She was taken from me because she feared what she could do. She was afraid of herself, and the necromantic powers that could make her a lich. Who says those things to their sister? I’m still ashamed to know that kind of anger is inside of me.

“Cadell, you really believe she was manipulated at the time of those attacks?” Mansfield asked.

“Yes, by a mesmer named Rhao,” I lied.

Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. As my report stated, a mesmer named Rhao had manipulated Deci, but at the time of her attacks he was long gone. Fear of further manipulation by other mesmers had set her madly against them. Fear was to blame. But a person isn’t entirely their own self when fear rules them. A man had taken away Deci’s safety, had stolen her ability to feel like her own person safe in her own skin. She deserved a chance to reclaim her own identity.

A man sat down next to Ana. He had dull features and a round head, and I knew him. Dans Larith. I fought to hold down the bile in my throat. What was a Whispers agent doing near my sister.

When I looked back to the committee two of the ministers were looking at me like I was a rabid animal.

“Looking strictly at the law, I’m not sure I agree with you, Mister Cadell,” Spencer said. “But I think I agree with your argument, and I think the queen wants the same opportunities for her subjects that you want for this little girl.”

I offered a polite nod.

“We’ll need to speak with the other witnesses,” she added. “Wait in the hall. We will need you back soon.”

When I sat, I saw Ana whisper something harsh to the Whispers agent, and he slid away in silence. Her look for me was cold and hurt. I don’t know why she didn’t reveal my lie. Maybe my angry words had convinced her with the help of all that hurt.

A boy named Andrew

Another lifetime…

A boy named Andrew was crouching behind the crates of a warehouse in the East Commons. In those days, Queen Jennah was not the ruler, and Minister Caudecus hadn’t yet commissioned the mechanical orchestra. There was even more mud in the district in those days, and less safety. With such a large population, and a constant stream of refugees, Divinity’s Reach has long had a problem with gangs. But in those days, it was even worse.

Andrew was hiding, but not from any person. It was as though placing something between himself and what was happening in the room could somehow separate him from it. Andrew hadn’t yet accepted who he was.

You’re nothing to the world, boy. Another grimy street rat is nothing to anyone. But I don’t care what they think.

Danny Red Eye was a big man who liked to wear shirts without any sleeves. That way, he seemed to go everywhere with his arms and shoulders first, and anyone who got in his way usually ended up hurt. But today he wasn’t throwing any punches. He had a dagger in his hand as he circled another man who was tied to a chair at the center of the warehouse. A few other members of the gang watched from nearby.

“You don’t have a whole lot to look forward to anymore,” Danny Red Eye said.

As he circled the captured man, Andrew could see the red patch over Danny’s eye. The one he had left darted up to look at Andrew only for a moment.

“I can’t let you go. Can’t let you live.”

The captured man gave a quiet whine. He was too hurt to do much else. Andrew was scared, but he knew he had to stop being so scared. He knew Danny was only doing what he had to in order to keep him and the other kids safe. The Seraph only saw more fodder for their wars when they looked at boys. But Danny saw potential in Andrew.

You know no one else has any faith in you. But we can’t blame them too much, it’s not easy.

“But I can end it quick. You tell me where my weapons are, I’ll send my boys to have a look, and if we find them it’s over for you. If you lie we bring your brother in next. How’s that sound?”

That seemed to bring energy back to the captured man. His head darted upright, his eyes wide with protest.

“No, please, I’ll-” but his words were cut short by a terrified scream in his own throat. Danny Red Eye had shoved his knife into the man’s eyes. With a twist and a scoop, the eye came out in a mangled pile.

The other men looked away. None of them echoed Danny Red Eye’s laugh. But Andrew kept watching. He couldn’t look away. If he did, Danny would be disappointed in him.

“What do you think, boy?” Danny Red Eye asked him, nearly having to shout over the captured man’s screams. “Was he going to tell me the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said. “How can you tell?”

Danny Red Eye laughed, and Andrew shrunk backwards. When Danny laughed, people usually got hurt. Would he be next? No, he hadn’t done anything wrong today. Or have I? Andrew winced when Danny lifted a hand, and jumped when that hand landed hard on his shoulder. But it was a fond gesture, and Andrew found himself slowly looking upward from under his eyebrows.

“That’s the trouble,” Danny said. “You can’t. That’s why you have to give them a really good reason to be honest. The reason can’t just be to make it stop, or they’ll feed you a lie. They need to know something worse will happen if they don’t cooperate, but the responsibility is still in your hands.”

Andrew swallowed fear, but it wasn’t for himself. His head turned to look at the captured man. He was sobbing, and couldn’t hold his wound. Andrew set a hand over his own eye.

“I told you the responsibility is still in your hands,” Danny said, his voice lowering to a barking gravel. “Ask me why!”

“Why?”

Danny gave Andrew’s hunching form a pleased smile.

“Because the responsibility to confirm is still on you. Confirm, confirm, confirm. That’s one of the most important rules.”

Andrew nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He kept the eye he wasn’t covering fixed to the floor. Then he gave a yelp when Danny seized him by the inch or so of hair on his head and forced him to stand upright. Oh, no! He had failed Danny. Danny had told him how he needed to groom himself for this world, and he hadn’t kept up with it.

“I told you it was one of the most important rules.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

Danny considered Andrew like a pet that had performed a trick to an uncertain degree of satisfaction. He ran his tongue over his teeth and gums before finally allowing a slow, steady nod.

“When I see you first thing tomorrow morning for a lesson this will all be cut off. I told you to keep it gone.”

“Yes, sir.” Danny was just trying to keep him safe. Anyone could grab you when you had hair.

“And you bring me 20 silver coins to pay for the lesson.” Andrew knew he had to learn responsibility somehow.

“Yes, sir.”

When he was finally out on the street, Andrew walked as quickly as he could and kept his head down. He wanted to run as fast as he could, but that would only get him seized by one of Danny’s corner men. The enforcers didn’t like the boys doing anything to draw attention to themselves.

But he knew he still needed to hurry. Twenty pieces of silver wasn’t easy to pickpocket in the East Commons, not with how little people owned. If he was allowed to travel to another district, he knew he could earn a lot more, but Danny had forbid it. So Andrew seized what determination he could, and slowly lifted his head up, and slowly made himself smile at anyone who passed by.

Most in the commons were too smart to fall for his trick, and that slowed down Andrew’s progress. Most knew a smiling child, or any child moving on their own was likely to reach for their pockets.

But a very few saw Andrew as a boy, and they saw his smile. Then they saw his sunken cheeks, and his hollow eyes. When they went to him and offered bread, or comforting words, it made them easy marks.

You’re like a lost puppy to them. Out on the street, they don’t blame you for how ugly you are, and they think they can help. But as soon as they clean you up, they’ll see what’s really there, won’t they? Well I’ve already seen it, and I haven’t looked away. Don’t you, either.

A silver at a time, he could nearly meet his quota before it was too dark. When it was too dark, if he wasn’t under cover somewhere, he would be someone else’s prey.

Andrew found an empty ice box built into the ground of an abandoned house to hole up in during the night. A nearby lamp cast a dim glow into the hole through a smashed portion of the wood lid, and Andrew was able to see down his chest to his leg from it. There was just enough room to stretch out if he wanted to, but for now he was bunched up with his knees to his chest while he worked a knife through strands of thin hair.

He gasped and gripped the weapon in both hands when the lid flew open, and then scowled when the dim light revealed a tiny girl with a tiny nose, purple eyes and muddy hair.

“Move over,” she demanded, and hopped in with a book in hand.

“Go find somewhere else,” Andrew said.

The girl sat down in the space Andrew meant to stretch out when he was finished.

“I don’t want to get kidnapped by a matron,” the girl said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I’m not stupid.”

Andrew kicked his legs out a little, staking claim to as much of his hole as he could. “Fine.”

“Good.”

She pried open the little book she had with her. There were very few pictures. That made her scowl.

“Can you read?” she asked him.

“Of course I can.”

“Will you read this to me?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you could read.”

“I can read!”

“Sure you can.”

Andrew snapped up the book, and the girl had a very pleased look on her face.

“Lance stayed with Gisele after that, and never left. Even his wolf companion traveled with them through Kryta. There. see?”

Andrew tossed the book back to her.

“Will you read the rest?” the girl asked.

“I have other things on my mind,” Andrew said.

“Like what?”

“Things.”

“It will probably help if you read.”

Andrew gave an exasperated sigh and tried to look away from the girl so he could go back to cutting his hair. She didn’t bother him after that, but after about an hour of silence Andrew peered over at her. She was studying a page with two pictures. In one picture, a burly man sat beside the unmoving body of a wolf and pet it. In the other picture he held the child of a blond woman, and glared threateningly at the woods.

The girl wiped at her eyes, but when she noticed Andrew looking she turned her head fiercely away. He sighed and looked up through the hole at the street light, but every so often he could hear tiny sobs from the girl.

“Give it here,” Andrew said.

She did without protest. Andrew studied the pictures a moment himself. It was strange seeing such a big man holding something so tiny.

“He never had a moment in his heart where he thought he might be in love with Gisele, but he loved her, her new husband, and her children in another way,” Andrew read. “Lance put aside the wilderness to look after the family, and carry whatever burden he could for them.”

That didn’t make any sense. Andrew paged back to the front of the story to read it from the start.

XXX

Eternity

The day of the jungle assault...

The fleet was assembled. With help from Kryta, The Grove, Hoelbrak and the Black Citadel it was as though the Pact had never been battered down by Zhaitan.

“I keep losing count,” Lysander said, grinning up at me.

We stood side by side on the edge of the Jade Wind and soared above the Silverwastes. I felt her creek at the sudden shift as we lifted further into the sky to join dozens of Pact ships. Wings stretched to either side of many, forming horizontal sails. On other ships there were glowing magitech power sources spinning out energy. Still, others had longer, stretched balloons to keep them sailing.

My heart raced when we evened out again to drift alongside the other vessels, and their formation stretched out around us I found myself smiling. My heart felt too warm to mind the cold wind as it buffeted me. There were brave men and women of all races armed for war on a hundred decks, and though they were too far away to call to, I could spot dozens of familiar faces. So many heroes were gathered here, forming crews and war parties ready to face down a dragon.

“Glad to see you made it, exemplar,” a voice said over the radio on the bridge.

“Thanks Warmaster, Her Majesty wouldn’t have you here without our support,” Exemplar Spencer answered back.

A familiar norn ranger held up a hand to me from a passing ship, and I waved back. Lysander joined me, and that prompted the ranger, Jacon, to pat a sylvari beside him and point us out. She waved to us as well, and hopped into the air to cheer before they flew into formation.

The next ship we passed was lighter, likely for scouting. On the bridge I spotted another familiar sight, Captain Cole Barton with his handsome face and lying rogue’s grin. From the look of it, the pirate was giving orders to Priory fighters.

“Good for him,” I told Lysander. “That man is so good, it enraged him to know a woman used centaur hide for fashion.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“...yes.”

On another vessel a unit of Vigil soldiers was in formation. I spotted an asura I had dug in at Orr with for three nights, and we shared a salute. His face wore grim determination like it was a weapon.

“Magnificent,” Lysander said. “I’ve never seen so many ready to fight, not even in Lion’s Arch.”

“It makes you confident we’ll survive this,” I said.

Lysander nodded.

“Just be ready to steel yourself,” I said. “But before you do, seize this moment and hold it deep inside you. You’ll need it for strength in the days to come.”

As Spencer returned from the bridge, she waved us over and we went to join the other exemplars on the bow of the ship, facing west toward sun as the jungle spread out beneath us. Among the clouds, we formed a nimbus of our own with the other vessels.

“Gentlemen,” Spencer called above the wind. “We’re flying to slay a dragon.”

One of the others gave a whoop of excitement, which broke the determined expressions of two other exemplars. They grinned, and nodded to Spencer.

“These are dark times,” she said. “Those of you who didn’t serve in Orr have surely read the reports.”

I felt the airship begin to shake as gears beneath us spun to place the cannons.

“As Kryta’s most skilled soldiers, we have to know we are not only the best, but our minds must also be the sharpest.”

We descended slowly, and our engine cooled as we slowed, moving with the fleet to hover above the jungle just within an effective range to aim our cannons.

“We must all accept we could die today. But to the last moment, we will strike with unrivaled skill, and we will think with unrivaled cunning. That is what will win this war. That is what will slay a dragon.”

“Queen’s Honor, exemplar!”

“Queen’s Honor!”

“For the Queen!”

“For Kryta,” I said.

The world was still for one precious moment. Then a voice could be heard over the airship’s radio: “Fire!”

We rained down power on the jungle. It was a storied and ancient place, a mirror to the ancient power of the monster it hid. And we smashed it. Ingenuity and a world at war had shaped terrible weapons in all of our forges, and every last godsdamn one of them was pointed at Mordremoth. My ears rang from the thunder of cannons, and each time we fired the elementalist’s cannon I’d recovered in Lion’s Arch, our vessel shook from the pressure.

Die, I found myself whispering in my head. Die, just die. I can’t waste more of my life on a dragon. Deci needs me. Inasis needs me to live. Sati needs to see me again. Just… please, die.

Mordremoth’s counterstroke was terrible. Just as soon as the cannons took a breath and powder filled the air like a fog, hundreds of jagged, spiked vines ripped free of fissures in the jungle in ship-thick arms.

The first ship to go was ripped apart from beneath. Any man who survived the impact died as the ship exploded. Another was seized like a plaything and crushed.

“Fire. Fire! Cover the ships next-” the voice cut off.

Exemplar Spencer snapped into action with a precise voice.

“Exemplars, blades ready,” she said, and lifted her voice to call into the bridge. “Captain, get us moving! Drift wide but make sure our cannons can cover that ship.”

She pointed hard at a ship sailing alongside us. It was Jacon’s ship. I could see him on deck with an axe and torch in hand.

“Wait - Janto, what’s happening?” Lysander asked.

I tried to follow Lysander’s gaze but the Jade Wind suddenly lurched to one side as Mordremoth’s vines snatched at us. I coughed my lungs empty when I slammed into the iron side of the bridge. One end of the ship tipped skyward and I watched a thorny green mass shoot through the air. It cast a shadow as it loomed over us, and I felt an empty stillness in my chest. My breaths felt hollow.

I snapped to my senses as Spencer flew past me, flailing toward a death that awaited her over my head, over the bridge, and to the ground below. I drew my sword and with an acute focus I activated the glowing yellow sigils on my sword, and a rune on my boots. I turned to stand on the side of the bridge as though it was level ground and leaped toward Spencer.

The runes on my boots glowed green as a precise gust of wind launched me forward. Inasis’ magic landed me next to Spencer’s foot and and I grabbed her by the ankle before twisting and slamming my sword down into the side of the bridge. It should have been a useless attempt, but the yellow runes exploded in on themselves. My sword put a hole in the ship and anchored us.

“Attack with the cannons,” Spencer ordered in an impressively powerful voice. She wasted no time finding her own hold. “Now!”

Only the Bandersnatch fired from below, and with it came a bolt of molten flame. The three exemplars holding onto railings pulled themselves forward. One freed a scepter from his belt, another a pistol, and the third simply held her hand forward. Blue, black and purple magics met the green tentacle head on, adding to the searing power of the Bandersnatch. The elementalist operating it below deck had the sense to prime it and blast out fire.

The exemplar who had held their pistol lost his grip when the mass of vines twisted and ground against the Jade Wind, and flew screaming into empty air. I don’t know if his contribution had been the pebble that caused the avalanche or not, but a moment later the vine withdrew.

Our ship righted itself, and Spencer and I smashed down onto the deck. My body groaned from the impact, but I’d been through worse. That didn’t make it hurt any less to sit up.

“Janto!” Lysander called, scrambling to his feet somewhere nearby. “Janto, you need to see!”

Spencer was up before I was, and she hauled me to my feet and to the railing. I was just in time to see Jacon’s face split open by an axe. The axe was held in the outstretched hand of the sylvari who had waved with him earlier.

It wasn’t just Jacon. The deck of his ship was blackened by the blood of dead Vigil soldiers. Only sylvari stood, and one at a time they turned to face us with red eyes. One held his spear into the air and gave a warcry, but his words were lost to the wind. All together they started sprinting toward the edge of the deck, 10 in all, as though they could leap for us.

“Swing us around,” Spencer ordered.

The Jade Wind moved, and as it sailed past one airship, it revealed a battered fleet. Ships fell fast toward the dark jungle below us, and wherever one still flew there was a slaughter. An explosion wrecked the side of one ship, and the soldiers who had originally survived were thrown overboard.

One airship scraped alongside us on a frantic ascent. I saw the charr captain’s grim expression as he tried to rescue his charge, but not thirty feet from him his crew was slaughtered by allies. An adventuring party I had once seen outside a kodan sea sanctuary was ripped apart by a fireball. The sylvari elementalist they’d once trusted roared in triumph.

It wasn’t hard for everyone to understand what was going on. Scarlett. The Zephyrites. The jungle dragon. The sylvari were immune to Zhaitan’s corruption, but they weren’t the blessing I thought they were. They were dragon minions.

One at a time, we all turned to face Lysander. Spencer leveled her sword toward him. She never wasted time, not when lives were on the line.

“No, exemplar, I’m not -”

Cowardice

Five years ago...

I didn’t speak to Aosheng for a week as we traveled north down a muddy road through the mountains back toward the old Krytan swamps south of Lion’s Arch. She didn’t say a word to me, either, but whenever I’d look her way accidentally, she never looked away. She looked right at me and waited.

I was on point, with Madar right behind me. The norn Bordak Nightsky was in the back with the sylvari Cyndel. Able Gray had bid us farewell when we joined the Order of Whispers. I should have gone with him.

Aosheng wasn’t with us either, she was somewhere scouting up ahead, likely buried to her shoulders in the snow that formed frozen waves on either side of the path.

“Well, I’ve finally found some place I don’t like so well,” Cyndel said.

The others sounded eager for the chance when they laughed. I couldn’t help but grin, at least at her effort.

“The snow is rather pretty. And I don’t mind the cold much. But I would prefer a few more colors. You all really should visit the Grove.”

“Maybe after I see my parents,” Bordak said. “I admit I miss my homestead.”

Aosheng appeared ahead of us on the road, black mist parting around her.

“You’ll be home soon enough,” she said. “The way is clear.”

As she moved to rejoin us we shared the same cold stare we had many times. But this time I couldn’t help but scowl. Aosheng stopped.

“I am not sure if I am more ashamed as your lover or your teacher,” she said, “to have taken in such a clueless child.”

There was nothing but white all around us, but all I could see was red. I swung for Aosheng’s face and was surprised when I struck her hard. She turned her head and body expertly with the swing. When she straightened out, the skin of her cheek wrinkled against my arm and she glared a hole into me with her dark brown eyes.

“A tantrum,” she intoned.

I pulled back my fist but before I could swing again she’d grabbed me by my arm, twisted it around, snatched my shoulder and thrown me to the ground. Mud and snow shot up my nose as it smashed down and I coughed.

“Use your words,” Aosheng said.

Fuck her. I twisted around on the ground to face her.

“You didn’t even flinch, did you? You killed them all without giving a shit.”

She stared at me.

“Did you even mean it when you apologized to those families? You didn’t.”

She stared.

“Answer me!”

“I meant it,” she said, voice as cold as her stare.

“And what did you tell those people as you murdered them?”

“Nothing.” Her stare was just as empty, but her words were a whisper. My heart broke for her.

“Ao…”

“My name is Aosheng,” she said in a diffident voice as she squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin proudly, and I could all but see the cloak of iron she was shrouding her nerves in. And I knew that things had ended between us. Everything had.

“Janto,” she said in a very tiny voice. “If you carry on like this, someday you will have to make the same choice I did. And it will break you.”

Free will

A few weeks ago...

Let me tell you about a charr named Vin Stormshield. Not so long ago, I would have been happy to kill her, and I would have been a fool to. But she was a charr. Well, she is a charr. For so long they had been filed so neatly under enemy. They were bloodthirsty monsters. They are bloodthirsty — Vin honestly seems to hunger for a good fight. But she isn’t a monster. She’s…

I’m lucky I met Murdok Blastfire before I met her, only because when I was forced to work with him it forced me to appreciate the fact that charr are just damn good soldiers. That’s why when Vin and I fought alongside each other those first times, often against the Nightmare Court, or dredge, the Icebrood and Inquest, I was able to just focus on work. War is work for a soldier, for her and for me.

She was at my side too many times to count, but also in front of me. If there was a threat to me she met it with the ferocity of a mother dog. If she couldn’t smash the threat, she reached out with warm magic - magic more tender than you’d think a giant, furry beast with horns could have. Every healing spell, every magic aegis and every inspiring chant filled my heart… filled all of our hearts with warmth. That warmth told me Vin was good in a very real way, and I’m not afraid of using that word in the most basic, storybook way. Vin was good.

And just weeks before we were to strike into the Maguuma Jungle, I stood at a campsite outside the Black Citadel staring at a mess of Vin’s blood.

Deci… why?

Vin always had faith in Deci. No matter her past sins, no matter her stupid, reckless, selfish choices. Vin always had faith. And her faith let me have faith in Deci. I’m not sure if I’d have been able to without the strength Vin gave me.

There was a campfire nearby. Vin hadn’t resisted when Deci approached her from behind. Maybe to climb on Vin’s shoulders? Deci liked that sort of thing. But then there was the blood…

Have you been playing us all this time? She’d never had a problem fooling us for selfish reasons. But not like this.

I circled the campsite and crouched to have a look at another bloodstain in the grass. That had to be Deci’s, maybe after she hopped off? The others were consistent with Vin’s wounds. Stab wounds. That was after the garrotte.

It was possible that Rhao, the very mesmer who had poisoned Deci’s mind, had returned. How young was she when Rhao corrupted her? A voice in my head told me I had been a fool to stand up for Deci the way I had at the expense of my little sister. How long could I let it go before Deci’s corruption was too big a threat to let her live?

A boy named Andrew

Another lifetime...

A boy named Andrew stood beside Danny Red Eye in the middle of the warehouse. The man who had been a prisoner yesterday was gone now. Andrew didn't know what had happened to him, but he had heard the man told Danny everything he wanted to know. Danny must have killed the prisoner quickly. He knew it was more than the man deserved.

“Now, I want to know who you were talking to over by the high road,” Danny was saying to a new prisoner.

Knife in hand, Danny Red Eye knelt in front of his new prisoner and leaned in close. He gestured for Andrew to step in close as well, and he obeyed. With his head held down, the prisoner's hair covered his face, but Andrew thought he recognized him.

“Don't you know you hurt me?” Danny asked the prisoner. His rough voice mimicked pain. “There's a guard post nearby there. I hope you have a good excuse.”

“I was just talking to someone, that's all,” the prisoner whispered. Andrew wasn't sure why he was so quiet, but his jaw hardly seemed to move.

Something wet splashed across Andrew's face. He blinked and shook before he looked up and realized Danny had punched the prisoner. His nose was bleeding now. Andrew touched his own face and his hand came back with the man's blood. He gasped and looked back to the prisoner. He could see the man's face now.

It was Garet Lynn, one of Danny's thugs. Andrew had met Garet's wife and daughter once, about a year ago.

“Wait, Danny,” Andrew said. “He has a kid. We can't... he's one of us, right?”

Garet's eyes bulged and he tried desperately to form words, but his mouth just hung open, wobbling awkwardly. “...eeeaaaaasssseee...”

Danny turned to Andrew and shook his head in a slow, sad way.

“Sorry, boy, but we can't show him any kindness,” he said. “Do you know why?”

Andrew didn't, and so he shook his head.

“People like you and me have entered into a sacred trust, you see,” Danny said. “How do you think I'd feel if you did anything I didn't want you to?”

Andrew thought about that for a moment, and tried to find the answer by studying the man.

“You'd be mad, right?”

“Mad, sure. But mostly sad, Andrew. Do you know why?”

“Because you helped me so much?”

“That's right. No one else would bother to give you half so much care. And here I have. If you betrayed me, well, that makes you as bad as everyone would say, doesn't it?”

Andrew fixed the prisoner with as cold a stare as he could, and nodded.

“...eaaaasee,” the prisoner whispered with his still mouth.

“What do we do?” Andrew asked Danny.

“We do nothing,” Danny said. “You get out of here and let me finish dealing with this.”

“I thought you were going to teach me?”

The big man smiled to himself as he stood, rubbing his knuckle where he had punched the prisoner. His smile grew wider for just a moment when he nodded. “No, I've decided on something else for you,” he said. “Come back tomorrow, and I will test just how grateful you really are.”

“What do I need to bring you?”

“Nothing. You take the night off, and come tomorrow ready to be a big kid. You think you're ready for that? Ready to join the gang?”

“Yes, sir.” Andrew kept himself firmly rooted to the floor, straight as he could. It was hard for him not to wiggle around, or cheer. A place in Danny's gang, a real place among the others, meant a roof over his head. It meant food he didn't have to dig out of the waste.

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Andrew walked to the door, and only glanced back when he heard Danny punch the prisoner so hard the chair fell over with him. He winced when he saw Garet's head hit the ground, and rushed out the door. He didn't know why he cared. He wasn't the traitor.

Back in the same hollow ice box as the past night, Andrew hugged his legs to himself to try and fend off the cold of the rain pouring down outside. The rickety wooden seal above him shook and wobbled from the wind and rain. Thanks to the gap in one portion, a tiny puddle was forming on the other end of Andrew's hiding hole.

When the lid suddenly flew open, Andrew thought the wind had taken it, but the girl from the previous night dove in like cat and rolled into a ball, clutching something to her beneath her shirt. Andrew stood and hundreds of raindrops pelted the side of his face before he could force the lid down and shut again.

“Are you crazy?” Andrew asked the girl.

She rolled over, and Andrew saw she had a black eye. She didn't seem to mind, and was busy digging another book out from under her clothes. She had managed to only let it get a little wet.

“I don't want to read to you again,” Andrew said.

The girl opened her mouth to argue with him! But then she snapped it shut and cast her purple gaze downward. Those haunting eyes seemed to glow in the night.

“Besides, it's too dark,” Andrew said.

“I brought you a candle,” she said.

Of course she had. “And how am I supposed to light it?”

She dug out a chunk of flint and a steel firestarter from a pocket.

“Look, I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but I don't want to be part of it,” Andrew pointed at the girl's black eyes. “Just go away before you get me in trouble.”

The girl crouched down again and leaned against the wall. She sat in the water and gave a small jump before sitting up again and looking around helplessly.

“I just told you to leave.”

“Please, can I stay? I won't make you read. And you won't get in any trouble. I just got hurt stealing this book, that's all.”

Andrew peered through the darkness at her.

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

“Why? You can't even read.”

“I usually make up my own stories from the pictures. I feel happier that way.”

Andrew looked down, and then up and out the cracks in the lid. He tried to look anywhere but at the girl.

“I used to do that, too,” he said. “But I'm not supposed to anymore.”

That's just as bad as closing your eyes and pretending your safe. No! Open those eyes! Are you trying to make me mad?

“Is it okay if you read a story?”

Andrew sighed and sat down. He smashed himself up against one wall as best he could, and pat the ground next to him. “Come here and get out of the rain,” he said. “If you get sick I can't help you.”

She was like a mouse when she scurried over to him. She was so tiny she could fit between the wall and Andrew, and lean into him for warmth. He took the book and pried it open.

“The journeys of Vincent Adega,” Andrew read the title. “Okay.”

Vincent Adega was a braggart, so Andrew immediately disliked him, but whenever he would boast the girl would giggle. She snorted when she giggled, and Andrew found himself wanting to make her do it again, so when Vincent would brag, he made his voice high and quick.

That's how he noticed that whenever Vincent would brag, it was actually after every time he made a mistake, or failed to do what he wanted. And sure, Vincent bragged a lot. He was an incredible swordsman, one of the best in the world, the story said. Maybe the best. But it wasn't like he was running around causing trouble. Everything he did was for someone else. And he never hurt anyone if he could avoid it. In fact, Vincent considered it a special badge of skill he he could win without maiming someone.

In the end, Vincent was forced to retire when he lost a hand in his final battle with a demon. But even then, he bragged about losing his hand.

“Why's he so happy about that?” the girl asked.

“He's not. He's sad about it. He wishes he could still help his friends.”

Survival

The day before the jungle assault...

On pure disciplined reflex I spun and threw an elbow to force the wrist holding that knife away from my neck. That was my sword arm, and I was exposed. But just like I’d drilled into my muscle memory a hundred times I snapped out with my other hand and snatched an arm holding a second dagger meant for my side.

In the darkness it was hard to make out my attacker, but they were human judging from their size and the way their arm felt when I grabbed it. I didn’t think my attacker wore a helmet, so I boxed forward with my head to slam my helmet into their face. There was a puffing sound like a quick exhale, and they were gone.

A lot happened all at once.

Hours spent meditating after nightly workouts came to me in a flash, and I dove inside of myself. Inside I found a boiling, tumultuous sea. The waters were black and oily, thick and heavy. But as I reached into the waves I found the blackness was merely a thin layer. There were sparkling yellows of worry, and the blues of joy further beneath. An egg of red color was somewhere in there as well.

I reached further to seize my emotions and the oily darkness only went with me, polluting everything. Fine. Fine. That’s what I’ll take. I seized my melancholy in a clenched fist and I owned it. Watch me, Tindorin. I won’t lay down and die like you did.

The room came alive in the darkness. Blades of light were more vibrant, and the features and outlines they showed me in the room were accented, as though created by a painter’s brush in blacks and wallowing purples. The color was good enough for me. But there was something else there as well, a hot red just below the surface. What was it I had thought a moment ago?

I didn’t have time to think. My senses were alive, as though each sound had been punctuated by an extra brush stroke, given deeper substance.

In the darkness I could hear the all but silent footsteps of my attacker, and as I turned to face her, details of her arms, wrists and blades came into focus from each hint the light gave me. A white mask covered her face.

I parried an attack, and another, but she came in hard and relentless. She was wielding a long, thin sword now, and each blow came at me like an avalanche, relentlessly seeking my neck or heart. Dark sigils snaked up the length of the blade, promising to break through my armor if only she could strike.

Parrying was like treading water in white rapids - I was there to meet each blow just fast enough to survive, but a counter was out of the question. Each parry brought with it a surge of red to the world that faded an instant later.

I was forced back one step after another, and it was all I could do to make my retreat indirect and at as many angles or sidesteps as possible. One backstep and that avalanche would storm right over me.

This assassin was better than me in almost every way I knew how to measure, a true swordsmaster. I had thought I may have become one, but the proof I hadn’t was ready to kill me. I just had to wait, hold out, and find one opening. One right play was all it took to end a fight. But that’s all it would take to kill me.

Each holding our swords with both hands, we flowed from shadow to shadow, our forms flicking between blades of light. My opening finally came when a thrust for my neck came on too hard, too quick and sure of the kill. I stepped in and out of the way, pushing into the woman’s space psat her wrist. My arms were drawn back and I drove my sword through her guts. And that was the trap.

The shadow I’d killed was blasted away like sand in the wind. My enemy was a foot or two behind it, and wasted no time closing with me for a kill. I’d feel every second of pain from the sword through my heart before shock kicked in. But that wasn’t going to happen. I never had an ounce of magic talent in me, but I always brought the right tools for the job.

I focused on an earth rune on my helmet and a thin layer of transparent stone fit my body. The assassin’s sword struck, but only ground against the rock. As much as the black runes tried to snake down that sword and break through, they made no ground. Wait — was she even aiming for a vital organ? I didn’t have time to wonder, and hauled my arms back around to shove the woman away. I was, at least, stronger than her, and as she tumbled away I closed at a sprint.

I stabbed for her back but she ducked and drifted with fleet feet out of the way, darting up with her sword to catch my side as the stone barrier vanished. I knocked her sword away and cut for the neck with a flick. All she had to do was roll her blade and she caught mine enough to divert the momentum. She flicked her wrist again and her blade came to tuck in lethally under my arm.

With two precise steps I was out and in like a whip, and I batted for her exposed wrist with my sword. Her crossguard caught most of the force, but instead of pushing against me she loosened her stance ever so slightly into a crouch and shoved my force wildly to the side. I let go of my sword with one hand to grab her blade in a gauntlet. She swept my legs right out from under me.

I crashed to the ground beneath her and in a flash she was on my chest with a knee. She had my wrist pinned with the other, and the tip of her blade ready for my eye. Silence reigned. My heart pounded in my chest. I was ready.

“You’ve improved,” Aosheng said from behind that mask.

“What. You. I could have killed you,” I panted. My meditation faded away, and the colors seemed to fade into the ground.

“Not likely.”

Before she stood, she set a hand on my helmet where my cheek would be and nodded. I knew the gesture: proud approval, but not without a lesson to come.

She offered me a hand when she stood, but she wouldn’t have if she saw my dour expression. I stood on my own.

“Did you kill those men?” I asked her.

“No.”

“So you decided it was time to teach me a lesson while an enemy could be waiting to attack?”

“No. I dealt with the enemy. Look behind the bar.”

I slid my sword away and carefully felt through the darkness. It really was dark. That fact seemed to have faded away a moment ago. Maybe she had dispatched the real enemy, but was that really a reason to jump me like that? I had forgotten how damn — I don’t know, what’s the word? — how she just had to see everything as a teachable moment. Whatever that means.

I peered over the bar. There sat a sylvari man in torn Whispers garb. It looked like Aosheng had caught him from the back with a knife and sword and ran him through. She’d plunged the dagger in a half dozen times, likely so fast it felt like he was being raked open.

“One of yours betrayed us? The last I expected was a sylvari.”

“More common these days.”

When I thought about it, I realized she was right. Reports indicated Scarlett had turned on her instructors, and the Zephyrites had been betrayed by a sylvari in their number.

“Where is the Bandersnatch?”

Aosheng took a step toward me and vanished. She materialized on the other side of the bar and shoved the sylvari agent’s body over. With a grunt she lifted a wood board beneath him, and that freed a hidden door. The cascabel, shaped like a flame, sat there whole and secure.

“They died for something, then,” I said.

Aosheng nodded and handed the cascabel up to me.

“You’ll be on one of the airships.”

I turned the cascabel over in my hand a few times. It was cold, regardless of the flame design, and heavier than it looked. “That’s right,” I said.

“You could die.”

“I could always die.”

“This is a dragon. Don’t be dismissive.”

Aosheng only had to tilt back to sit on the bar, tall as she was. She loomed over me like a stork.

“I’m not being dismissive, but I have a duty to Kryta, and to my Queen.”

“I know, Janto,” Aosheng said. “But you cannot hope to live if you only fight to survive.”

I gave her an unsure look that was lost in the darkness, and climbed onto the counter to swing my legs around to the other side and sit with Aosheng. I was silent long enough that she continued.

“You have the same problem most of us humans have. You fight to survive. All of our minds are too often on survival,” she gave a tired sigh. “It’s what the state of the world has done to us. We’ve been beaten back.”

“Then what’s so wrong with fighting to survive?”

“Because you don’t push yourself, Janto,” Aosheng said. “Fighting is discipline, muscle memory and skill. But you need focus for all of that. I’ve taught you techniques.”

She gestured to the room.

“You own your emotions so they don’t own you, that’s good,” Aosheng said. “But if your own thoughts are stuck inward, stuck on just living, how will you push yourself hard enough?”

“Is this some kind of ‘know what you are fighting for’ lesson? You’re not usually sentimental.”

“No. I am only telling you that if you don’t find a reason to push, a reason to use your skill, to push hard with it in full confidence, you just won’t be good enough,” Aosheng said. “You weren’t fighting me patiently, you were clinging to your sword. A swordsmaster knows what they can do. They do it. That’s not bragging. You need to push yourself.”

I pressed my thumb into my palm and looked out a hole in the wall. A few kids heading home walked by the building.. The sun was setting, and it was beginning to get dark.

Aosheng was right. Sometimes... I’m afraid to push. I’m willing to take ownership of my fears and emotions, but owning my skill runs dangerously close to overconfidence. I guess it’s a fine line.

I think it’s easier to instead just always tell myself I’m doing what’s right, and that I hope I can survive doing it. But even I know what’s right isn’t always what’s best. That’s no reason not to do what I think I should, but I use doing what’s right as a shield too often. If I fail… I can just say I was doing what’s right. But if I push, if I put myself in charge, it becomes my call. It means I’m not just following a code, I’m setting one. And that means I have to push.

“It’s a complicated thing to think about,” I said.

“You also need to take a student, or you’ll stagnate.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Aosheng turned around on the bar and walked for the door. She paused there before leaving, but didn't’ look back.

“Did it break you?”

My body felt cold. My palm ached.

“I don’t know yet.”

“I hope it doesn’t.”

Eternity

The day of the jungle assault...

I stood between the exemplars and Lysander, sword in hand.

“Stand down, Cadell, you saw what was happening.” Spencer had to shout over the wind as the Jade Wind shook. The engines puffed and sputtered working to keep us afloat and we sailed in a wide circle. The back end of our vessel, some ten feet behind me, was in splinters. The deck was littered with the broken bodies of men who had jumped from above in desperate hope they could survive the fall to our ship. None of them had.

“We don’t know if it is all of them,” I said. “Lysander hasn’t attacked us.”

“We outnumber him, Cadell.” Spencer’s sword were mere inches from mine. She was close enough to try and shove me aside and dart past, if she was fast enough. If she decided I wouldn’t actually try and stop her. The cold determination in her eyes told me she would do what had to be done, for the good of all of us.

The other two men wore guilty expressions, and glanced at each other before offering me a pleading look.

“Then we tie him up below deck,” I said.

“Janto, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“Yes. Lysander, I know. But you can’t blame them.”

“We can’t take the risk of leaving him somewhere, either,” Spencer said. “We’re going to crash into that jungle any minute now, and if we’re not dead in a minute, we’ll need every one of us to survive what’s down there. We can’t guard a traitor.”

“We could use him to fight, Spencer,” I pleaded. “We need everyone.”

“Last chance, Cadell. I just watched hundreds of soldiers get murdered by people they trusted. I don’t have any of my own left. Think about Kryta. The people we need to fight for. If we lose that cannon, we’ve lost an important weapon.”

I looked over my shoulder. Lysander held a pair of axes, but he wasn’t in a stance to fight. His stance was introverted, scared. He wasn’t ready to push. Could I stop three exemplars without killing them? Could I stop three — even two — with an intent to kill? Even the greatest swordsmasters in the world can be harried by two foes, and three is nearly insurmountable odds.

“Spencer, I can’t move. This sylvari is innocent. I will stop you.”

Blue flames roared up her body and in a flash she was gone. I felt heat pass me and as I spun I watched as those flames burst near Lysander to reveal Spencer once more. He stumbled back near the edge of the ship, raising his axes to defend himself. I ran to help him.

“Janto, don’t,” the elementalist said. Her name was Regina. She was always so concerned with other people. I didn’t listen. A flash of lightning put her in front of me.

“Out of my way,” I roared. But she slid a foot toward me, and gathered up the power of earth. It spiked toward me in a burst that caught me in the shoulders and launched me back toward the other exemplar. Kelin. He was a good soldier. He grabbed me under my arms and hauled me up off the ground, twisting until I lost my sword. It slid across the deck.

“You know it’s necessary,” Kelin whispered to me, voice pleading. “She isn’t making us do it. Let her take it on.”

“No,” I said, struggling against him. His body was surprisingly hard to move, as though stabilized by magic. “Kelin, I’m not going to let her. I’m going to stop her. This isn’t right.”

“None of this is right,” he whispered.

Spencer sent one of Lysander’s axes flying off the back of the ship, and he dove away as she launched a ball of blue fire for him. As he tumbled across the deck, toward the other side of the bridge, he palmed the wood and thorns lashed out to snatch and hold his pursuer.

“Kelin, let me go right now. I will save that man. I’m not letting him die. I can’t let him die.”

He wouldn’t let go,and his hold on my shoulder tightened. I threw an elbow hard, and a protective magic aura around him faded away. I threw another elbow, but with his armor the gesture was fruitless. That was fine. I’d done what I needed.

“Do you really want to stop me?”

“No, of course I don’t-”

I couldn’t swing my sword like this if I drew it, but my hand was still close enough to my belt. In a fluid motion I drew my pistol and dug it behind me into the scales of Kelvin’s armor. Regina gasped and gathered up lightning in her fist. She could stun me with that. I didn’t want to. I didn’t have a choice.

I pulled the trigger.

Blastfire’s destroyer mix tore through Kelvin’s armor, and made chunks of his insides before tearing out his back and spine and scattering into the deck. The exemplar seized up a panicked choking sound and I shoved him off me with gritted teeth. Regina shrieked and her bolt of lightning shot through the air at me.

My body tensed and before I could think I was twitching helplessly on the ground. I could hear the roar of flames launching Regina across the deck, and as I rolled over with my mouth gaping open I could see a burning sword in her hand.

“Traitor to the crown,” she screamed.

Sensation returned as she brought the sword down for my neck, and I shot my legs into the air to catch her by the wrist with my boots. She cut at my legs, and I cried out at the scorching pain. My knees buckled and she pressed forward, straining to force my legs down and impale me. I grit my teeth and pushed back, reaching wildly to find something with both hands.

My fingers closed around the haft of a lucerne hammer. It was a dire weapon with a flat, punishing hammer head opposite a long, hooked back. There was a spike on the other end of the haft. Regina saw me find the weapon, and turned her axe to brand into the side of my leg. The pain made the world flash black for an instant. I could feel my armor pressing into my flesh and meat, hot from the sword as it began to sink into my flesh.

“I won’t give up,” I told her. “Let me up.”

“Die!”

I swallowed my hurt before I lifted the hammer with both hands. I didn’t have any momentum to swing, but that didn’t stop me from forcing the spike on the haft into Regina’s skull with an overhead swing. The sword was extinguished and Regina went limp. As I pulled the spike free, blood oozed from the hole in her head.

“Forgive me, My Queen.”

That was all the time I could spare to mourn, so I prepared myself for the pain and struggled to my feet. I had to lean heavily on the hammer, and even then the sensation of my own burning armor still pressed on my skin was enough to make me sob. A cloud of smoke rolled over me from another falling ship, and as I inhaled from another wave of pain the smoke filled my lungs. My body tried to clear it out with a series of hacking coughs, and I barely held onto the hammer and I struggled to round the back of the deck.

It was at a pathetic limp that I finally made my way around in time to see Spencer throw Lysander to the ground. My roar was as much a battle cry as a cry of pain when I forced myself to move, gripping the hammer so I could heft it to one side. Spencer turned to greet me, moving unvexed into a waiting stance.

“What did you do, Cadell?” she asked in a voice much too calm and professional for what she wanted to do to Lysander.

I didn’t say a word, and swung the hammer for the exemplar’s head.

“You’re a traitor to Kryta.” There wasn’t any malice in her voice, just frost. “Have you gone the way of Deci?”

I didn’t let her move toward me in the hammer’s wake. By choking up on it I could stop wide swings and ram at Spencer with the head to keep her away. By virtue of superior reach I could keep her at bay, but only for so long. I had to end this fast somehow, before that rotting pain in my leg sapped my strength. The world already felt hazy at the corners, like there was smoke everywhere I turned.

“They deserve a chance to fight,” I said, voice sluggish. “They deserve to pick who they are.”

I set a hard stance and tried to shove Spencer back but she moved to one side, put her own weight into it and shoved me off past her. Her sword wanted my neck, but I leveraged the long haft like a quarterstaff and intercepted.

“You can already see who they belong to,” Spencer said. “You know.”

They didn’t belong to anyone. They didn’t belong to Mordremoth anymore than my dead friends belonged to Zhaitan. Not anymore than innocent civilians taken by his corruption were owned. No more than Tindorin. He never would have turned.

She didn’t deserve any of those words. I needed my energy to fight, not to talk. A warm, round glow on my chest told me to push harder and I listened.

The proper use of any warhammer requires strength and control. You need strength to swing it and to kill, and control not to die. I’m sure someone knows how many hours of practice it takes to master war, or to master fighting. I don’t know how many that is, but I know I have more. I focused on my deep ragged breaths. Between blows I endeavored to steady myself, to find control.

One breath at a time I found a steady pulse, and used my reach to keep Spencer at bay. For the second time in two days I found myself on the retreat, pushed back inch by inch by a superior fighter. No, she wasn’t better than me. She was less injured than me. I wasn’t being pushed back, I was luring her. I salved my wound with grit and set my trap. My back was nearly to the wall.

Spencer’s stance changed. She was ready to lunge as soon as I ran out of room. I’d see her in hell.

I lunged for her. It was nothing she couldn’t avoid. Spencer stepped forward so the hammerhead landed past her, and the half landed uselessly on her armor. There was nothing to keep her from burying her sword through my jaw and into my head. I spun the haft of my weapon around so the hook end pressed into Spencer’s back and stepped aside as I lobbed her against the wall behind me.

It took both of Spencer’s elbows to keep her head from crashing into the wall of the bridge, and I stepped around behind her. There was no time for a death blow, not this close. I’d be dead in a second. So I drove the haft spike into the exemplar’s sword arm. She screamed in pain, and again when I tore the spike back out. She turned, arm limp but not broken. Before she could summon the strength to use her arm, I brought the lucerne hammer back around and smashed the hammer head into her skull.

Spencer’s head spilled out across the wall and fell in clumps to the deck.

I immediately fell to my knees panting, but Lysander was with me almost immediately. He put his hands on my shoulders.

“Thank you Janto,” I heard him say. “I couldn’t have succeeded without your help.”

A boy named Andrew

Another lifetime...

The boy named Andrew was in that dirty warehouse for the third time in three days. Today, he was holding a sword with golden seraph wings. Garet was bound in front of him again, tied to a chair. But today he was gagged and blindfolded. Danny set a comforting hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

“It’s not that hard. Right between these ribs. If you do it like I showed you it will go right through his heart,” Danny Red Eye said.

“What about his family?”

“They’re not our problem. He betrayed you. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

It didn’t really. Andrew hadn’t ever trusted anyone long enough to feel hurt by betrayal. It seemed that Danny understood.

“He’s turned on me,” Danny said. “He threatens what I have. And if I have nothing, you have nothing. How long do you think you’ll last? It’s my people that keep the Seraph from hurting you. You’ll be alone.”

Andrew looked down at the sword. Why a seraph sword? Danny had plenty of others.

“You just run it through and let go. That’s how I know I can trust you. Just leave it there.”

His arms shaking, Andrew lifted the sword and pressed the sharp end to Garet’s chest. But he waited too long. The pressure woke the man, and though he was bound, he screamed against his gag. Andrew saw the rag around Garet’s eyes darken.

“I don’t know. I can’t. I’m sorry. Please, I-”

Andrew shrieked as Danny grabbed him by the arm, and hand. Danny clamped Andrew’s fingers tight around the sword, and forced his arm and body forward. Andrew was surprised at how easily the weapon went inside, and at how easily it cut through everything until it stopped hard at the wooden back of the chair.

Danny didn’t let go, and Andrew tugged at his arm, trying to escape the sword. He needed to run, but he couldn’t see the door from all the tears in his eyes.

“You’ve murdered a man,” Danny hissed in Andrew’s ear. “You took his life. Who is going to want you now? And you thought you were bad off before.”

He released the boy so suddenly that he fell to the ground.

“It’s just me. Do you understand. No one else will take you after what you’ve done.”

Andrew dragged himself backwards across the floor, but Danny didn’t seem worried. There were guards on the other side of the only door out, so he could leisurely fetch a hot brand with an eye shape carved onto it.

“This is why you had to cut off your hair,” he called over to Andrew. “I can put this on, and everyone will know you’re mine. They won’t bother you.”

Andrew hid in his hole again that night. He had a bed, and a room Danny offered him, but for some reason every time he touched the bed he felt dirty. He felt sick.

He wished it was raining again. He wanted to get clean. He wanted to scrub himself and his hands. He wanted to find a rock and rub his head raw. The brand still hurt so bad that when he thought about it he started crying.

He was crying when the girl crawled into the icebox, and carefully shut the lid behind her. She watched Andrew for awhile, and when he finally wiped his eyes she tried to lean in and touch him. Andrew slapped her hand away, but she didn’t look upset.

“Did someone hurt you?” she asked.

Andrew just looked at her with empty eyes, so the girl started to look him over, searching for any kind of obvious injury.

“Your head,” she gasped and tried to climb on Andrew to see. He pushed her off as hard as he could and she hit the other side of the hole hard enough to make a sound. The girl curled up, and used another book she was hiding under her shirt to cover her head.

Andrew looked at her for several seconds. She shivered, and leaned away from him.

“I’m s-so sorry.” He covered his face with his hands, and kept his jaw clenched as tight as he could so he wouldn’t sob when he cried. His elbows shook.. “I’m so sorry.”

He wailed when the girl crawled back over and hugged him, and it was all he could do to try and move her and set her down in his lap. Everything was blurry from crying when he felt for the book and opened it, and when he started reading out loud, he kept mixing up the words and losing his place.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her at every mistake. The girl didn’t know what to do except to hug him harder.

The story was about a Krytan man named Janto Addlen who traveled to Cantha to learn to be a paragon, a magical warrior who inspired his allies. Together, the band of them traveled the world to help others, and whenever they had to fight, they always gave defeated enemies a chance to repent of their ways and join with them instead.

“They’re all so much better than me,” Andrew whispered. That caused the girl to lean away and look at him. “All these people just do good things, and all I can do is hurt people. I can’t even read to a little girl without being mean.”

“I’m not little.”

“I never even asked your name.” Tears sprang up in his eyes again.

“I’m Ana.”

Andrew nodded and turned the page on the book. A picture showed Janto Addlen taking an orphan boy as an apprentice. He never even asked what the boy had done. He didn’t know if the boy had killed someone with kids. Maybe he’d made other orphans.

“What’s your name?”

Andrew looked back down at the book. Janto Addlen. In the others it had been Vincent Adega and Lance Cadell.

“Can you call me Janto Adega Cadell?” Andrew asked.

Ana laughed at him. “Okay.”

“Thank you. I’m going to read you any books you want from now on, okay?”

Eternity

The day of the jungle assault...

Tindorin had been missing for days, and when we finally found him it was too late. The thornwallow had nearly taken him. The nightmare had laid its roots.

I will die or I will turn. I won’t turn, Janto.

My world spun. I remembered Lysander standing behind me with an axe. I had murdered my comrades for him. But he served Mordremoth. I had finally made what was supposed to be the right choice. I had murdered good people for nothing. That isn’t how it was supposed to go.

He came with the dawn. A sylvari of blossoming red, green and yellow. He was of peace, but righteousness burned in his eyes, and there was indignation in his sword

Another ship crashed into the Jade Wind, throwing Lysander and I flying toward the edge. Had I died?

Remember what I said, Tindorin. Forever in song.

My last memory of Tindorin came rushing back.

Magnolia sat beneath the waterfall, Tindorin wrapped in her arms. She was so beautiful in her heart — she didn’t deserve any of this pain. Her magic soothed Tindorin, took away the pain. That was all she would do. The dagger was in my hand.

Behind me, Inasis poured out a bedtime story her mother had told her as a child. It was something for him to take with to the dream. Tindorin listened with the same fond smile he had for everyone.

I knelt close.

I love you. Why didn’t I say it? Instead I said We love you. We’ll miss you. It was everything I could do not to cry. If I cried, the damn sylvari would try to comfort me.

Goodbye, hero. You were a light in the night sky.

My dagger found a clean and quiet death for Tindorin. I pressed it into his side and gently let the life out of him. I did my best to keep the pressure on, so he wouldn’t feel the blade moving around inside of him. The grip of my dagger pressed so hard into my palm. Right in the center. I kept it right there, and held on until my best friend was dead.

The world dimmed.

I was vaguely aware again. I was laying in grass. There were cliffs on either side, and the wreckage of airships all around. I was surrounded by bodies. One of them was moving. I think it was Lysander.

“Modremoth,” he called. “Your servant returns!”

A tiny weight on my chest warmed, and I thought I saw an Oakheart lean over me. I tried to move, to see what Lysander was doing, but the darkness took me again.

I’d never visited Tindorin’s grave after we buried him. Inasis had asked, but with Deci missing it was too easy to find a convenient excuse not to. But it hurt me every time I told her no, more because she knew I was just putting it off. And she waited with me, even though I knew it pained her. Gods, she’s so patient with me.

In my dreams, Tindorin’s grave was an unmarked spot on the cliffside overlooking the sea. I couldn’t have made a monument worthy of him, but all the stars in the night sky above the rolling waves did their very best. I sunk to my knees and tried to take it all in.

The cool breeze blew through my hair, and I closed my eyes to try and see his face again.

“You were a hero worthy of storybooks, Tindorin,” I said to no one. “I’m going to try to carry on, okay? I’m going to try be as good as you told me I was.”

A hand touched my shoulder.

“When I rescued you, you had fallen into a trap because a child needed help. You didn’t even look for the trick,” he said. “I think you had it figured out without me.”

I fell to my side so I could turn and look up. Tindorin of the Dawn stood over me, smiling the way he always did. As I lay there he crouched beside me. The tears came before I knew I had them. I held my head in my hands, sobbing like I hadn’t since I was a little boy. Why. Why? I’d lost so many friends and allies. Why did Tindorin hurt so badly?

He tried to put a hand on me and I pushed it away. No.

“Tindorin, why? Why didn’t you fight? Why did you just lay down and die? You coward.”

“You know why,” Tindorin whispered. “If you were sick and dying, how long would you want Ana to watch you suffer? She would fight and fight for you, and exhaust herself every night in tears when she failed. You would-”

“-I would find a way to go sooner.”

“I knew if I didn’t go, that all of you, the Mithril Lantern, would have gone on a rampage. If you didn’t die trying to find a way to help me, what would have been left of your souls?”

“Tindorin.”

“So I handed you the burden,” he whispered. “I know it hurts you, but I knew it was a burden you could carry, because you’re a fighter.”

“It feels like everything is falling apart. Deci, and now Modremoth. The Pact. I’m so lost.”

“No, things are just hard. Hard ground makes for strong roots.”

I laughed.

“What were the words of that song, Janto?”

“What song?”

“The song you sang. The one that guided me to you when you were lost.”

It felt like I had to dig into my heart to find my voice. I tried twice, but my voice was too rough. Tindorin only waited with a calm expression, warmly waiting as I cleared my throat.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

“Another night begins

but it is not the end

no matter how much it sets

the sun also rises.”

“So fight, Janto. Even when it’s just you standing up, you’re not fighting alone. As long as you fight, I’ll be in the dream with memories of you, fighting. Saplings might not know what they are feeling, but every memory we shared is part of the dream now.”

I was aflame when I woke on the jungle floor.

The pain in my leg was not gone, but it was nothing. The hole Tindorin left in my heart was raw, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than any injury. I hurt so bad but that wasn’t going to stop me. I cast a slow look around at all the bodies, many smashed from the fall, but just as many had died to other wounds. I wasn’t the only one alive.

Lysander was digging through the wreckage of the Jade Wind with the help of an overgrown terragriff. The hulking creature came with the body of a bull, but chitinous armor replaced any skin or fur. An assortment of claws and spikes fused together only by a misty red magic formed two sets of long, whip-like claws. With its bull like horns it punched holes in the side of the ship.

“Lysander,” I barked.

The sylvari turned, his eyes popping wide like a man who had just discovered a strange specimen.

“You’re alive,” he laughed. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t survive much longer.”

“Survive?” I couldn’t help but give a soft laugh and shake my head. “Lysander, I’m tired of surviving.”

“Then I’ll make it very easy for you not to.”

I laughed again and took a step toward him. One foot set on the rubble I’d have to climb to reach the sylvari.

“You don’t get it,” I said. “I’m tired of surviving. I’m tired of living. You twisted my good intentions into something terrible, and I’ll suffer for that. But you. I’m going to free you if I have to kill you. Then I’ll go for Mordremoth.”

“What arrogance,” Lysander snarled. He looked back at the terragriff. “Keep digging. Find it. I have what I need to handle this human.”

He crouched into the rubble and grabbed something. When he stood, Lysander gave Twilight a practice swing. “The weight is surprisingly cooperative,” he said. “A powerful magic weapon. And you’re unarmed.”

“Come and get me if you think so.”

The sylvari’s speed was impressive. With precise, nimble leaps he charged down the rubble pile, Twilight blazing as a black and red banner over his shoulder. About halfway he was able to break into a sprint, and I tore my seraph tags from around my neck. I clenched a fist around them and held my arm straight out toward him.

“You’ve gone mad!”

Maybe I had. That was just fine with me. I closed my eyes and looked inside of myself.

A boiling black sea rose up to meet me. Each time the slick oil rolling around on top splashed it created bubbles that popped with a putrid scent. I set a hand inside and felt a panic twirl in my heart when my skin started to melt. I yanked my hand away and stared at my skin sloughing off.

“That’s how it has to be.”

I plunged my arm into the water and swirled it around. The thin, black layer gave way to my worries, my joys, and my fears. But that wasn’t the color I needed right now.

When I dove in the blackness followed me. It was as though a thousand tiny hands were reaching out and taking pieces of me, tearing them off like clay. I think I felt myself die from the feet up. It brought with a decaying sense of entropy. But it couldn’t really kill me. And as potent as the emotion was, it still wasn’t what I wanted. I’d let it rule me too much lately. What I wanted was that red egg hiding all the way at the bottom. I reached it far more easily than I had anticipated, and when I did I closed a fist around it.

When I opened my eyes Lysander was on top of me, leaping through the air with Twilight pulled back for an arcing slice. I had no more words. Nostrils flaring, I breathed deeply through my nose and cornered my anger. I cornered my rage with a snarl on my lips and tears in my eyes. Pink and white flowers blossomed from my clenched fist, and the arc of a longbow sprouted from Tindorin’s orb.

Corruption was everywhere today. It had taken too many in Orr, it had taken Daxx and in a sick way it dogged Deci. It had put a dagger in my hand and had taken Tindorin’s life. I was fed up with it. Today. Right now.

It would be cleansed.

When I pulled back on Kudzu’s misty bowstring it was like I’d thrown back the curtain. A world of billowing rage spread on fiery wings from the legendary bow and dove into Lysander. All the force on his leap was nothing before the flames. He howled and I answered with my own berserk roar as my hair singed and curled back. Lysander’s entire body shriveled to nothing in the same way, and as the flames soared on into the sky they left only Twilight.

“Seeing this would have broken Tindorin's heart,” I whispered. “I'm glad he didn't have to feel this pain.”

The terragriff took notice. It didn’t have any reason to mock me the way Lysander had, and immediately charged down the rubble, its four ebony claws lashing out ahead. I wasted no time either. As soon as Twilight was back in my hands I let Kudzu disperse and held the glowing core in my spare hand. I heard Nasrin laugh in relief somewhere nearby.

The sea inside me was hot red, and I felt it storm when I plunged the orb into Twilight’s blade. The sun rose. A painted blue sky came to life inside the weapon and it flowed through the blade, spreading brilliant oranges and golds of the rising sun. The solid black gem on the pommel filled with the swirling mists of Tindorin’s orb and gave off a sun flare.

The terragriff lept for me and I planted my feet, gripped my weapon and swing it in a wide arc. Plumes of Tindorin’s flames poured out of the weapon, broiling in ever growing clouds that stretched around me in an eternity. I held the sword into the air and then plunged it into the earth. The flames exploded into the air, catching the monster. The blast sent the terragriff flying through the air until it crumbled against the nearby cliff wall.

Still alive, it whined and struggled to stand. One of its reaching claws was snapped in a bloody mess, and the others were crushed beneath it.

I marched toward it.

“Modremoth! I know you can hear me in there and I know you're watching just like Zhaitan was before we went to put him down. So listen very closely. I'm coming for you. I'm going to kill you. It might not be me who delivers the final blow, I might not be there for the last stand. But I will kill you. My actions will help lead to your death. In your last moments, when you finally understand fear, I want you to remember what I'm telling you right now. And I want you to remember the name Tindorin of the Dawn. He sent me and he was never yours.”

I ended Modremoth’s beast in another blast of burning rage.

Fin

#warsinger #stories

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evangelineartemiasamos · 8 years ago

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction Black Storm XX

as I’ve mentioned in this post, this is the continuation of The Fitter.

Find this on wattpad

info dump on original characters

part I

part II

part III

part IV

part V

part VI

part VII

part VIII

part IX

part X

part XI

part XII

part XIII

part XIV

part XV

part XVI

part XVII

part XVIII

part XIX

This is the last chapter, I say it right at the beginning.

The Moon part III

Mare POV

She waved her hand. There was a crack and the ticking of the sounder device stopped after all this time. I took a deep breath, waiting for the nagging headaches to finally subside, as Griffey approached me with her heels clicking on the stone floor. I flinched at the sight of her gory hands.

"Angry I haven't destroyed that thing long before?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "You have ... killed them," I said. "Your comrades."

She snorted. "Have I ever given you the impression that I would hesitate to deal the fatal blow in the decisive moment?"

I stared at her, at the claw tattooed on her right hand. She had never made a secret of her capacity for violence, violence that helped me now. Yet I was shocked to see her slaughtering fellow Silvers without remorse. She was so unlike Cal, who had always ... wished to stop the killing.

"Is that the meaning of the claw?" I asked her.

She smiled grimly and raised said hand to look at it. "It's a reminder of the day this hand was stained with Red blood, a necessary evil." She lowered the hand again and stared straight at me. "I had to bring someone justice, because no one else was doing it for me."

"Against a Red," I scowled.

She shrugged. "He deserved it. Now." She came close enough to touch my arm. "This isn't the time for old stories. Let's get these off, once and for all." She flashed her teeth in a vindictive grin. "I'm proud of you, Mare Barrow. You've already been preparing for this."

She fingered the chain linking the Silent Stone manacles and the collar, as Maven had done, only that it finally - finally - disintegrated as she pulled at it. The collar fell off with a clonk, splattering gems and metal links on the floor.

I gasped in relief, but Griffey's smile was replaced by a sigh. "Now comes the hard work. Silent Stone, the great adversary." Her hands glided over my arms, giving me goosebumps as they neared the handcuffs.

"Well. Your arms and hands are delicate enough. But it will still hurt."

"What?" I whispered.

She became serious. "I can't pry them open. I can only shove them off, hoping I won't break your hands with my efforts."

I swallowed. But I wasn't afraid. I would do anything -

"But I can scrunch your hands, so that the manacles will slide off as easy as possible. You just have to keep them that way by yourself in that moment." She paused, waiting.

For my consent.

I glared at her. "Just do it."

She shoved the manacles up and took a deep breath. Then, invisible threads were coiling around my right hand, keeping the fingers straight, making my thumb and pinkie finger meet. It started to hurt, and the pressure still intensified. I flinched and endured. I heard Griffey breathe out, and in one quick movement, she pulled the ring down my arm, over my sore wrist, off my hand. It grazed skin and drew blood, and the Silent Stone meeting blood burned, just like fire or acid.

But my hand was free.

Griffey choked and heaved. "I need a moment." She turned away from me, bend over and vomited into a corner. It took her mere eyeblinks to regain herself, but she was still flushed Silver as she grapped my water bottle and chunked its content down. "How could you stand the stone for so long, without barfing all the time?" she asked with a rough voice. She sighed. "Let's get it done."

I waited to feel my lightning again. I yearned for the voltage, but all I felt were tiny sparks. Whatever, it would return to me. I had to believe. Griffey had handed a gun to me, but I would have preferred to be able to wield my favourite weapon, the one I created by myself. She had made me scan myself for any kind of tracking device and I could say with certainly that there wasn't one. As we entered the corridor, Griffey spoke to thin air. "You should introduce yourself." A young man materialized from the shadows a moment later. Light fell on his face, the face of a Red, as he nodded to me.

"I'm the Reaper," he stated as if that qualified as an introduction. Griffey chuckled at that. She was already moving forward with her back to me, her dress leaving her shoulders bare and revealing some kind of wings inked there. Her considerable cleavage had shown me another tattoo, a symbol beneath her collarbones, like the M branded on me. But she wore that mark - whatever it meant - with pride.

Her companion grapped my arm and I tried not to flinch. "Come," he murmured. "The schedule is tight." I moved but I drew away slightly.

"Please," he insisted. "It's easier for me if we're touching. To make us invisible."

"You're a Newblood." It wasn't a question. "Are you an illusionist?"

"He's much more than that," Griffey retorted in his stead.

"Or less," he replied. "In a way."

"Only if you choose to." The sentinel stopped as we reached the front door of the makeshift prison building. "You wait, " she ordered us and opened the gate.

Long minutes passed before she returned. "Come now, " she said to us and we left into the night.

Immediately, I searched for electrical circuits. This still worked, despite my long abstinence from my ability. I pointed out several cameras in the vicinity and Griffey nodded. "I'll turn them away." She stopped explaining as her Newblood copmpanion let go if me, took off his jacket, and put it on her shoulders.

"Aren't you cold in that dress?" he uttered and kissed her cheek. She almost moaned and I cleared my throat, blushing at their inappropiate romantic moment. Griffey stepped away from him.

"So," she began again. "We have to reach the end of the estate without anyone noticing you're gone. That's doable, especially once Zero comes to join us again." She winked and I scowled. Still, I opened my mouth to ask about how this was supposed to happen, but she shut me up.

"Shh. No more talk. He can't deaden the sounds."

What was I getting into? I had no idea where this would lead me, and who was waiting for me. Where was I going to run to next? How many people would she kill to free me? But I followed on Griffey's urging, without asking these questions. I wondered if I would rue this.

The invisibility the Newblood veiled us with was even stranger than Harrick's illusions. I continued to see myself, and the man hiding me, but no one else could. Yet I saw my surroundings without any problems, only if I squinted did I notice the light bent in strange ways in the corners of my eyes .

That didn't help me deal with the people meeting Griffey during her seemingly innocent prowl of the garden. Partygoers greeted her more of less friendly, oblivious to the two Newbloods behind her. My heart accelerated with every second their smalltalk fragged on.

The worst moment, though, was when the Silver man fell on her and pulled her into a hug. "Cassie!" he exclaimed and took her face in his hands. "Here you are. Ah, Mother really dressed you up like a lady," he said and grinned. "But you should add these. He threw some silk gloves at her which she put on, hiding the bloodstains there. Then she took his arm, like a lady with her date on a promenade. With a quick glance, she bade me and the Newblood to follow.

"Have you seen yourself in the mirror yet?" the SIlver asked.

Griffey laughed. "Of course! What about you, Roman, have you gotten all your art and baggage for the show into the truck? I'm so excited for the revelation of your feat!"

He - Roman - cackled and I frowned. Their play was over the top and even I could guess they were talking about more sinister things than dresses and art. I itched to know the truth, though. Cal had written to me to trust Griffey, claiming that she was a part of the Scarlet Guard, but why had she brought these other people in? I knew there had to be a price for my liberation. The elation of losing my shackles was weighed down by reason. I might end up in another cage, or Maven might catch me again, after all, sending Griffey and her companions to their deaths.

Frantically, I checked the electricity around me, to be useful, to occupy my mind as half a dozen of Silvers came to talk with Griffey and Roman who they called "Lord Roman Eagrie". He was her brother, apparently, and the women flirted shamelessly with him, and he ignored them all. It took us an eternity to reach the woody part of the estate, where less partygoers and more sentinels loomed. I shivered at their occasional appearances, just as much as when I glanced at the mansion, where Maven had to be lurking. A third of the windows were lit by now, as probably most of the guests had retired to their rooms, apart from those enjoying the uncommonly warm fullmoon night.

The Newblood grapped my hand, as if to encourage me. I smiled sadly. Of course, my shivering would not go unnoticed. But neither did the strain the use of his light bending ability put on himself. He frowned, and I guessed there was cold sweat on his brow. He had to have maintained the veil for close to half an hour.

All of us were tensed, but Griffey and Eagrie acted like versed soldiers. We were in the woods now, where none of guests were supposed to be. When Eagrie gestured for us to stop, I suspected this was the end of our easy night walk. Another sentinel was closing in on us, about to bark, but his shouting was prevented by a bullet in his head, shot by Eagrie in one fluid motion with a silencer gun. I gasped. Eagrie eyes were able to foresee the immediate future, but after I had met Jon, I'd almost forgotten about their talent. But of course, what was more deadly than an enemy forecasting your every move?

"There'll be more now. We - " Eagrie started and interrupted himself, staring into the gray night for several seconds. "Okay. We can go that way, but we will have to fight. Mirror, Reaper, just go on while Cassie and I take them out. The planned passage is still safe."

I am Mirror?

"Are you sure?" Griffey asked him.

Eagrie nodded. "I hope so. At least her friends will come to spring their distraction," he replied and glanced at me. My heart cramped.

Why can't they be plainer about their plan?

But there was simply no time. Two minutes later, and a group of eight sentinels surrounded us. Again, Eagrie and Griffey didn't wait for them to question their presence and they attacked. They were a marvel to watch: I was reminded of the Silver training I'd received so long ago. The two Silvers made a perfect team, keeping each other's backs safe, and balancing their strengths and weaknesses. Eagrie took care of two swifts and a silk, both of them natural enemies of the telky Griffey, as she'd confessed to me one time. Eagrie wielded two guns at the same time, with no preference for either hand as he shot the three of them with precision; Griffey, in turn, let any bullet of the sentinels go amiss, she made them stumble or drop in pain without any visible hit. That was until she finished them off with her knives spinning through the forest, invisible to the sentinels until the blades landed in the backs of their necks. Still dressed in their ballroom attire, their fighting became a dance of death that was not stopped by the abilities of the sentinels, as both brother and sister knew how to evade the lunges of the strongarms and the animos, killing the animal familiars along with their master. In a spare moment, Griffey waved at me, urging me and the Newblood to run while they struggled.

The Newblood started to run, despite the tiredness taking him over. His panting became louder as he pulled me along, and the shadows hiding us started to flicker, disturbing our own line of vision. We barely managed to run around a large tree suddenly rising in front of us. That kept us from noticing the sentinel officer standing next to it. We bumped into him, stumbled, and our invisibilty dropped for real.

"LIttle Lightning Girl, what are you doing here?" the man droned with a surprised smirk.

I wasn't going to be cowed now, I had readied myself for a fight long ago. I summoned my lightning from deep down inside of me, gathering as much voltage as possible. Yet when I let it loose, the sparks jumping from my fingertips seemed petty. But still, I rose again, preparing to fight the Silver with my own two hands if necessary. And I had the gun Griffey gave to me, after all. But of course, you couldn't just close in on a Silver. He stepped away from the Newblood boy and me, and vines and roots started to rustle through the woods. He was a greenwarden, like the Lord of the region I grew up in. I started to run, evading the plants trying to grap and seize me, still summoning the electrical energy inside of me.

It's not gone it's not gone it's not gone.

I pondered if the lightning ball I was preparing was yet large enough to throw at the greenwarden, and if I had a good chance to hit my mark. From further away, I heard the final screams of the victims Griffey and her brother were dealing with. Could I rely on them to come for me? Finally, a vine succeeded in enwrapping my ankle. I didn't fall to the ground, yet I was stopped in my tracks, an easy aim for the greenwarden certainly eager to bring back the Lightning Girl as his team was slaughtered by Silver traitors. He turned to me, raising more vines to hold me in place.

No more shackles, not again.

But he was approaching slower than reasonable, unsure if he should just kill me, I supposed. That gave the Newblood time to recover and lunge for him. I heard Griffey hasten to us, screaming "Sorata, no!" but that didn't stop him. The Newblood grapped the sentinel's hand and the eyes of the Silver went wide as the Newblood punched him in the face. The vines loosened immediately, but not letting go. That happened after the Newblood, Sorata, fell to his knees and waved his hands. The roots and vines settled down again, releasing me and returning to their slumber.

What the hell?

I caressed my chafed wrists, bleeding for another time, as I assessed Griffey first cutting the greenwarden's throat and then hugging Sorata. She helped him up and came over to me, about to drag me along again, with only a tense "you okay?" for me.

"What is he?" I demanded to know. I noticed Eagrie was coming to us, too. He was bleeding from his arm.

Griffey snorted, but answered, finally. "He's a thief, Mare Barrow. The Reaper of Gifts. The man who will bring the High Houses to their knees."

I blinked, frowning. Was that even possible?

"If he only dared, that is," Griffey added. "If he stays alive." She pulled him closer, but Sorata only lowered his head.

As incredible as the idea seemed, my stunning turned to amazement very fast. That was indeed an ability that the Silvers had to dread. Just as they had to dread Cameron and her ability to void their powers into nothingness.

Sorata tried his best to maintain the veil over us, but he was reaching the edges of his powers, whoever he took it from. I guessed he'd stolen the ability of a shadow for this coup. Already I was assessing which powers were the best to possess, and how many was he able to hold. And regarding what had happened with the greenwarden, his marks were weakened by his larceny.

But these plans were too distracting, as tempting as they were.

We were close to reaching our destination, the fence encirling the estate. I was able to see it, an electrical fence sizzling a welcome hum. What an irony. As if an electrical fence was the right method to keep me contained. Of course there was more. I knew sentinels were watching the border, ready for an attack of the Scarlet Guard, especially with the king on the property. I made out three security cameras in our vicinity, pointing them out so Griffey might turn them away from us. Yet she waited to go on at the edge of the woods.

"It's time for the distraction," she said and her brother nodded.

30 seconds later, I listened to a bang in the distance, probably close to the mansion. The Guard had to be attacking the court and freeing me at the same time. But I'd already had a headstart impossible to make up. We moved even closer to the fence and I saw a group of watchmen thinned down to three soldiers standing there, nervous from the attack, but relieved as well. They seemed not to be very disappointed to be missing the confrontation with the terrorists. They had it wrong of course.

"Sorata, you'll make me invisible," Griffey ordered. "Roman, you take out that one on the left, and Barrow, you... " she paused and patted my shoulder. "Stay back and keep track of the voltage." I wanted to protest, but I understood the reason of her plan. I was still unsure about the reliability of my lightning. And after all, this last sprout of killing didn't take more time than before. No one saw Griffey as she stabbed one soldier after the other who both fell to the ground without a whisper, especially not their comrade shot by Eagrie as she patrolled the fence a 100 m away.

Griffey bit her lips as she observed the fence. "What do we do about the fence, Barrow?" I blinked, surpirsed at her interest in my opinion. "Will the security notice it if we simply turned it off?" she continued.

I wondered if she shouldn't know about this better than me, as she had served as a sentinel. But I walked to the fence nonetheless, without giving an answer. I needed to feel it to assess it. I didn't hesitate to touch the wire, letting the current flow through my body, caressing my skin. I had missed this for too long. I closed my eyes as the electricity vibrated in my body.

"You go and climb the fence," I said after a while with my eyes still closed. "I'll redirect the current around you."

"Great, Mare Barrow, " I heard Griffey say. "You're almost as creative with your ability as I am."

I watched them haul themselves over the wires while I remained on the ground for a moment, recharging myself through the fence supposed to contain me. It was a joy. It was like the barbed wires were healing the damage inflicted by the sounder device and the Silent Stone, by several months of confining my ability. That time was finally over. When I left this fence behind me, the Lightning Girl would be free as well.

The transport of the Scarlet Guard waited for us beyond another kilometer of thicket. I didn't mind the running, since I felt rather recharged than exhausted, as my companions probably did. I enjoyed the exertion after being held in a room for so long and I pushed back the fear of discovery. I was excited for the meeting, even when I didn't know who had come fo rme. Neither did Griffey. Apparently she'd been left to her own devices when she'd planned my rescue, hardly receiving any information from the Guard in exchange for news about me, as she told me now. I wondered if she thought the rebellion might resent her decision of making use of Sorata, the asset Newblood. Obviously, he wasn't a fighter or an athlete, but I realized he was ready to walk through hell or face Maven by himself if Griffey asked it of him. As she would, in turn.

I gasped when I saw the outlines of the Guard transport, hidden in an overgrown, moonlit clearing. I stopped in my tracks, leaning against an elm tree. There had to be a watch, to prevent a surprise raid. I tried my best, but I didn't remember any of the signals we had used at the notch.

I shouldn't have worried, though. Someine else whistled in my stead, finally closing in on my headstart to this place and I saw a figure with a rifle approach us as I heard another rustle the leaves behing them. Griffey stepped forward with a flourish. Her high-waisted ballroom dress seeming even more out of place in this wilderness.

"A moonlit night is the right time to look into the mirror," she proclaimed mysteriously.

"And I was wondering if it would take you until dawn to arrive here, Moon," Kilorn answered. He lowered the rifle and I stormed forward.

His face fell and I was afraid he would start crying. I froze, but he rushed forward and hugged me.

"You're alive," he murmured, again and again, and I buried my face in his chest. "You're here, and you are alive."

"Yes," I answered quietly.

I had no care for the rest of the team in those moments. My best friend was here, he who had always believed in me, who had been ready to stay by my side no matter what - even when I had been the one to push him away.

A pat on my shoulder interrupted our sobs and I turned my head.

"It's good to have you back, Mare, " Farley whispered and cleared her throat. "He - Shade would be glad too."

I looked at her, at the efforts she took to maintain her composure as she said those words, words that meant a lot to her.

"Thank you," I muttered as my eyes wandered to the bump of her abdomen, a view too promising and enticing to ignore. Yet I raised my eyes to hers again. "And he would be glad about your child," I said and witnessed her blushing with joy and sorrow.

"I know," she answered, after clearing her throat for a second time.

Kilorn let go of me and shock spread on his face as his hand came away bloody. Farley took one look at my sore wrists and flinched, cursing. "That Silver bitch should have taken better care of you!"

She offered to treat them, doing the best she could, because Sara Skonos wasn't with them but attending another team of rebels.

Griffey, Eagrie and Sorata hadn't follwed us into the truck where Farley had put the medical supplies. She had my wrists wrapped in gauze after a short time, and the question of Cal's whereabouts danced on my tongue. But before I could ask, Eagrie leaned against the door of the truck, stretching out his bleeding left arm. "I might have need of some medical attention, too. Ma'am," he said with a tilt of his head. His left hand was, beneath the Silver blood of himself and of his victims, tattooed with the same claw as his sister's right one.

They're truly brother-and-sister-in-arms.

Farley stiffened at his demand and raised an eyebrow. "Such a great Silver Lord thinks a Red is useful to him, what a novelty."

His mouth opened. but he was shoved aside by Griffey entering the truck. "Please excuse me, but I'm afraid I still need your help, Mare Barrow," she announced. "We have to be absolutely sure our captive has no tracker implanted, and you are able to give us such confirmation."

Farley swallowed and Kilorn was about to say something, yet I rose at Griffey's urging and went to her. I heard Kilorn say, "Mare -" as I left the truck.

We walked to another transport at the other side of the clearing. Griffey stopped a few metres in front of the vehicle, the moonlight revealing it to be Silver property, as it was in much better shape than the trucks usually used by the Guard.

"I'm sorry," Griffey said out of a sudden. "It's necessary that you do this, so I have to tell you that -" but I stopped listening to her.

Because he was guarding the truck, the gloom on his face slowly vanishing as he realized my presence.

"Mare, " Cal moaned as he rushed to me, embracing me as if holding me in his arms was all he'd ever wanted. He breathed heavily, in and out, in and out, as I did. He was the first of us to start sobbing and I fell in line. I grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer and closer, breathing in his scent, a compound of smoke, wood and his male body. It was the smell of home, of the salvage we'd found in the notch.

But duty called to both of us and we disentangled after a time that felt both too long and too short. Yet Cal leaned his forehead against mine, unwilling to let go of me so soon.

"I don't know if we can really can that a success," he muttered in a husky voice, with a slight turn of his head to the transport behind him.

"I'm okay, Cal. I live. I'm with you. You've come for me, what more ... " I was unable to continue without starting to cry again. Cal shook his head and took my hand.

"I'll go in with you," he said and Griffey opened the door of the truck. She had waited through Cal's and mine intimate moment and upon entering, she picked up a long, spearlike weapon leaning to a wall in the front of the truck. She stepped aside, allowing Cal and me to enter as well, and the tip of the spear pointed to the unconcious, shackled person propped up by clutter in the back of the truck. A weak light illuminated his pale face.

It was Maven, the demon king of Norta.

Commentary:

This is the last chapter for now. Thanks to everyone who've read all of my words, words trying to shape my impression of the characters into prose and plot. Thank you for accepting and even liking the original characters I've inserted into the story. I hope they weren't too distracting to keep track of. Feel free to ask and critisize.

I had to struggle really hard with all the action scenes here ;-)

Maybe I'll add some further stories in my Red Queen One-shots work. We'll see.

Now, go and read King's Cage, I hope we'll all survive it. Read the ebook if you don’t get the real book for some time^^ Because I will, and I’ll gladly share spoilers privately upon asking.

@maudthebookeater @queenmareena @the-little-lightning-queen @lilyharvord @dewydrael @redqueenfandom @marabarrow

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