#look at my army of bears this is important

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 3 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response. 

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them. 

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions. 

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea. 

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt. 

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones. 

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.” 

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

 “But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

[emolionsrawr]

*the 118 doing trauma salad*

chimney: hey, my named howard, i go by chimney, and after i proposed to my ex, she broked up with me, which lead me to being in a car accident which caused a rebar go through my head, and i brought the bowl

buck: hi, my names buck, and before i was born my brother developed cancer, which caused my parents to create me to be a perfect genetic match, they took my bone marrow and he died a week later, and i bought the nerds

eddie: my names eddie, my ex wife left me and our son after i went through something traumatic, and i bought the sweedish fish

buck: hey, my names buck, and when i was a child i used to have to hurt myself to get my parents attention, and even then it didn't work, and i bought the war heads

hen: hey! my names hen, and my ex wife got out of prison and used my emotions against me which lead me to cheating in my wife, then used that against me to try to take our son away from me, and i bought the nerds clusters

buck: hey! buck again, my first real girlfriend ghosted me after she left for dublin, and then came back three years later with a fiancee, she never broke up with me, and i bought the twizzlers

bobby: hey, my names bobby, and i watched my father lose himself to alcholol which later killed him, which caused me to start drinking at the sweet sweet age of 9, and i bought the gummy bears

buck: sup, its buck, and after i lost the first person on the job i went to a therapist who used my trauma to get laid, which i later realised was assault, and i bought the reece's pieces

eddie: hey, my names eddie, and my wife came back into my life, came back into my sons life, only to die in front of us, and i bought the malteasers

buck: you know the drill, and when my father figure was suspended pending investigation a teenage bomber who had it out for him put a bomb in the ladder truck, which caused the truck to land on me when it blew up, crushing my leg and leaving me with phantom pain, and i bought the hershey kisses

chimney: hey, my names chimney, and my dad prefers my younger brother, and i bought the tangfastics

buck: me again, after i got blown up i had a P.E in front of my whole family at my welcome back barbeque which caused my father figure to have a panic attack and not want to let me back onto the team! and i bought the nerd clusters

bobby: hey, my names bobby, and i was in an accident which gave me extreme back pain which lead me to a drug addiction, and one night after a bender i fell asleep and left the space heater on which caused my whole apartment building to burn down, killing my wife and kids as well as over 150 people, and i bought the marshmallows

buck: hey! me again, after the P.E my best friend asked me to look after his son, so i took him to the pier where we was hit by a tsunami, i found him but then we were separated for eight hours and the whole time i thought he was dead, and i bought the nerd ropes

buck: oh! me again, after the tsunami and finding out my captian was holding me back i sued the city, ruining my friendships along the way, and i bought the toffee

eddie: hey, my names eddie, after my wife died i got into an illegal fight club and got addicted, and i bought the strawberry hearts

buck: hey! me again! hi! my ex girlfriend almost got two of my friends killed because she decided a news article was more important than their lives! and i bought the toxic wastes

chimney: fuck taylor kelly

hen: fuck taylor kelly

buck: hey! me again-

bobby: okay we're down the bowls full

buck: BUT I HAVENT EVEN GOT TO THE-

bobby: no.

eddie: I also have more. My childhood trauma. My son leaving. The time I got shot. My time in the army. How I received my purple star. And so on.

chimney: Oh! I also have more. Kevin dying in front of me. My mother dying. Jonah. I could go on.

hen: I have more too! Everything with Mara. My own childhood trauma. That time my son nearly died and I was the paramedic working on him. Jonah. I can still continue.

bobby: I also have more BUT THE BOWLS FULL!

athena: what are you doing?

buck: trauma salad

athena: oh! well then my name is-

bobby: the bowl is FULL

athena: BUT I HAVENT EVEN SAID ANY OF MINE AND I HAVE A LOT

athena: Hi, I’m Athena and when I was 9 a girl in my neighbourhood went missing and then years later, we found her remains in the concrete of the conservatory of my parents house after my father had a stroke and he was them framed for her death and I BOUGHT A GOD DAMNED NEW BOWL!

buck: YAY NEW BOWL! hi it's me again your favourite traumatised firefighter, one time i got struck by lightning and died, and ended up in a weird coma dream where my dead brother was alive but my father figure was dead and i didn't know anyone i loved and i was fighting for my life, and i bought the sherbert lemons

Bobby: I was dead you didn’t tell me I was FUCKING DEAD?!

buck:... OH LOOK THE BELL IS GOING BYE-

bobby: THE BELL ISNT RINGING GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT-

ravi: *sighs* didn't even get to my childhood cancer

athena, placing new bowl down: they’ll be back. We have a new bowl to fill.

[bigwishes]

I found this smelly old balaclava on the side of the road a week ago. Everyday I get tempted to put it on and wear it around... but it REEKS! And yet, I still for someone reason manage to keep it on for hours. But I've noticed I've been wearing it more and more, my clothes are starting to get pretty tight, and I think this balaclava's stink is rubbing off on me...

Magic artefacts come in all shapes and sizes, they are fairly simple to make but tend to have some consequences once lost, like the ones you've been experiencing.

You see its important that you know what an artefact does especially if you want to go and do something stupid like wear it all the time then you'll just have to learn the hard way.

You wake up in the morning, a potent bitter smell flooding your nose and the feeling of tight fabric rubbing up against and sticking to your face. The balaclava you had put on and forgotten to taken off was so slick with sweat it was sticking to your skin, but that wasn't all it was sitting more snug than you remember, you it had gotten smaller, or like it was been stretched further. You heaved yourself upright, sitting on the edge of your bed, not noticing how heavy your body had become. You sat there slowly itching your new giant meaty pecs.

With a groan you pushed yourself up of the bed and waddle in nothing but your tight briefs and balaclava down to your kitchen. With each step your massive tree trunk legs slammed together forcing you to widen your stance, your biceps dragged against your lats and bumped your pecs with each swing, making your widen your shoulders until you were awkwardly waddling down your hallway towards your kitchen.

Stumbling over to your kitchen sink you lean on the bench and stretch out into the sunlight. 6.6ft and 300lsb of muscle bathing in sunlight. You roll up the face mask, just enough to show your mouth. Flicking on the tap you lean down and begin loudly gulping the water down, using your hand to help push as much in as you can. Standing up in runs down your lips onto your giant muscled chest and down your chiselled abs, you roll your balaclava back down feeling the water seep into its already soaked fabric.

URRRRRRRPPPPP

You belted out an arrogant and potent belch, the smell trapped in the fabric wafting into your nose making you hard. Before long your kitchen was trashed as you tore through the cupboards like a wild bear with the faintest smell of food getting in a good feed for breakfast. You mindlessly fed your hulking roided up body.

walking into your lounge room you rubbed your dick through your briefs, belching and subtly flexing your sweaty body. scattered on your lounge room floor where green camo pants and a green army shirt along with combat boots. You picked it up off the floor smelling it, its extreme stench of sweat simply made you shrug your shoulders, to you it seemed perfectly fine. You looked ridiculous as you wriggled and manipulated your roided up frame to contort and put on the shirt, the pants were next only they were caught on your thick ass and bulge. Grunting like an animal you pulled it up over your big muscles ass and stuffed your bulge down as you zipped it up. The impossibly tight combat pants only made you hornier, sitting down on the edge of your couch it only got tighter. Your eyes rolling back as your hands now wrapped in combat gloves now jerked your dick through the layers of fabric. A few minutes later and a masculine grunt was all that left your mouth as your underwear suddenly became soaked in come.

Not even bothering to change your underwear or pants you pulled your combat boots close to your. They potent aura of stench assaulting your nose you slipped on the musky sweat stained socked that were resting inside before sealing your feet inside the hot military combat boots.

Standing up your cant help but start to sweat even worse than before, every inch of your skin covered in thick warm fabric sealing your body heat inside, and endless cycle, keeping you warm, making you sweat. The odour leaked out of every gap in the threading creating a toxic aura of B.O and musk.

Slowly you waddle forward towards your front door, a giant stinking beast hungry for war.

-------

"hey man how's...WOAH HOLY SHIT" the young bloke behind the counter almost collapses just from being within a few feet of you.

"dude just let the big guy in he's here every day and the sooner he gets outside the better it is for everyone" you hear his supervisor whisper to him

"eerr, here you go man" the young bloke hands you a small laminated pass, a paintball rifle and a glass jar of ammo pellets. "enjoy your game bro...err. we also sell deodorant if you wanna grab some after your game?"

You grab the rifle with your giant meaty hands and tilt your head. Only your eyes visible through the balaclava, you stare him down in the eyes and tilt your head.

UUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP

You let out a monstrous belch in place of a "fuck you" but its clear they get the message. Turned on by your own masculinity your semi turns into a ranging hard on and you make a show of adjusting your giant manhood through your pants before walking off out the gates.

-----

You see every magic artefact has its purpose, some people make things to become more powerful or impress people. This one just so happens to have been made for a hobby, to be a dominate beast on the paintball field and impress and intimidate with potent masculinity. This would be great for the occasional game or two on the weekend but since you've been wearing it non stop it seems you've turned yourself into nothing more than a giant sweating beast who's only purpose is to play soldier boy on the paint ball field.

So get out there and have some fun you disgusting beast.

[bradleysass]

Maniac - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 447 - Starchaser + Wolfstar

James Potter and Sirius Black took Valentine’s Day very, very seriously.

To the unsuspecting passerby, the Gryffindor common room looked like it had been attacked by an army of overly enthusiastic cupids. Red and gold streamers hung from every available surface, heart-shaped confetti coated the floor, and an enchanted banner above the fireplace flashed between declarations of love and embarrassing pet names. Floating candles cast a romantic glow over the chaos, and a magically amplified phonograph played an endless loop of love songs.

It was a lot.

And that was before anyone even looked at what James and Sirius had planned for their boyfriends.

Regulus Black had been dreading this moment since the calendar flipped to February. He loved James—he did—but James in full Valentine’s Day mode was something to be feared. He sat stiffly on one of the plush armchairs, watching with a blank expression as James fussed over a truly ridiculous bouquet of red roses, lilies, and something that sparkled unnaturally in the firelight.

“Jamie,” Regulus said, voice flat. “If I say I love you, will you stop before this gets out of hand?”

James grinned, completely unaffected. “Absolutely not, love of my life.” He leaned down and pressed a quick, obnoxiously loud kiss to Regulus’ cheek before returning to adjusting the bouquet. “Babe, you deserve the absolute best, and I am going to make sure you have the most romantic, most amazing, most—”

“—most extra?” Remus Lupin interjected, leaning against the arm of the couch where Sirius sat. He had the long-suffering expression of someone who had been through this before and knew there was no escape.

Sirius, for his part, simply beamed and threw an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Moony, love of my life, you wound me. This is all for you!” He gestured dramatically to a pile of presents—neatly wrapped, though in an eye-wateringly mismatched combination of red and pink papers.

Remus sighed. “How many gifts did you get me this year?”

“Not important,” Sirius said quickly.

Remus turned to Regulus. “Has he tried to serenade you yet?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not yet, but I’m sure it’s coming.”

“Oi! Don’t ruin the surprise!” James whined.

Sirius grinned. “They call us the Valentine Maniacs, and for good reason.”

“No one calls you that,” Regulus deadpanned.

James and Sirius exchanged a look. “We call us that.”

Remus and Regulus sighed in unison.

Despite all the excessive gestures—the charmed chocolates that floated around offering themselves at random, the giant enchanted teddy bear that recited sonnets, the unnecessarily large banners—Regulus and Remus couldn’t deny one thing: their boyfriends were absolutely ridiculous, but they were also utterly devoted.

[rushingcrimson]

Faith.

If you don’t mind sticking around for a bit I’ll explain something about this piece!

This is heavily inspired by a beautiful and important piece of Italian literature, the “Gerusalemme Liberata” (Freed Jerusalem), an epic poem by Torquato Tasso (1544-1595), in which is depicted the war between Christians and Muslims and the Siege of Jerusalem of 1099 A.C.

In this poem there are two characters, not protagonists, but important to the plot nonetheless: Tancredi and Clorinda. Tancredi is a paladin and champion of the Christian army, while Clorinda is a virago, a female warrior and champion of the Muslim army.

She’s described as a beautiful woman with blonde hair and fair skin (which is pretty unusual, since she’s supposed to be an Ethiopian princess, but her mother was a Christian and supposedly prayed the Virgin Mary while she was expecting her), valiant and strong. She’s pretty recognisable amongst the other Muslim soldiers because of her beautiful white armour and her helmet, in the shape of a tiger’s muzzle and a white plume.

Tancredi and Clorinda fall in love, and it’s impossible, sweet and violent; they can’t be together (for obvious reasons).

In the end, Tancredi ends up killing Clorinda in a duel, after not recognising her, and the two share a moment while Clorinda is dying, where she asks him to baptise her.

Their story ends bittersweetly and even though Tancredi is hurt by the loss of his loved one, he’s comforted by the fact that now Clorinda is waiting for him on the other side.

Nico as Clorinda is something that in my mind made sense, paired to Lewis as Tancredi, so I made this portrait!

I encourage anyone who’s reading this (even if you can’t understand Italian, you can look for some articles in English, and if you can't find any reach out to me and I’ll explain) to go read something about this poem.

Thank you for bearing with me ! I hope you enjoyed my explanation <3

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 1

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 610

This first part is short, but later parts will probably end up being longer. Anyway, Joe Goldberg is my current obsession. I just had to write fanfic.

Masterlist

Hello, You.

You look unsure of yourself. You've walked into Mooney's without a purpose, and now it looks like you're not sure why you came in at all. You wander through the isles aimlessly, glancing at the books without really seeing them. You're not even reading the titles. Then, you stop. You've found something that intrigues you.

You're in the isle F through K. Are you sending me a message? I'd like to think so but no, you're looking - really looking, this time - at our collection of secondhand Stephen King books.

You seem like the type to be a King fan. You’re tiny, can't be more than 5’5”. You're not fat, but you've got a round face that could trick people into thinking so, if you covered up your body more.

You're wearing a Guns ‘N Roses tank top and army-green cargo pants, and Doc Martens. You want people to be impressed when they look at you. You like the attention. I don't know who you're trying to fool, though. It's clear you wouldn't hurt a fly.

In any case, you look like the exact sort of girl who'd enjoy King's more outlandish books. I expect you to go for Desperation, or maybe Pet Sematary, but instead your searching finger glides across the spines of the books and stops at Joyland.

You slide it out from between the others. You look at the front cover, not the back. Appearances are important to you.

Suddenly, you are approaching me. You set the book down on the counter carefully. Almost reverently.

“Hi,” you say.

I like your hair. It's a deep brown, not dyed. You've got a wolf-cut, but you have curls so it looks messier than you probably intended. Your hair covers your ears fully, but I just manage to catch the sparkle of an earring.

“Hi,” I answer. “Just this today?”

“I made a deal with myself when I came in here. Only one book. I have an addiction to buying books.”

I smile, because that's good. It means you might come here again. But then again, I've never seen you before. What if you're not from around here? Just passing through? You could walk out of my life forever, after this.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, casually. “How come I've never seen you here before, then?”

“I just moved here. Trust me, you're going to see a lot of me.” You laugh. “I had a very personal relationship with the woman who runs the bookstore in my old town.”

A ‘personal' relationship? Are you hinting at something? Do you want to have a personal relationship with me?

“Came there that often, huh?”

“At least twice a week.”

“Do you just read that fast? Or…?”

“I read pretty fast, yeah.”

If you were somebody else, I might suggest you get a library card. But if I say that to you, you might actually heed my advice, and then you won't come here as much. Better not to poke that bear.

“Well, here's to hoping I see you again, then. That'll be $ 13,99.”

You hand me your card. You could pay with cash, but you want me to see your name.

“(Y/n). I like your name. It suits you.”

You shrug.

“And your last name… German?”

“Dutch,” you say. “Like I said, I just moved here.”

Funny, I don't detect an accent at all.

I ring you up, pack Joyland for you in a paper bag, and hand it to you. Your smile lights up the entire room. Your teeth are a little crooked, but not unbearably so. It's sort of adorable.

“Thanks,” you say, and: “See you later.”

Then you're leaving. I miss you already.

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Faye Schulman

Faye Schulman was a young Jewish photographer in Poland who became a resistance fighter after her family was slaughtered by the Germans. For the next two years, she took pictures of what she witnessed, leaving an extensive photographic record for posterity.

Born Faigel Lazebnik in 1919, she was one of seven children in an Orthodox Jewish family in Lenin, a small village in Poland. Known as Faye, she learned four languages: Yiddish at home, Polish at school, Hebrew in religious school, and Russian among the non-Jewish townspeople. Her brother Moshe was a professional photographer and she worked as his assistant, developing a keen eye and a talent for photography. When Moshe moved to another town, Faigel took over his business.

After the Germans invaded Lenin in 1941, they forced the town’s Jews into a squalid ghetto. On August 14, 1942, the Nazis “liquidated” the Lenin ghetto by brutally murdering 1,850 Jews, including Faye’s parents, sisters, and brother. Only 26 Jews were spared because the Nazis could make use of their skills. Faye was ordered to develop photographs of the massacre that claimed the lives of her family as well as almost everyone she knew. She secretly made extra copies of the pictures and kept them to bear testimony to Nazi crimes against humanity.

Soon after, Faye escaped from the Nazis and joined the Molotava Brigade, a group of Russian resistance fighters in the forest of Belarus. She said, “This was the only way I could fight back and avenge my family.” They were known as “partisans” – an insurgent militia group opposing an occupation army. Despite rampant antisemitism in the group, she was allowed to join because she had some basic medical skills learned from her late brother-in-law, who had been a doctor in Lenin. Faye became the group’s nurse, serving alongside the resident doctor, a veterinarian. For almost two years, Faye dressed fighters’ wounds and did whatever she could for sick and injured fighters, despite a lack of medical equipment. She participated in armed raids, later remembering “When it was time to be hugging a boyfriend, I was hugging a rifle. Now I said to myself, my life is changed. I learned how to look after the wounded, I even learned how to make operations.”

Faye’s partisan brigade raided her hometown of Lenin, during which the resistance fighters acquired food, weapons and supplies. As they passed her childhood home, Faye urged her fellow partisans to burn it to the ground, which they did. “I won’t be living here. The family’s killed. To leave it for the enemy? I said right away: Burn it!”

Faye found her old photographic equipment, and brought it back to their forest encampment. For the next two years, Faye documented the dangerous existence of anti-Nazi partisans. It was vitally important to her because as she later said, “I want people to know that there was resistance. Jews did not go like sheep to the slaughter. I was a photographer. I have pictures. I have proof.”

Faye’s resistance group was liberated by the Soviets in July 1944. After the war ended, she was overjoyed to find that her brother Moshe had also survived and had been part of another resistance group. Faye and Moshe were the only survivors of their family of nine. Soon after Faye married Morris Schulman, who’d fought alongside Moshe. They decided to make a new life in Palestine, then occupied by the British, who made it difficult if not impossible for war-scarred Holocaust survivors to enter the land. For two years the Schulmans were stuck in a displaced persons camp in Germany, waiting for the opportunity to immigrate. They helped smuggle arms into Palestine to support the Jews fighting for independence. In 1947 Faye became pregnant, and they needed someplace safe to live. They were able to get visas to Canada, and settled in Toronto, where they ran a family business and raised two children. In 1995, Faye published a book about her experience as an anti-Nazi resistance fighter: “A Partisan’s Memoir: Woman of the Holocaust.”

Faye died on April 24, 2021, surrounded by her family, at age 101. Sadly, the last few years of her life saw an upsurge of antisemitism worldwide. Faye left an inspiring message for young people today: “To Jewish kids I would like to say – be proud to be Jewish. To non-Jewish kids I would like to say – if there is a war and you have to fight, fight for freedom and don’t be ashamed to be in the army.”

For saving lives, battling Nazis, and leaving a photographic record so the horrors of the Holocaust would not be forgotten, we honor Faye Lazebnik Schulman as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[connecting-the-stars]

Ekko will help Jinx

My theory for Act 2 (spoilers for Act 1)

Trigger warnings:

Discussion of suicidal thoughts/ideation

Okay, bear with me. I’ve seen no act 2 or 3 leaks or screen shots. But I’m fully bought on the idea that Ekko is going to help Jinx in her healing journey. (Might be my bias talking).

spoilers below:

Merch:

The merch released shows Jinx’s new design and it is such a light/less defeated look on her. Like her face doesn’t carry this misery and exhaustion upon her, from all her grief. The morbidly relieved/expectant expression on her face when she was ready for Vi to kill her, that is gone. Most noticeable is the fact that both of her iconic braids are gone, hair cropped short that is so reminiscent of Vi’s in season one. Her clothes are brighter, Fishbones gets a modification and fixed, like the air around her is just less heavy. (Albeit this is from one picture and it could be wildly out of context.) Her design change is just miles away from her current form. I’m half convinced this is her final look in Act 3 and she gets the chance to heal.

There’s a time-skip basically confirmed for this season, whether it occurs in act 2 or 3, things will change for Jinx.

Time-skip:

The time-skip is most likely around a year or at least several months. If act 2 has the Brainy Boys on vacation in another realm for a few episodes, Jinx will be facing the start of Zaun’s revolution and the undercity turning to her, Vi will most likely be shunned by the undercity and lean more on her alcoholic tendencies (her fighting pit era), Ambessa will be manipulating Cait, the firelights without a leader. But if they open an episode with the Boys returning and them being confronted by this time skip and whatever had occurred in the hex gate — like fish out of water they will have to learn about everything thats changed, for better or worse. Jayce with Mel missing and Cait’s corruption, Hemidinger with the fact that the hex gate is unsafe, and Ekko and the impact of Jinx’s revolution upon the undercity and the firelights.

Seems like the teaser for Act 2 is setting up the firelights to join Jinx’s efforts and movement, believing Ekko is dead as they place him on the mural. We see him fighting with Vi on the firelight hoverboards and his hair is longer, this could be an act 3 event. But I doubt that either of them would be supporting Piltover’s current stance, so they are most likely fighting with Jinx’s forces against Piltover and Ambessa’s army. (The team up is real guys.) Ekko will see her movement for Zuan and positive impacts on the undercity not being run on shimmer, and he will find Jinx

However, before this war fully breaks out, Act 2 confirms that Jinx is gonna face Warwick / Vander’s reanimated body… and you know who else is fighting him? Vi. I think something is going to happen with Singe sending Warwick out upon Jinx or upon her revolutionary group, and Jinx gets involved to stop him. Jinx with her shimmer enhancements are awesome and has accelerated speed, but Warwick is gonna outmatch her, especially if she realizes who he used to be. We’ve only seen Jinx’s scratchy distortion once or twice so far, mainly when Vi was revealed to her as an enforcer. But seeing Vander back from the dead and worse off than ever, her guilt and horror is going to be off the charts. I think she loses ground, and gets hurt - badly. The teaser shows someone (most likely Sevika ) carrying Isha to safety, the scene is soaked in this blood red fog, the same as the Warwick fight. Several accounts over on Twitter are pointing out that Isha is reaching out to someone off screen, that she seems to be scared for Jinx’s safety. There’s a shot of Vi standing alone against Warwick, and I think she is going to save Jinx.

Oh Okay… now on to

Time - Bomb:

The famous Bridge Scene. Wow. Am I right? So of course, this scene has been analyzed up and down and inside out, but to reiterate; Jinx’s nickname of “The Boy Savior” just hits different now. (It’s important enough that it’s the Name of an episode). In the Blu-ray behind the scenes/making of Arcane the writers discuss: the cut scene of younger Ekko searching for a way to rescue powder because he believes she is a prisoner. When he finds Powder recently turned Jinx and tries to save her from Silco to then have her violently refuse (the detail of her slapping him the same way Vi did to her at the end of Act 1: S1.). She does not want to be rescued and does not accept help. In addition to the venom of her voice, the condescension, like she does not see him as the capable resistance leader. They are similar ages, the only kids of the first act of the Undercity to remain in the lanes, Jinx the prodigy of Silco, and Ekko completely alone in the Lanes. Silco keeps reminding Jinx, especially when Vi returns, that no one from her old life will care for her. He compares his and Vander’s fallout to Powder’s and Vi’s, pushing this narrative that it’s them against the world. Telling her to bury Powder, and that Vi has not returned for her but for the hextech crystal.

Character Mirrors/Foils:

Metal / Nature

Silco’s / Vander’s Image

Raven / Firelight

Past / Future

Isolation / Community

Jinx stuck in the past with her ghosts and her mistakes and Ekko forced to grow up faster and choosing to become a caretaker of those who can’t defend themselves. (Becomes a protector like Vander had once been, that Vi had been.) He puts all his efforts into making a safe haven for those impacted by Silco’s gangs and shimmer products, and he wants to build a community that supports a better tomorrow.

“It’s not enough to give people what they need to survive; you have to give them what they need to live.”

Ekko is still quite young and yet he chose a role of helping those around him and created a positive community, while Jinx became more and more of Slico’s tool, of learning his beliefs and violence. (S1E6: Silco’s outburst after Vi and Cait escape in season 1, wonder how many times he did the same thing in front of her. Also him referring to Jinx as the prize of Vander’s kids, like he is fully aware of Jinx’s genius mind and engineering skills.) Jinx often being depicted alone in her hanger, talking to her ghosts. Jinx feeding into her own insecurities and feeling that she has to prove herself to Silco and be useful in a way she had not been seen as powder in their family group. Her disregard for the damage Slico brings to the lanes with shimmer and her blowing up the building during progress day in Piltover not concerned with who gets hurt. Ekko and his firelights becoming antagonists to shimmer verses Jinx and Slico’s forces as they protect the products.

Further the visual imagery and visual parallels between them are so interesting.

[pictures above from twitter account: @Chi11in_Like_a]

So I believe that Ekko and Jinx have this strong connection to one another, even more so with learning about the cut scene from season 1, and Ekko is going to pull on that more so than ever. The writers confirm: They “saw” each other during that still moment on the bridge, the children they used to be. They were not enemies, they were not on opposing sides, they did not want to kill the other. Their expressions in this scene when time slows, it kills me. Of course, the scene plays out, Jinx uses a sneak attack and everything blows up in their faces. Ekko gets this look of shock on his face as he looks between the bomb and Jinx, and my heart breaks. Jinx nearly dies from this (this is one of many times that she is entirely careless with her own life), Ekko is hurt for the remainder of the season. But the moment of recognition, of their childhood games, of them laughing, of the sullen ash atmosphere of the bridge being met with both of them falling into old patterns. The mood shifted entirely, elevated by the music. The music in this show never stops amazing me.

I do not remember if I looked deeper into Jinx’s reckless tendencies in season 1, but this year on my several rewatches, I have definitely noticed. She is not afraid of dying, she’s not afraid of getting hurt. As powder, she was so scared of fighting and of getting injures, throwing the haul from the over city into the river to get away from an attacker. Jinx does not care if she dies. I think she assumes that she is too far gone, that no one can help her. I think she believes no one is willing to try. After watching Vi race back to Cait on the bridge when Marcus betrays them and shoots Ekko, Jinx sees her only remaining blood leaving her again. (S1:E7) Season 2 episode 3 fight between Vi and Jinx, crushes me. Her encouraging Vi to go through with killing her, her guilt over what happened to their family.

Back to season 2, Jinx gets away from Warwick, from Vi, and hides out alone and emotionally distraught. (Ella Purnell’s performance blows me away, the guttural screams and cries make me want to sob.) Jinx is at a breaking point, I think she has made it back to her lair, and the ghosts are back in full force. The neon paint and the dolls of her family, the dark empty hanger around her. Jinx will hear Silco again. “Have you had enough?” Her belief that she can only break things and makes everything worse being heightened by Warwick/Vander returning, after starting to build connection and bond with Isha and Sevika. Having Isha’s protection and admiration uplifting Jinx in a way she never expected, and then to have this relapse and massive reminder of her past mistake. Her being responsible for both Vander’s and Silco’s deaths, that Isha and everyone close to her will meet that same fate. Despite Sevika and Jinx finding common ground, I do not believe Sevika would be the person to help her in this situation. She’s bleeding out and heavily wounded, she is alone, she’s at rock bottom in the way she was when everything happened that night. Jinx looks over the edge of the turbine blade. Jinx looks at her pistol.

Cold metal brushes her temple.

Ekko finds her.

I think Ekko will bring her back from the edge. He will be a voice of reason and comfort despite everything they’ve gone through, because of it. Because despite the deaths and Silco and shimmer, he still sees her. The child who only ever wanted to help her family. Despite what he told Vi, the implication that his denial pushed him forward, that Jinx isn’t Powder anymore. But Ekko still sees his childhood friend, and grieves her. He misses his friend.

Tell me this shot from the trailer does not scream that he wants to help Jinx? Really gonna live up to the nickname.

(The strand of blue hair on the left side of the scene.) I fully believe Ekko is talking to Jinx. The last episode of Act 2 is going to be their conversation, and it will end right before we see what is Jinx’s final decision.

He will help her, if she allows herself to accept help. To understand that there are people from her old life that do still care for her. To have no one in the lanes that understood her, that knew her and what she’s done, and for him to reach out a hand first. Isha and Sevika are closer to Jinx than anyone currently, but neither of them know everything or share history in the same way. Ekko will be the one to try to mend this rift. Multiple times the show has demonstrated how kind and generous Ekko is. (Refusing to turn away refugees in the undercity, of giving Hemidinger a chance). If she accepts his help, he can heal her physical wounds and they can start healing her emotional wounds.

Dark thoughts of the end, of ending one’s self, is such a heavy thing to cope with. I want Jinx to have someone on her side, for them to support her through it. She is such a well written character and the way they have showed her mental health struggles. I hope her arc becomes more hopeful.

Act 3:

Ekko will help Jinx fix Fishbones, she’ll dawn hourglass symbols, and work together eventually with Vi again. Maybe, finding common enemies and allies, fighting alongside each other. Zuan’s revolution vs Piltover. Jinx will see Isha again, being the guardian she herself needed when she was growing up. Learning forgiveness for herself and others. Talking things out, and not being interrupted.

Jinx’s healing journey!

I’m very excited for the rest of this season. These two are my favs. (I could be very wrong and none of this is on track, but this is apart of the intrigue of getting invested where characters stories go. Theorizing about what is going on, where the characters will end up.)

- If Timebomb talks to one another I will be over the moon. Years of crumbs lol.

- The fact there is a song named “My Dearest/Best Enemy” [I’m like 67% it is a Timebomb song]

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 1 )

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Hello/good night ! This is my first post in the Hazbin Hotel universe, please bear with me. I'm French so if I make a mistake, tell me in a socially acceptable way. ^^

Summary : Alastor and Charlie travel to a mysterious location in Hell to get help against threats to the Hazbin Hotel. They are guided by Alastor and meet Taku, a demon who owes him one. Despite encounters with hostile sinners, they manage to approach “y/n”, an important figure whose help is crucial.

______________________________________________

The cobblestone streets of Hell were lit by a perpetual reddish glow.

Wisps of acrid smoke rose from the cracks in the ground in this corner of the Infernal Pentagram, further obscuring the tumultuous sky, bathed in a vivid red hue, creating a painting of macabre beauty. Among the ruined buildings, their decrepit walls decorated with graffiti, stretched a heavy silence, broken only by the distant echoes of sinners.

In the distance, mountains of debris and carcasses could be seen, where some damned souls were condemned to an eternity of futile toil. Others went about their business, their gazes full of lust, malice and despair.

In this inhospitable setting, two figures made their way, one following the other, their footsteps echoing. They were on their way to a mysterious place, a place where one of them hoped to find help in confronting the threats facing the Hazbin Hotel.

One of the two people was none other than Charlie, who was getting carried away by his own inner torment. The revelation of Vaggie's dissimulation, her love, as to her nature as an exterminating angel, had plunged her into an abyss of betrayal and perplexity. She wondered about the reasons that had pushed Vaggie to silence such a crucial truth, finding it paradoxical that the one she had elected to share her noblest ideals could indulge in such omissions. Tortuous thoughts, like poisonous snakes, coiled around his tormented mind, undermining the very foundations of his certainties.

Amidst this turmoil, a glimmer of panic arose from time to time, fueled by the imminent threat posed by Adam and his legions of exterminating angels.

As for the one who orchestrated this macabre dance, it was Alastor, the guide leading the princess to a place known only to him. Indifferent to Charlie's words, he focused exclusively on their destination, and on the powerful overlord he had not seen in seven long years. He knew that their reunion was going to be complex, marked by the shadows of the past, but he hoped to convince the suzerain to lend Charlie a hand in his fight against the angelic forces.

While he had initially planned to visit his friend Rosie in Cannibal Town, he had deliberately postponed this meeting, preferring to try his luck with the other liege. Because he knew that if their enterprise succeeded, it would constitute a more effective bulwark against Adam and his army.

And he secretly wanted to see her again for his personal pleasure.

As they moved deeper and deeper into one of the abandoned and forgotten corners of the Pentagram, where no sinner dared to dwell, Alastor abruptly interrupted the conversation, announcing that they had arrived. However, in front of them, there was only an oppressive void, devoid of the slightest sign of life or habitation.

- What does that mean ? Charlie wondered, a look of confusion and worry in his eyes.

An enigmatic smile appeared on Alastor's lips, a sparkle of excitement shining in his eyes.

- Patience, my dear Charlie. You will soon understand why we are here. He replied in a calm voice.

With one fluid gesture, he conjured a letter into his hand, which he then burned before letting the ashes fall to the ground. Charlie's eyes followed with fascination the strange spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The ashes of the letter, consumed by Alastor's fire, transformed into dancing shadows, swirling before taking the form of a massive door on the ground. A strange feeling of dizziness came over her as she stared at this mysterious door, the palpable magic emanating from it tickling her senses.

Feeling the pressure of Alastor's shoulder, she stepped back slightly, her eyes still fixed on the fascinating scene unfolding before them. The shadow gate suddenly burst out of the ground, solidifying into a towering structure. Charlie's heart raced in her chest as she realized where they were.

This door evoked the legends she had heard whispered, the one leading to an unknown territory, a place different from the Hell she knew, under the sovereignty of one of the most eminent figures of the underworld. She was stunned to find herself facing this legendary door, wondering what trials and revelations awaited them on the other side.

Before she could voice her thoughts, the door burst open, revealing a demon that emerged from the darkness.

The demon was imposing and slender, with slightly gray skin. Her hair is a deep brown, framing her angular face characterized by sharp, defined features. His dark, almost black eyes shine with a piercing light behind round, black-rimmed glasses. He wore a dark suit highlighting his elegant and professional figure.

Seeing who had summoned the opening, the demon frowned and said in a hostile voice :

-Alastor.

-Taku.

Despite Taku's cold reception, Alastor remained imperturbable, not letting the animosity of his interlocutor destabilize him.

- Tell me, my friend, how have you been since our last meeting ? He questioned, a hint of feigned camaraderie peeking through his words.

Facing him, Taku remained imperturbable, his arms crossed on his chest, his face unchanging despite the mischievous sparkle that sparkled in Alastor's eyes.

- It is none of your business. He replied in an icy voice. I thought you were dead. It would surely be better for everyone if that were the case. Or at least you could have stayed hidden in your hole, alone, if death doesn't suit you.

A cynical laugh escaped Alastor's lips, accentuating the tense atmosphere between them.

-Ah ! But that wasn't the case ! He replied in a mocking tone. My absence was just a little break, a parenthesis to savor life and let sinners worry, wondering when I was going to return with my emission.

He approached Taku, his teasing smile widening.

- But indeed, it would surely have been better for you if I had died. He continued in an almost whispered voice, leaving the shadow of a sinister secret lingering. I have no doubt that you would have greatly appreciated it. After all, that would have meant that I would have taken your sword of Damocles with me to the grave, right ?

A shiver of antagonism ran through the space between them as they eyed each other, their feelings of distrust and disdain barely concealed.

Under the influence of the anger which began to rise, Taku's teeth lengthened, accentuating his expression of displeasure. His fists clenched with increasing force as he stared at Alastor with a penetrating, almost murderous gaze.

-What do you want, Alastor ? He spat through clenched teeth.

- We came to see ( y/n ). He said with an indescribable look. This is a matter of the utmost importance.

Taku sighed in annoyance, shaking his head in disapproval.

- I don't want to hear anything about it. He replied dryly. My Lady has no time to waste on unimportant requests like yours. And especially not with someone like you.

Charlie, feeling anxiety rising within her, was about to intervene, to plead their case to Taku. However, Alastor beat her to it with a calm wave of his hand, telling her to stay back for the moment. With a sly smile he said :

- I think you owe me a favor, Taku. And that's why I was able to summon this door.. He announced quietly.

Taku glared at Alastor, his expression hardening even further.

- A favor ? He repeated suspiciously, his tone oscillating between distrust and curiosity.

- Yes. Alastor replied in a detached tone, but with a glint of determination in his eyes. And that's why we're here, thanks to the letter you gave me in exchange for our deal. To get back what you owe me. He announced, a green glow surrounding them.

Charlie watched the scene helplessly, overwhelmed by the events, but slowly realizing the magnitude of the situation. She could feel the tension between Alastor and Taku rising, their gazes challenging each other in a silent game of wills.

- You're playing a dangerous game, Alastor. You might get burned. He growled.

But Alastor didn't flinch, his teasing smile remaining unchanged.

- Oh, let me doubt it, we both know that you are weaker than me. We need to see ( y/n ). He repeated calmly. And I'm sure you can understand the importance of this meeting. Besides, I will hold my tongue regarding the content of our deal and I will no longer be able to force you to let us in, seeing as I burned the letter to do so. Does this suit you ?

Taku hesitated for a moment, seeming to weigh his options. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, he agreed with a slight nod.

- Alright. He whispered. But I don't owe you anything anymore. And know, miss, he said, addressing Charlie, finally considering her since the beginning of the exchange, you are nothing to us. Your rank is nothing where we are going. We are devoted to our Lady and compared to her, you are futile. And all the more so for a crazy person like you, Alastor. He finished, his teeth returning to normal.

Charlie doesn't respond, stunned. With a wave of his hand, Taku opened the door, revealing the darkness that lay on the other side. Alastor gave a mocking smile, ignoring Taku's jab.

- We expected no less from such hospitality in these infernal lands. He replied lightly, before leading Charlie after him towards the open door.

Once on the other side, the transition was instantaneous, almost magical. The oppressive red-tinged sky of Pentagram City dissipated, giving way to a clear blue celestial expanse, enveloping the landscape in a soft, soothing light. A breath of fresh air came to caress their faces, sweeping away the heaviness of Hell.

Charlie contemplated this astonishing change with a mixture of astonishment and perplexity. She felt transported to another world, a realm where torment and suffering seemed to evaporate. A light laugh escaped Alastor's lips, savoring the stark contrast between the two realities.

- Welcome to this less gloomy corner of Hell, my dear. He whispered to Charlie, his eyes shining with a mischievous glint.

Following Taku who walked in the lead, Alastor and Charlie embarked on the winding paths of this enchanting landscape. Charlie couldn't suppress his amazement at the peaceful beauty around him. Green meadows stretched as far as the eye could see, caressed by the soft light of the sun. In the distance, majestic trees swayed gently in the breeze, their foliage dancing in harmony with the birdsong.

Her heart leaped with excitement as she observed the inhabitants of this strange place, for a moment she could almost forget Vaggie's betrayal. Fishermen smiled happily as they brought in their day's catch. No violence, no murder, no blood. It was a stark contrast to the Hell she had always known. Maybe not as sumptuous as Heaven, but to her, it was a glimmer of light in the darkness.

Approaching Alastor, Charlie felt the urgent need to clarify the mysteries that hovered around their presence here, in this strange and enchanting world.

- Alastor, she began in a voice filled with a mixture of fascination and perplexity, how come that you know ( y/n ) ? And what is this place that seems so... Different ?

Alastor gave her a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint.

- Ah, my dear Charlie. He replied in a nonchalant tone. It's a long story, full of twists and turns and mysteries.

He winked at her, knowing he had piqued her curiosity. But before Charlie could ask any more questions, he added :

- As for this place, it's a kind of... Refuge, if you like. A place where time seems to stand still, where the torments of Hell ease a little. But don't let appearances fool you, my dear. Even here, there are secrets and dangers that await us.

Charlie looked at him with admiration mixed with concern. She knew that even in this relative haven of peace, trouble could arise at any moment.

-And why are we here ? She insisted, determined to get a clear answer this time.

Alastor gave him a knowing look, his smile widening slightly.

- Oh, my dear, are we not here to save our dear hotel from the clutches of adversity ? He replied in a cheerful tone, skillfully avoiding directly answering her question.

Charlie rolled her eyes, knowing she probably wouldn't get a more specific answer from Alastor. But despite her exasperation, she couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement at the idea of the adventure that awaited them. As they advanced peacefully, five other armed sinners appeared from the shadows, threatening and ready to do battle.

The leader of this group raised his weapon, pointing contemptuously at Alastor.

- What are you doing here you bastard ? He roared in a deep and menacing voice.

Charlie felt panic rising within her, her gaze turning to Alastor for a solution.

- Alastor, what do we do ?

Alastor smirked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

- Well, this looks like it's getting interesting. He replied with a teasing tone, ready to spring into action.

As the sinners stood before them, their weapons brandished in a threatening gesture, Alastor couldn't help but let out a teasing laugh, his gaze shining with a mischievous glint as he approached one of them. 'them.

- My dear friends, is this how you welcome your guests ? He said in a mocking voice, openly defying their hostility.

The sinners stiffened, their expressions mixing bewilderment and anger at the demon's insolent attitude.

- You have guts to come here, Alastor. One of them spat contemptuously, his tone laced with menace. Do you really think you can come in here at will and wreak havoc ?

A smirk tugged at Alastor's lips, a spark of defiance in his gaze.

- Ah, but that’s precisely what I do best, isn’t it ? He replied with a mischievous wink. Bring a little spice to everyday life, shake things up. Besides, if I wanted to hurt anyone here, it would already be done.

His smile widened as red clock faces replaced his pupils, his face twisting into a demonic expression, his smile no longer able to contain his sharp teeth. Deafening, unpleasant sounds of radio whining surrounded the atmosphere, frightening or disconcerting those around them.

After this moment of theatrical intimidation, Alastor suddenly calmed down, letting out a musical laugh that echoed through the air, as if he had just told a particularly funny joke. His facial expression, once distorted by threat, returned to its usual appearance, although his mischievous look remained.

The sinners, meanwhile, stood stunned, looking at Alastor with a mixture of fear and perplexity. They were used to arrogant and hostile demons, but Alastor's combination of imperturbable confidence and playful mischief completely unsettled them.

- I see that you are having trouble following the dance. Alastor stated in a light tone, as if he was talking to confused children. But don't worry, I'm just passing through. No need to bother you further.

Before they can act, Taku abruptly intervenes, his piercing gaze fixed on the sinners.

- Stop your bickering. Stay calm until I give an order. He ordered in a firm voice, keeping them at a distance from any attempted aggression.

The sinners, disoriented, looked at each other, unable to understand why the right arm of their liege stood thus alongside these intruders, and even closer to Alastor, in particular.

- But Taku, they are foreigners. They are not welcome here ! One of them protested, his weapon still aimed at Alastor. Especially a perfidious being like him, whose sole purpose is to sow pain and destruction! It will only revive the suffering in the heart of our Lady !

The disdain in Taku's gaze was palpable, his icy silence echoing in the halo of tension that enveloped the group.

- I know what I'm doing. Don't intervene. He replied in an authoritative tone, putting an abrupt end to any discussion.

Charlie, silent observer of this scene, felt a mixture of relief and incomprehension at Taku's enigmatic attitude. Her grateful gaze rested on him, knowing that he had played a crucial role in calming the situation. Yet, despite this gratitude, she could not help but wonder about the hidden motivations of the mysterious demon, wondering what this pact constituted.

Alastor, although disappointed by the interruption to what could have been an exciting fight, narrowed his eyes warily, bracing himself for any unforeseen events.

- Where is Lady ( y/n ) ? He asked in a calm but firm voice.

The fishermen exchanged uncertain looks before one of them responded in a hesitant voice :

- She is on the top floor, in her tea room, Mr. Taku. She said no one should come and bother her, except you, of course. She is waiting for you.

Nodding, he resumed walking with a determined step, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

- We should continue so that you can leave as soon as possible. He stated in a calm but commanding voice, prompting Alastor and Charlie to follow him.

The five sinners followed closely behind them, their weapons always ready, keeping a watchful eye on the two strangers. Despite their threatening attitude, Alastor, for his part, still wore his eternal smile, taunting the sinners with undisguised amusement.

Meanwhile, Charlie watched the sinners curiously, noticing how happy they seemed in this environment. However, her thoughts were interrupted when she overheard a conversation between two sinners that made her frown.

- You should smile, you know. One of the sinners whispered to the other, his tone laced with a strange mix of gentleness and menace. We don't want to add to Lady's ( y/n ) suffering.

This remark sent chills down Charlie's spine, and he felt a ball of anxiety forming in his stomach.

Taku moved forward without worrying about the tension that reigned around them.

- We should hurry. He declared in a calm but determined voice, prompting the group to pick up their pace.

After walking through the beautiful garden that led them to a secluded building, Taku opened the door and Charlie and Alastor entered with him, leaving the five sinners outside. They advanced through the corridors, following Taku who seemed to know the way by heart.

They finally found themselves in front of an imposing wooden door, whose solid stature seemed to announce the grandeur of the being who resided behind. Taku, with a measured gesture, knocked gently on the wood, thus announcing his presence.

For Charlie, this moment was filled with palpable tension. Her mind repeated the words of her prepared speech, while she mentally prepared herself to face the conundrum that awaited them on the other side. She tried to draw on her determination, ready to defend her beliefs in the face of this mysterious figure.

For his part, Alastor quickly adjusted his outfit and stood up straight, confident, his teasing gaze barely hiding the growing anticipation building within him. He nevertheless approached Charlie, to whisper in his ear with a mixture of seriousness and mischief :

- Be careful of your attitude and your words once inside, my dear. The person we are going to meet is not easily impressed and does not take himself for just anyone.

Charlie nodded silently, appreciating Alastor's caution and advice. Although she felt nervous, she found some comfort in his presence, knowing that he was there to support her in this crucial meeting.

Crossing her fingers that she succeeds.

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Author's note : Here's the first part ! I had to split it in two because otherwise it would have been too long for you, exceeding 7,000 words. Tell me what you think in the comments, see you next time.

[jeannereames]

Just out. Yes, it's stupid-expensive, but perhaps you can get your local library to get a copy.

This is the second important collection on ATG out this year, and which I have a chapter in. I'm rather proud of my material in both the Cambridge Companion to Alexander the Great (which is fairly priced for an academic book of its size), but also (and maybe especially) this one.

My Cambridge chapters pull together some important recent work on Alexander's court and the conflicts among the Hetairoi and with the army. So if you were intrigued by my recent posts on the drama around Alexander, I talk about it in the Cambridge Companions, especially the second chapter (12: "Changes and Challenges at Alexander's Court"). It pulls together some divergent material that I think all bears on the other (especially the recent work on Archaic Macedonia), and I throw out some proposals/revisions of prior thought. But it's as much summarizing as original work.

My chapter in the Brill Companion to the Campaigns of Philip II and Alexander the Great is primarily original research. And a (I hope) super-duper useful table of ALL religious references in the 3 or 5 original sources, on both Philip and Alexander. That's not been done, to my knowledge, like, ever. Fredricksmeyer's dissertation in 1954? (unsure of date and too lazy to look it up, but the mid-50s) was the last really serious, extensive look at Alexander and religion that consolidated the sources. And he didn't provide tables.

So yeah, that's my BIG contribution to ATG research in the past decade, really. And it's SYNOPTIC, folks. What does that mean? I record where X event occurs in each of the 3 or 5 primarily sources for each king, with holes for who didn't record it. If you've ever seen a copy of the Synoptic Gospels, that was my model. This is SUPER useful because it lets you see who told what story, how different sources changed details, and what *sort* of religious action each event/reference was.

It's a long chapter, in part because of that table. It took a lot of work. But I really hope it proves a useful resource (beyond just my commentary on it) for future research on Alexander.

[orphicrose]

The Co-Host (Alastor x FemReader) X

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Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

Warnings ! ! Mentions of Death and Bl00D

W/C: 2.3K

Note : Thank you so so so much to everyone who has enjoyed this story. This is the last chapter to this book BUT I can make another book if anyone is interested. I really do appreciate the love this has gotten. As when it started I thought no one would open it and now i have so many readers.

@cannibalcoyote @kahlan170 @sugxryratz @multifandom-superlover @t0xic1vi @saccharine-nectarine

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Rage filled his body, replacing his lust. Surging through his veins like some sort of adrenaline booster. "Satan...."

A cane appeared in his fingertips, gripping to tight they turned white. Circulation scared to temper with the angered wendigo. Shadows tailed behind his hooves like an army of deviancy. Nothing more to lose but his second life, but that was meaningless anyway without y/n. His minions disperse from him like pathogens looking for a host, flying through the walls and dimly lit areas of hell, looking for their target. Satan. 

Alastor rampaged through hell, his demonic form replacing any evidence of someone who was a human once upon a time. Radio dials replacing his pupils, and black tar like legs emerging from his torso like something from the deep sea. Face like a crazed killer relapsing, reminding him of who he was supposed to be. Lilith hadn't given him this great power for no reason, and he was going to use it. 

On the other side of hell, Y/n lay battered on a warehouse floor. Abandoned by its former workers, bought by Satan to be turned into another means of business without a doubt. 

"There were no distractions" She spluttered on the floor, arms bringing her away from the dirt. "My numbers are up, I don't understand..."

"Not even your sins can be of deterrence to that fool." The man mumbled, trailing around her like a coyote. "I should of killed him when I had the opportunity"

Y/n sat still, doe eyes following his movements with any anticipation to flee for her life. "I never asked for any of this"

"No one asks for anything!" He bites back, stopping in his step to lean towards the cowering demon at his feet. "I gave you a job to do, and you failed. I gave you opportunities to be a great overlord, a wealthy power to be reckoned with. And what do you do with it?"

She remained quiet, face falling to avoid his gaze. 

"What do you do with it?" He repeats. Voice quieter, more sinister. "You don't even use it" The quiet whisper turns to a dark chuckle. Repeating the sentence over and over. "You don't even use it". He can't even comprehend how anyone wouldn't want the power, how anyone would fail to use it. 

"What could one want more than raw magic?"

"Normality" Y/n mumbled. Feeling the blood running from her heart to her fingers, a sensation she missed from her previous life. "What do you need a million souls for? " Her tone became accusing, bolder. Climbing to her feet and balancing her stance to oppose the large man in front of her. She couldn't lose more than her life in this moment, she thought. "There is a limit for power, even for a sin as important as you. So, why so many?"

He bared his teeth, psychotic grin turning upside down to a menacing frown. Words nor forming audible, except for the growl vibrating the glare from his fangs. 

"Why do you need the souls?" Her voice raised, coming closer. Too close. One move and he could bite her head from her shoulders like a rabid bear. 

"Power?"

"I must bring her back!" A vociferous outcry escaped him. A new level of hostility replacing his aura, a hand reaching out and grasping her neck. Restricting any air from escaping his prey. "They took her from me" Guttural sounds gave her goosebumps, watching the tormented memories in his eyes crying, driving him to the brink of insanity as the seconds passed. His anguish pouring out in a storm of shattered words and furious tears. 

Y/n clawed at the broken flesh of his fists in desperation, her fear doing the work for her as her body flailed about under his undeniable grasp. Air struggling to escape her muffled ranting for help. Her vision began to fade to the darkness of her eyelids, bloodshot at they roll away from the world. Her fighting against his merciless force taking her life from her. 

"You are replaceable, everyone is. That's what they told me. That's what they said when they took her" His fist grew tighter with ever slow word to fall from him. "They took her, so I'll take you"

Something flew through the air, something sharp. Hitting him in the hand, resulting in another nasty outburst of roars and splattered words from the sin. 

"So, this is why you are the Sin of wraith. Not very composed, I see. How fitting" Static rung in the air as y/n took in as much oxygen the world around her could offer. Clutching her throat in agony. 

The same static got louder and louder from the life outside the building, till it stopped abruptly. The sense of inevitable danger weighed on satans shoulders, looking around in a panicked state for the source. 

"A lot more paranoid than I suspected.." A hand landed on his shoulder, and sunk its claws into him. The large figure swung round, landing an elbow in Alastor's face. Stunning him. 

Satan took a long second to compose himself of the almighty being in front of him, almost too big for the large ceilings. "Impressive" he put a hand over his shoulder, a flicker of light hitting him before the wound was swiftly removed. "But not that impressive".

The sin tripled in size in just a minute. Legs stretching out, and new ones forming from his torso. Face warping into another species, one that Alastor feared the most. A hellhound, Hades himself would be scared. The absence of skin, replaced by hard bone, gave Alastor a feeling of doubt. Yet, his will to win never making a mark on the sinister grin sprawled across his jaw.  

Strong brick and infrastructure of the warehouse began to crumble. Falling around y/n like heavy snow. She had little time to comprehend what was happening as she was pulled out from underneath a falling brick. She sat, confused, on a patch of grass on the outskirts of a forest. A familiar shadow floating next to her on the floor, giving her a sad smile. Gesturing for her to remain in her place, before flying back to his owner. 

Green and Purple hues floated atop the skyline, rocks flying for miles around her as the two beasts began their decent on one another. Primal echoes of their agony sent a wave of anxiety into confused citizens. Scared to see what the commotion was about. A symphony of raw power emitting from the two, clashing and crumbling buildings around their feet. 

Y/n swallowed her fear, and struggled to her feet. It was true, she had power unlike any other overlord. Gifted to her from a sin himself, maybe she wasn't the most powerful being in the universe. But anything could help Alastor win this battle. She took a deep breath, and let it out. Letting her form sink into the ground with a purple mist following her to her destination. Materializing a few meters away from no-mans-land.

Alastor nor Satan took any interest in her presence. Till the ground shook under their feet, and Violet radiance blinded them. Almost like a storm was brewing from the core of the Earth. Years of pent up aggression and frustration came out in a loud bellow, her form warping into what could only be described as a Phoenix. Her large, dragon like body emerged from the human flesh on her back, ripping and burning it to ashes. Fur mixed with dark scales on her winged being, reminding everyone she was still a being from hell. A large beak let out a god awful screech, gaining the attention from everyone in the pentagram, and deafening those too close. Her feathers Ebony and Royal purple, resembling flames the colour of a dawning sky. Ash settled at the talons that broke the concrete below her weight, ash from her former body. 

Everything froze, to admire the beautiful beast in their presence. Mistaken for a corrupt god. Satan would have been proud, if the circumstances were different. He fell backwards a few inches, his form seemingly shrinking. Barely noticeable. 

"Y/n?" Alastor's figure remained the same, but the look in his eyes returned as he looked over to the large beast next to him. A mix of adoration and fear overcoming him. Y/n dared to move her gaze to him, then back to the offender. Remaining silent like a titan. 

Her stance shifted, a foot coming forward with great force in an instant. Letting out another unnerving scream. 

"What in my fathers name is going on here?"

Everyone looked over to y/n. Who did her best attempt at a shrug with her bird shoulders. Eyes widened as she, too, looked around for the source of the voice. The three of them turned to see a small man, hanging in the air with his large wings. Anger painted on his scowl, and arms crossed like a disappointed father. 

"Down!" He shouted, like they were animals, as he pointed towards the floor. The three of the beats shares a confused and almost embarrassed look, as they hesitantly retook their position as an average hell being. Shrinking simultaneously to their previous sizes. 

"Lucifer! How good to see you aga-"

The small man landed in front of Satan, taking no second to strike him across the face. "What do you think you are doing in pride? Destroying my buildings? Scaring my sinners?"

The large man looked down on him with a saddened look, holding the red mark on his face. "I had business to tend to"

Lucifer let out a frustrated laugh as he gestured to the damage around them. "Ya call this business?" He laughed again, stuttering, and holding his temple firmly "I don't even know what to say. Go home!" He flashed him with his horns for a brief second before letting himself calm down. "We will be discussing this later... But a few of your souls are going to be conviscated!"

Y/n stood awkwardly next to Al, holding an arm with the other. The king of hell turned to the two after Wraith had disappeared from his sight like a toddler with a tantrum. "And you two..." His arms crossed again, looking them up and down. Leaning uncomfortably close to them. "I expect more from overlords of my ring."

"I apologies... You're majesty" Y/n inched closer to Alastor for comfort, who remained silent. Staring at the short man in his gaze. 

The king shook his head, mumbling to himself. "This just won't do" 

"Do you mind... getting my soul back?" 

He returned her question with a very unimpressed stare.

"For Lucifers sake... Alastor!" Y/n's voice echoed through the house like a siren in the deer's ears. 

"Yes, Mon Cheri?" He appeared behind her in the kitchen, startling her. He spun and wacked him lightly in the chest in retaliation. "What's wrong?" "You ate the last of the snacks? I was saving them for our movie night" Y/n pouted, holding up an empty box of wafers. 

"I did no such thing. I don't even enjoy those bland creations" He pretended to take offence, holding his heart.

"Well, who else would have eaten them?"

He grinned wider, staring at her with little to no expression before grabbing her arm. "We are going to be late for our broadcast, dear. Lets solve this mystery later" He began to drag her behind him. 

"I think it's already solved" She mumbled, keeping up with his pace.

After the long journey they had suffered together, the two decided to bring a sense of normality to their life's. Staring a new Broadcasting service for all the rings of hell to enjoy. Y/n and co-host. Her name going from the overlord of souls, to the overlord of media. For now, at least. . They did broadcasts 6 days of the week, updating hell on gossip or general news. Even being introduced to sinners who listened to their broadcasts in life. Growing their names, all over again. 

If you want to know what happened to Satan, Lucifer had him put in mandatory therapy for his anger issues. And for his problems surrounding grieving. But y/n's soul was returned to her by the king himself. Well... not so much returned as it was re-located to lucifers possession. Giving a soul back is a lot harder than it sounds. But the point it, it is in a safer place. Satan's Business has been put on hold, for now. Losing over 70% of his workers to lucifer, due to mental instability. Maybe he will rise to power again one day, but at least y/n no longer has to worry about it. 

"Good morning you foul sinners, and today me, and my wonderful co-host Alastor, are bringing you todays news!" 

"Thank you Y/n! Yes, today is already a day not to forget. Turf wars making their way through the east side of the pentagram with someone known as Sir Pentious!" Alastor chuckled "He doesn't seem to be doing so well!" 

The two laughed together. The static from the radio emitting from the small device in a kitchen. Electronic fingers reach out to turn the dial, turning the volume up as the chatter continued. A large figure was perched, listening intently to the noise. A bored expression on his face. "you too, won't be doing so well soon" The boredom shifted to an amused grin. Baring his electronic teeth on his flat face. Static emitting from his body like a circuit.  Vox gave a knowing look towards his small radio. 

[middleearthpixie]

I'll See You in My Dreams ~ Chapter Four

Summary: Noelle James knows soul mates exist, the trouble is, she just can’t seem to find hers. Especially since hers seemed to have existed only in the world of cinema and The Hobbit movies. No one believes she actually spent time in Tolkien’s Middle Earth and even fewer believe Thorin Oakenshield existed in her world, either. 

So when she finds herself unexpectedly alone on yet another Christmas, she has no way of knowing exactly what the universe has in store for her this time.The trouble is, this man claiming to be Thorin can’t possibly be him, for he died at the hands of Azog the Defiler at Ravenhill. She saw him die with her own eyes.

So, it can’t be him.

Or can it?

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Noelle James

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on AO3

Noelle set her keys in the crystal bowl and closed the door behind her with her free hand. Thorin strode into the living room, where he set the Orcrist down on the coffee table, just as he’d done the last time he was in her apartment. 

She couldn't help but smile as he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it haphazardly over the arm of the sofa, then moved to the windows across from the sofa, the windows that offered up such an amazing view of New York City. He apparently hadn’t lost his fascination with the view from said windows, as he stood before them, hands clasped behind his back, and just peered out at the world like a king surveying his domain.

Of course, he was a king. This just wasn't exactly his domain.

A king. 

He certainly had the bearing of a king, as he stood there, reflected in the glass. She had a small artificial Christmas tree on the table in the corner, its twinkling lights highlighting his features, dancing along the tangle of black curls the spilled halfway down his broad back. Even if she didn't know he was a king, she would have guessed he was a man of importance, just by that bearing alone. 

“So little has changed since I was last here,” he remarked without looking over his shoulder.

“No, it probably hasn’t.” She hung her coat on the rack mounted to the wall just inside the door, then joined him, trying to see her world through his eyes. Impossible. She’d been born and raised in this world. There was nothing new or unusual as far as she was concerned. The styles of cars down below may have changed, buildings might have been built or torn down, neighborhoods went to slum, were gentrified, or remained the playground of the wealthy, but overall, New York City itself never changed. 

She peered over at him. “Has your world changed?”

“Since Ravenhill?” He nodded. “Very much so. Esgaroth is now completely rebuilt and Dale is once more a great and bustling center of trade as well. Erebor is almost finished in its rebirth. But…”

A low sigh leaked through his lips and she waited for him to finish his thought. When he remained silent, she prompted, “But what?”’

“Clouds of war continue to gather across the whole of Middle Earth,” he replied without turning away from the window. “Azog is dead, but another has taken his place and the orcs grow more powerful with each year.”

“So, do you think they will try to conquer all of Middle Earth?”

“I do, yes.”

He said it softly, with no little finality in his voice. Noelle turned to him. “So, maybe we need to go back to Turtle Pond? Or do you think that’s why you’re here? Like last time, when I was supposed to keep you from getting run through, only I screwed it up. Am I supposed to watch Lord of the Rings to maybe figure it out?”

“Who is the Lord of the Rings?”

“You know, the One Ring? Bilbo found it in Goblintown and carried it all the way through the Battle of the Five Armies. It’s how—how he got to Ravenhill so fast…” She pursed her lips briefly, then added, “At least, that’s how your people think it happened. Since I was erased from your world.”

Thorin rubbed his forehead with one hand. “It’s far too difficult to keep up with everything. I couldn't tell you how you and Bilbo came to be up there. I just know you were there.”

“We fought our way up there, believe it or not.” Noelle managed a smile. “I was the most inept fighter in the world, but I managed to not get killed. All I managed to do was not remember how to keep you from being run through until it was too late.”

“Noelle, it wasn't your fault. It had to happen that way. I know that, even if I don't entirely understand why no one remembers you were there. Master Baggins said nothing about a ring.”

“No one remembers because they couldn’t. Because that’s not how Tolkien’s story was written or how the movie’s plot unfolded, and there’d be a hell of a lot of really confused fanboys out there, if all of the sudden, ten, fifteen years after those movies came out, the story somehow changed.

“As for Bilbo not saying anything, I don't know why he kept quiet about it, other than he just didn't want anyone to know, which is reason enough, I guess. Unfortunately, none of that even offers up a hint as to why you’re here to begin with.”

“It doesn’t, no,” he admitted, and this time, he did turn toward her. “I just know that for some reason, I was brought here again. And this time, it had nothing to do with the waters in Mirkwood, for I was in Erebor when suddenly I was here.”

“Really?”

“I was taking in a bit of air when it happened. So, I imagine I’m supposed to be here for some reason.” He reached out to curve his hand against her cheek. “I know not what that reason is just yet. But, I do know I’ve missed you.”

As he spoke, he swept his thumb along her cheek, leaving a swath of tingles in his wake. Still, she smiled as she shook her head. “Why do I think you haven’t even thought about me these last three years?”

“Has it been that long?”

That quelled the tingles even as she nodded. “Yeah. It’s been that long. At least, here it has been. I don’t know, maybe time is different on your side of the wormhole.”

The moment lost, she drew back, turning to go into the small kitchen. “I’m going to pour a glass of wine. Want one?”

“Have I said something I shouldn’t?”

A hint of confusion wove through his words, one she tried to ignore as she tugged open her refrigerator door to grab the bottle of chardonnay. She certainly couldn’t tell him that his answer wasn't quite what she’d expected, but she also couldn’t tell him that she’d wanted to hear him say she was wrong, that of course he pined for her. Just as she’d pined for him.

No. She frowned as she tugged the stopper from the bottle and reached for the glass on the sideboard. That wasn't right. She didn't pine for him. She’d mourned him and that was completely different.

“Noelle?”

She peered over her shoulder to see him in the doorway, his brow furrowed and his expression troubled. “What?”

“Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No. I just—I have to remember that our experiences are pretty different.” She filled the glass about two-thirds of the way, then lifted it to her lips. “You thought I went home and I thought you were dead.”

“And you’re angry because I’m not?”

“What? No, of course not!” The wine was smooth and buttery and one of her favorites, but she only barely tasted it as she lowered the glass once more. “But…” 

“But what?”

“What happened after I left?”

“I told you,” he came into the kitchen, stepping around her to sink into one of the two chairs at the small round table tucked into the far corner of the long, narrow room, “I awoke in the infirmary in Erebor and when I asked about you, no one had any inkling as to who I was talking about. I’d say your name and the response was always the same. Who? There was no one here called Noelle.”

“It was as if I’d never existed, wasn't it?” Although she expected it, his nod sank her spirits some just the same. “Fíli, Bilbo, Bofur… not a one of them remembered me, did they?”

Thorin hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “I stopped asking about you, for anytime I did ask, the person I’d asked looked at me as if I’d gone mad. I thought they would become convinced I’d fallen into the dragon sickness once more.”

“The same thing happened here after you left when we were in Central Park. No one remembered you. Any picture I had of you, your face was impossible to see. Anything I had that you’d written was blank once more. The only thing that remained was your ring that you gave me in the cab.”

His forehead furrowed. “Ring?”

“You wore it on this finger.” She tapped his left middle finger. “You gave it to me on our way to see Ian to ask him about the wormholes. Hold on one sec.”

She set down her glass, then moved around him to go into her bedroom, where she pulled the heavy, but now cool and silent ring from its slot in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box. When she returned to the kitchen, he was right where she’d left him, in his chair, still looking as if he was trying to figure out a particularly nonsensical mathematical equation. 

Without preamble, she caught his left wrist and turned his hand palm up, then dropped the ring into it, where it no longer looked so comically huge. In his hand, it looked normal size, and he stared down at it. “You kept it?”

“Obviously.”

He looked up at her. “No, I mean, why?”

It was her turn to look at him as if he’d gone nuts. “Thorin, I was in love with you. And I thought I’d lost you forever. It was all I had left of you. Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

He turned his attention back to the ring, turning it over as if fascinated by the way it glinted in the low light offered up by the light above the window, which was itself above the sink. “And now?”

“What do you mean, and now?” 

He looked up, his fingers closing about the ring he held. “You said you were in love with me. Meaning that you no longer are?”

She didn't answer him right away, but instead reached for her wineglass to give her something to do as she tried to make sense of her own jumbled thoughts. “Thorin, I thought you were dead. People don't come back from the dead.”

“I wasn't dead, though.”

“But I didn't know that.” She studied the pale gold Chardonnay remaining her glass as if she’d never seen it before. “I was a wreck after Ravenhill, Thorin. And I couldn’t tell anyone because I knew from when you’d left here that no one remembered you. They’d have all thought I’d gone bonkers if I started telling people I’d been at that battle, that I’d been with you in Mirkwood, at the armory. That I was close enough to actual orcs to smell them.”

At his curious stare, she sighed softly. “Crazy, Thorin. They all would have thought I was crazy.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went home.” She drained the wine, then set the glass down before coming over to sink into the empty chair. “I went home to New Jersey and told my mother about this fictional man who had sacrificed himself to save his people and that I had fallen in love with him in the process. She humored me because that’s what moms do, but I think she would’ve wanted me to see a shrink, but then I ran away.”

“A shrink?”

“A head doctor. For people who are bonkers.”

He nodded. “And did you?”

“No. I knew I wasn't nuts. I knew it had really happened, no matter how impossible it might seem.” She traced her forefinger around the wineglass’ rim. She had to tell him about Rich. “Instead, I decided to run further than Jersey, so I ran away to the UK. England, mostly. I’d planned to do Scotland and Wales, but my plans… changed.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed a change of scenery.”

“No, I mean, why did your plans change?”

And there was her cue. Her heart beat faster now, sending her pulse thundering through her temples with enough force, she had to fight back a wince. It wasn't easy, but she met his blue eyes. “I met someone on the flight out of Kennedy. He had the seat next to mine and we just started talking and—”

“You chose to stay with him instead?”

His voice held no emotion and his eyes remained tranquil, and she wasn't sure if she was relieved about that or not. “Yes and no. He’s from London, so he showed me around and since he was raised in England, he offered to show me far more than simply London. So I spent the two weeks I’d planned on using to tour the whole UK to see England alone instead.”

“And did you enjoy your time with him?”

Pressing her lips together, Noelle nodded slowly. “I did. He made me smile again and little by little, pulled me out of the darkness. He made me happy and I desperately needed to feel that again.”

Thorin bobbed his head. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to mourn me, Noelle.”

“What about you? Three years is a long time, surely you moved on as well.”

Another nod, only this one more forceful than the last. “I did.”

Although she’d expected this, and she certainly couldn’t grow angry at him for doing exactly as she’d done, hearing it still stung to a certain degree. However, she forced herself to smile. “Did you? Good. So, does that mean Erebor has a—a queen?”

He held her gaze for so long, a hint of concern fluttering through his eyes, that she braced herself to hear an affirmative answer. 

However, he shook his head slowly. “No. There isn’t. I thought there might be, but then…”

His voice trailed off and he suddenly seemed very fascinated by the woodgrain pattern in the small table between them. “I began feeling as if something was wrong, as if I wasn't where I supposed to be. As if I—”

“Was with the wrong person?”

He looked up, a hint of surprise lighting in his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Because I felt it as well. And that was before the dreams.”

His brows almost met, he knit them so tightly. “You had strange dreams?”

She nodded. “I dreamed about Ravenhill, and I had your hand against my face and I felt—”

“I touched your cheek.”

Somehow, his words didn't surprise her. Instead, she smiled and nodded. “You touched my cheek. And I’d wake up and expect you to be there beside me.”

“But it was another instead.”

“It was another instead.” She drew in a deep breath, bracing herself once more as she asked, “Was there another beside you as well?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She couldn’t contain her surprise, her eyes going wide as she blurted, “Was there ever another woman beside you?”

He offered up a mild smile at her question. “Do you not recall what I told you about dwarves and intimacy?”

“That once you find your One, you remain faithful to them even in death.”

“Exactly. And I think that is partly why I’ve not yet taken a wife.” 

“But you knew I wasn't coming back and as far as your world was concerned, I never existed. You could have slept with another woman.”

“I could have, I suppose. But I loved you.”

She didn't miss his use of the past tense either, and sighed softly. “So what do we do now? Am I supposed to help you get back home again? What?”

“I don't know.” He sat back in his chair, setting the silver ring on the table before him. “Tell me, are you still with the man you met on the plane?”

“Not anymore, no. We broke up a few weeks ago. And you?”

He hesitated and she knew what that meant. “Her name is Thalia. She’s—” 

“You don’t have to explain, Thorin. It’s okay. I get the picture.”

“The picture?” His forehead furrowed.

“I understand.” 

“Ah. I see.”

“And you’re still with her.” It wasn't a question. She knew the answer before the words even left her mouth. 

“I am.”

“Good. I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy. And it’s good if she’s really your One. It probably should be a girl dwarf, you know, especially with you being a dwarf yourself and all.” She pushed the chair away from the table and stood. “So, I guess then we see how we get you home, which probably isn’t going to be quite so easy this time around, since we both know how you got sent home the first time.”

A low chuckle bubbled to his lips and to her surprise, his eyes darkened slightly. “I do indeed remember.”

Heat shot through her as their eyes met and she slowly shook her head. “No, not this time, Thorin. I’m not a home wrecker.”

“A—”

“You’ve got a girlfriend, Thorin. I’m not sleeping with a guy who’s in a relationship. And since you’re with her, that means I wasn’t your One to begin with, no matter what you tried to tell yourself.”

“I’m not entirely sure of that, you know.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure of it. So, we should get some sleep—me in my bed and you on the sofa—and come tomorrow we can figure out just how else we might get you back to your girlfriend, who’s probably wondering where you’ve vanished to anyway.”

“Noelle, wait.”

He reached for her as he rose from his chair, but she shifted to move beyond his reach, almost darting out into the living room. She couldn't help it. She knew it was stupid and hypocritical and that she had no grounds whatsoever to be troubled by his confession. After all, she’d also been in a relationship since returning from Middle Earth. But the difference was, he was still with this faceless woman named Thalia. As far as she was concerned, that was a huge difference. 

Not only that, but it was a huge difference that hurt almost as much as losing him at Ravenhill had hurt. So no matter how she tried to tell herself she had no right to feel the way she did, it was pointless. She didn't listen to herself. 

Thorin came into the living room as she was making up the sofa for him. “Noelle, I—”

“You don't have to explain anything,” she told him, shaking her head as she set a folded quilt on the sofa arm. “Really. Life goes on, right? Mine did, too. So I really can’t be mad at you for realizing that I wasn't your One and I’m not mad at you for it. Promise.”

“You seem angry.”

“Nope.” She shook her head again. “I’m fine. And I’ll help you get home again. I just don't really know how. But, I’ll figure it out and I’ll send you home to your beautiful dwarf girl and you can live happily ever after. So, I should get some sleep, because I don't even know where to begin to figure this out, and honestly? I’m beat. It’s been a long day.”

Thorin reached for her hand, catching it before she could step away from him, and the moment they made contact, her heart leapt and heat swept through her. He linked his fingers with hers. “I don't know that I’m meant to go back.”

“Either way, we know that this can’t go any further than this.” She squeezed his hand for emphasis. “Because we know what happens if it does go further. So, either way, I lose and I’m really not strong enough to do that again.”

He slipped his hand from hers, his expression going serious. “I suppose you’ve got a point. Perhaps Science Man might help us?”

“I highly doubt it. But I can always ask him again.” She moved to the doorway between the living room and the short hallway leading to her bedroom. “Anyway, good night, Thorin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” he replied softly as she padded toward her bedroom, adding an even softer, “amrâlimê.”

She froze. My love.

Damn it. In all the times she wished he’d return, or wished that she would wake up and find herself on the golden floor in Erebor’s Hall of Kings, lying in Thorin’s arms again, she never thought it would happen. And now that it had happened, there could be nothing between them on a physical level because she just wasn't strong enough to lose him again.

The trouble was, she wasn't strong enough to resist him, either.

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo

@lathalea @legolasbadass @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @notlostgnome

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Note: At the end of December, I will be cleaning up my tag list, so if you'd like to continue to be tagged, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll assume you're no longer interested in receiving these notifications and will take you off the list. Thanks!

If you'd like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!

[perfectlysunny02]

i neeeed a snippet(s) from any of your angsty fics!!! to fill the gap of the missing episode 😅🫶🏻

i haven’t been writing lately, hold on let me check😭 you said any so i’m going to use this as a shameless plug for all

more than miles in my rear view

This is Evan’s dream. He can’t stop him from going after his dream. This is everything Evan has ever worked for, and he’s the only one who doesn’t seem to want it for him.

“I love you,” Tommy says, his throat aching as he forces the words out. “I love you.”

“This isn’t forever,” Evan tells him in return. “I’ll be back soon. I promise. This isn’t forever.”

It might not be forever, but it feels like it. He doesn’t understand how people do this, he doesn’t understand how love is enough to withstand this pain. He already wants to throw in the towel, to say he gives up, he can’t do this, to beg Evan to stay, but he can’t. So he grits his teeth and bears it, and if he makes their goodbye kiss last a little longer, that’s between him and whatever God has decided that he doesn’t deserve to be happy.

i’m bleeding out, i’m bleeding out for you

He was in here with someone important, Bobby or Eddie, he can’t remember. He should be more worried about not remembering, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to focus on anything but shifting through the rubble. Blends of CapCapCap and EddieEddieEddie bleed through his subconsciousness. He has to find them, he has-

He has to get free. He’s trapped, and he can’t breathe.

“Please,” He begs the universe out loud, the word slipping out pained into the settling dust. “Please, please, please.”

He thinks of a brown-haired man, with blue eyes quite like his, he thinks about kissing his cleft. His stomach hurts at the thought. He clutches at his middle and sits down on a slab of rubble. He’s alone here.

signed the man who loves your son

Evan stands there, blinking away tears, as he watches his parents leave, and it absolutely breaks Tommy’s heart.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Tommy whispers, pulling Evan to him. “Come here, baby, you’re okay.” Evan goes willingly

haven’t forgotten my way home

“I’m not really looking for advice here. I’m doing my job, I’m not making any mistakes. Anything beyond that is not your business.”

“Really, Ev?” Tommy scoffs. “It’s not my business? It’s my business that my boyfriend is upset and grieving.”

“Can you stop trying to doctor this, Tommy?!” Buck snaps. “Okay? I need a minute. Can you handle the exam?”

when you love someone

“He’s okay,” Tommy whispers into Evan’s curls as he holds him tight. “He’s okay baby. We’re okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

so long cowboy, you’re so cool

“My dad owned the farm,” Tommy says, the only sound in the room is his deep drawl and the clank of his fork against the porcelain of his plate. “I spent most of my childhood in these very fields, running as fast as I could away from him. Told myself the moment I turned eighteen, I was out of here, was going to join the army and fly far, far away like a bird.”

“Did you?” Evan asks, his heart in his throat. He has a feeling this isn’t a happy story.

“I did. Was gone for four years. Wasn’t ever going to come back.”

“What happened? What made you come back?”

“My mom asked me too. Dad died at the end of my contract, and I loved my mom, could never tell her no, and she knew that. So, I abandoned my plans to re-enlist and came home. Haven’t left since.”

using this as my fuck it friday. tagging:

@theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @laundryandtaxesworld @tommyscone @tiltingheartand

@runicnotation @rainstorms-by-june @sweaters-and-silly @marvelousbuckley @kinkley-are-adorkable-flirts

@bambi-buckley @ghostbucksters

@ikkesola @desert--moonchild @mythicalamity @kinardsevan @cafe-con-letty

@hyperfocusthusly @bibibibuckleykinard @bidisasterevankinard @cinderellarhea

@wikiangela @geniusjester @raethethey @racerchix21

@drcloyd @gallavenjiam @kinkykinard

@herrmannhalsteadproduction @itsametaphorok @kinardiaz

@mintedwitcher @tevankinkley @whentheresidentsareevil @actuallyitsellie @sunnywithachanceofbi

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (30)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, angst, violence, wounds descriptions, war victims ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

The sound of the words Alys spoke rang in her ears like a bell, making her heart pound. She didn't understand what she meant, but after she quoted Helaena's prophecy, she couldn't help but recognise that she must have known something.

It means that your husband is not going to die.

Why should he die?

Would war break out in earnest?

She felt like asking her a hundreds of questions, not even paying attention to the fact that she was touching her cheek in a way that was not befitting even her maid, let alone a stranger.

Before she had time to say anything, however, she heard her husband's impatient, commanding voice telling her to approach him.

She stood up at once, ashamed of what she had done and of seeing her in such a state, all dirty from blood, dust and smoke. She ran up to him quickly, her heart began to pound like mad when she noticed that he was wearing an armour.

Something had happened.

"What is the meaning of this? Shall I order her hand cut off for this boldness, and lock you in my chamber?" He asked impatient and angry; she pressed her lips together, looking at him pleadingly, not even knowing how to explain the sight he found.

"No, my husband." She whispered softly, meekly. She saw that something in his gaze had changed, his stare had gone from aggressive to dark.

She knew that he was dishevelled.

She drew in a loud breath as he grabbed her neck suddenly, his gesture of domination towards her, of forcing her to submit to him. He softened the brutality of the gesture by pressing his nose to her soft cheek, completely surprising her with his desire for closeness, shown so shamelessly in front of everyone.

She felt something hanging in the air.

"Did something happen? When are you coming back?" She asked uncertainly, terrified of his condition.

She felt his accelerated breathing, his face pressed against hers as if he wanted to melt into her, to take refuge deep within her.

"There is an army coming towards us from the South, moved by the ships of Colrys Velaryon. We must face it. I have sent messengers to my brother and your father. Until then, I will protect us from the sky." He whispered, she heard his voice tremble.

There is an army coming towards us from the South, moved by the ships of Colrys Velaryon.

Up to this point, despite knowing that they were at war with his half-sister, neither side had made any tactically important military moves. Now, however, the pawns were beginning to move − they were in danger, and her husband was about to head his army.

She looked around out and found with a squeezed heart that they had no chance in an open clash − her father and brother were constantly conversing with her about war techniques, about creating an advantage on the battlefield.

They were surrounded by forests from all sides, enemy soldiers could easily hide in them and create ambushes − she thought that if her father did not arrive in time, there would be nothing left of them.

"Take me with you." She whispered in a trembling voice feeling tears in her eyes.

She did not want him to have to face this horrific sight alone, to bear the burden of the murder and death that he would have to carry on his own people alone.

She heard him draw in air, his hand tightened around her neck, his moist lips pressed tenderly to her cheek.

"I can't." He said heartbroken and let her go, turning away.

She wanted to run after him, to beg him, but she knew she couldn't.

She watched, feeling her warm tears run down her cheeks as he disappeared among the trees with a troop of guards, heading for the hill where Vhagar lair was located. She saw shortly afterwards how this large creature take to the skies and disappear on the horizon.

It means that your husband is not going to die.

He's not going to die, she thought with hope.

He's not going to die.

She heard the rustling of cloth behind her. She turned, spotting Alys Rivers behind her.

"Have faith, my Lady. He will come back." She said lowly, with such tremendous calm that for some reason she believed her.

She wanted to believe her.

He's not going to die.

To occupy her thoughts with something else, they went back to treating the wounded. Once in a while she looked high into the sky, praying to the Seven to protect him with their grace − she watched as a detachment of their troops gathered in front of the fortress, to prepare to attack the rebels hidden in the forest.

She shuddered when she heard a loud roar; she thought with joy that it was him, that he had succeeded, that he had returned.

That he had only flown to assess the situation and she would see him again soon.

She furrowed her brow when she spotted the dragon, but it did not look like Vhagar.

It was not Vhagar.

"Alys!" She screamed to her, though she didn't know why or for what reason. She felt her heart pounding, her mind wracked with terror.

Some other dragon was heading towards them.

They were about to all burn.

"My Lady, run! Hurry, into the forest!" She shouted, standing up suddenly, wanting to run to her from the other part of the courtyard, but it was too late. As the great red dragon in the sky opened its maw, she only managed to cover her head with her hands and curl up into a ball.

She screamed out loud as she felt the fire burning her, the pain was so indescribable that she lost the ability to think and speak − she felt her skin and clothes burn and she cried out loudly, hundreds of similar sounds all around her screaming in agony.

As the dragon flew over she felt someone put a cloak over her, the flames consuming her body extinguished by the lack of air.

She felt someone violently grab her arm which was burning so painfully, and she screamed in pain, unable to rise from her knees.

"My Lady, we have to get out of here, please!" Exclaimed Alys, apparently standing far enough away from the first flame, because apart from the scratches and dust on her face nothing happened to her. She threw her injured arm across her neck and they both headed as far away from the fortress as possible, panting heavily.

They heard the dragon breathe fire once more, this time from the other side of the stronghold, the flames and red lit up the dark night. They fell by the edge of the forest, panting heavily, watching as everything around them burned.

They had nowhere to run to.

They could only pray that whoever was doing this would only focus on the troops at the keep.

She shuddered as she saw a great dragon fly over them like a mighty gale, lashing towards the one that had attacked them, but the other one was smaller, faster and more agile, Vhagar could not keep up.

She squealed loudly as Alys leaned over her shoulder, touching her wound. She noticed, looking down at herself that the wound stretched across her arm, parts of her chest, lower abdomen and the leg with which she was turned towards the flames, her epidermis burned to living flesh.

"Your garments have melted into your skin. I need to clean the wound, my Lady." She said quickly, her voice trembling.

Clearly, despite her skill, she had not anticipated all this.

She screamed loudly, almost howling in pain as Alys poured some kind of disinfectant substance over her wounds that felt like it was about to separate her muscles from her bones.

Alys took the bottle out of her pocket, unscrewed the cork and handed it to her, panting heavily.

"Drink, it's poppy milk. It will hurt." She said quickly.

It could have been poison, it could have been anything, but she drank the entire contents, deciding that anything was better than the excruciating pain she now felt. She thought with despair, watching her husband struggling in the skies, that she wasn't sure either of them would survive it.

And then everything began to slowly blur, the sounds and screams around her became less and less clear until darkness followed.

She was awakened by someone's tender touch; she could hear a multitude of men's voices, the sounds of steel and a fire burning, and conversations somewhere in the distance.

She felt the fresh air and thought that she was lying in the tent on the hunt that they had arrived for together with Royce and their father.

Royce sometimes stroked her head like this when she was little and was afraid to fall asleep alone.

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily, seeing that she was indeed in the tent, the sun was setting outside and her brother was sitting on the bedding beside her.

She wanted to touch him with her hand, but hissed quietly when she tried to lift it and saw that it was in bandages all over. She furrowed her brow, having no complete memory of what had happened. Her brother kissed her forehead tenderly, sighing with immense relief.

"Praise be to Seven, you're awake!" He exclaimed, stroking her cheek with his wide hand. She looked around, still unsure of where she was.

"Where are we, brother?" She asked, looking up at him − only now did she realise that he was not sitting next to her in his normal attire, but in full armour. "What happened?"

"Prince Daemon burned Harrenhal and a large part of your husband's troops. Our father and I arrived with our army as soon as we knew that you were here." He growled, squeezing her fingers in his.

Her hand admittedly looked normal, but the whole left side of her body from her arm, through her shoulder to her knee was burning mercilessly and itching.

She began to breathe faster, looking at him in disbelief.

It was Prince Daemon.

He was the one who had flown in to burn them.

He had flown in to claim what was rightfully his wife's.

"What about my husband?" She asked quickly, and her brother nodded reassuringly.

"He survived. He is at a council with our father. We are waiting for their orders." He said calmly. She widened her eyes, feeling her heart pounding.

A real war had been unleashed.

"Nevertheless, I should kill him for bringing you here and putting you through all this. Now he pretends to be a caring husband, sitting by you at night, treating your wounds. He lost the battle and endangered you, so he is in disfavour with our father." He snorted, rolling his eyes impatiently. She looked at him, parting her lips in shock.

He sits by your side at night and treats your wounds.

He could see how awful it was.

He could see what her body looked like now.

He would never desire her again, but guilt and devotion would make him stand by her.

Her brother's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I'll order to serve you something to eat, you must be hungry. Lie down and rest." He said briskly as he kissed her forehead, then stood up with a clang of steel and walked outside.

She breathed quietly, analysing everything that had happened.

Her father had joined the war because of her.

Although on the one hand she was glad that her husband would not be left to fend for himself, on the other she felt remorse that she had embroiled her family in the battle for the throne between the Targaryens.

That they might die on the battlefield for a drunkard and rapist king.

She sobbed quietly, feeling the overwhelming hopelessness caused by her condition and what was happening.

She shuddered as someone suddenly stepped into the tent − her husband stood before her in full armour, his face pale, his eye wide open.

He had bruises under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for several nights, his lips parted in shock.

He approached her quickly and knelt beside her bed, touching her cheek.

"How are you feeling?" He asked weakly, as if the sight of her, conscious and alive, made his throat tighten. She felt the same and swallowed with difficulty, looking up at him, his thumb rubbing the wet marks from her face.

"Good." She choked out, looking at him in horror.

He had seen her.

He saw what she would look like now.

She felt the tears rise up under her eyelids anew.

She knew it was trivial, that she should be glad that she had survived, that she was showing weakness, but she couldn't help feeling a stabbing pain in her heart at the thought of what she would look like from now on.

It seemed to her that he read her thoughts perfectly, as he pressed his lips together, looking at her in pain. She swallowed quietly as he suddenly lay on his side next to her, just looking at her, his hand rose to gently stroke her cheek a moment later − his lower lip trembled as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

"− forgive me −" He whispered, a single tear running down from the corner of his eye directly onto the sand beneath his head. Seeing this she pressed her forehead against his, her fingers touching his face, making him sigh quietly.

They stared at each other for a moment, touching each other as lightly as if they were about to fall apart, the tip of his nose brushing hers once in a while.

She felt warmth, felt desire, felt pleading of her body for him to touch her, to tell her that he still craved her.

"− the gods have heard my prayers and kept you alive −" He whispered softly, combing his fingers through her soft hair. She felt warmth inside her heart at his words, at the thought that he had prayed for her, that he wanted her to stay with him.

He made a move towards her − his soft, moist lips barely brushed hers, already grasping her cheek in his hands, when her brother entered the tent.

Her husband immediately stepped back and grunted, rising, his expression again indifferent and tired. Royce measured him from top to bottom, coming towards her.

"I'll take care of it." He said, extending his hand to her brother, apparently wanting to help her with the meal. Her brother laughed at his words.

"Are you caring now? Where were you when she was on fire? Why do you and your drunken brother who hides in the Red Keep like a fucking cunt, always get away with everything, while my sister is disfigured for the rest of her life?" He hissed, losing his temper. Her husband looked at him menacingly, himself enraged by his words.

"Stop it." She said pleadingly, rising to sit down and hissed, feeling how much the burns on her stomach hurt.

"My wife is not disfigured, Lord Royce. Nothing can disfigure her, and the wounds she has sustained will eventually heal." He said with emphasis, and she felt her heart beat harder at his words.

She knew what he meant.

He didn't think it disfigured her as a woman, just as he didn't want her to think that the absence of his eye disfigured him as a man.

Royce snorted at his words, impatient and angry.

"All her life she will bear the scars of your stupidity. You lost an eye for your own, and that's not bothering me, but my sister doesn't have to suffer through your decisions." He said furiously, her husband's chest rising and falling in monstrous anger.

"Please!" She mumbled impatiently, for the third time since she woke up feeling like crying. "Enough already! Do you have anything else to say about my suffering, my scars and my body? I can see that you know best how I feel. Get out, I want to eat my soup alone." She said, reaching out her hand for a bowl. They both opened their mouths to say something.

"Get out!" She urged them, impatient and frustrated, wiping her nose and sobbing quietly, her outstretched hand trembling in the air.

Royce sighed heavily and set the bowl down beside her. He threw a warning look full of disapproval at her husband and left the tent.

Her husband looked at her, pressing his lips together, seeing how hard it was for her to move her left hand and pick it up. She almost spilled the contents of the bowl as she lifted it into the air, but managed to place it on her thighs.

"I won't leave." He said decisively, his gaze tired and discouraged. She felt a squeeze in her heart and hesitated for a moment.

"Where's Alys?" She asked, fiddling with the wooden spoon, pouring over the contents of the dish. His lips tightened at her words.

"She's treating the wounded. Shall I summon her?" He asked indifferently, and she shook her head. Her husband sighed quietly, coming up to her again, kneeling beside her.

"May I stay?" He asked softly, as if unable to get the words out. She lowered her gaze and nodded.

He sighed in relief as if some great burden had slept off his shoulders. While she ate, he summoned a servant to the tent to help him pull off his armour.

"How is the situation at the front?" She asked finally, glancing at him uncertainly. He pressed his lips together.

"We have combined part of Targaryen and Baratheon armies. For now, we wait to see what Daemon will do. We know his troops are stationed in the Eyrie, but since that battle he has not changed his position or moved to make another attack." He said and dismissed the boy as he was finally left in his linen shirt and plain black breeches.

He walked over to her, sitting down on the bedding, looking at her uncertainly. He lowered his gaze, looking down at his fingers.

"Can I sleep next to you?" He asked lowly, and she looked up at him, surprised. She didn't understand how he could ask such an obvious thing, but then it occurred to her that he thought she resented him now.

That she thought it was his fault that her body would bear the scars for the rest of her life.

That she thought that he had failed to protect her.

"Of course. Next to whom else could you sleep? Next to Alys?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, setting the bowl aside. She heard him sigh heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Have mercy on me. At least you." He muttered, and she stroked his arm. He looked at her surprised when he felt her hand's touch and swallowed loudly, immediately placing his palm on hers, brushing her skin steadily.

"Lie down, husband. Rest." She said softly and he hummed quietly, nodding, pulling his high black boots off his feet.

They both slipped under the bedclothes. He laid on his side next to her, so as not to inadvertently touch her wounds and cause her pain. He looked at her face and uncertainly put his hand on her shoulder.

He stared at her like that for a moment and then moved closer to her, cupping her cheeks in his hand. She sighed as his lips pressed against hers in a wet, warm kiss, pulling away with a sticky click. He did it again and again, deepening the kiss, running his nose over her soft face, the tip of his tongue teasing her, sliding lightly into her mouth.

She moaned softly, desperate and thirsty for his touch − they both began to pant, her hands clenched on his chemise as she felt his hand on her healthy thigh, his fingers tentatively sliding down towards her swollen womanhood.

"− does it hurt? −" He asked in a low, trembling voice, brushing her lips with his, panting along with her.

"− no −" She whispered, reciprocating his every kiss, drawing him close. He murmured lowly at her words, his hand sliding down more boldly, putting aside the material of her nightgown, sinking his fingers into her warm, plushy folds.

They both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised by the pleasure of the sensation. Unable to restrain himself, his hand began to tease her puffy bud with circular, slow strokes, once in a while running over her swollen slit. She arched her back, despite the discomfort and burning parts of her body, she wanted and needed this.

To feel that he still wanted her.

"− do you want this? −" He exhaled between sticky, perverted kisses where their tongues licked each other in a fleshy, wet dance. She trembled all over at his words, involuntarily thrusting her hips out towards his hand.

"− yes − please −" She mumbled, and he needed nothing more.

He closed her mouth with his own, his hand beginning to rub her intensely, his fingertips beginning to tease her entrance, sliding in and out a little, running over her sweet spot on her upper fleshy wall, driving her mad.

"− gods, you're so warm −" He gasped, and she moaned into his mouth, her body starting to move towards his finger with rocking of her hips.

"− please − deeper − ah! −" She moaned into his mouth when she felt him slide his whole finger into her, and then another, thrusting them into her a quick, sure, repetitive pace.

She entwined her hand in his hair, holding his face close, her body trembling all over under his touch, close to the fulfilment she needed so much, her nipples hardening all over from arousal, her hot, moist core was clenching around nothing.

"− shhh − I got you − yes, just like that −" He murmured delighted as he heard her loud, drawn-out moan, her body tensing under the wave of wonderful orgasm that surged through her body, sucking his fingers inside her.

She breathed heavily, looking up at him with dreamy eyes − he burshed her lips with his once in a while, laying down beside her again, pressing her head against his chest.

She tried to calm herself, breathing in his scent, thanking the gods that they were both alive, trying not to focus on how much everything was hurting her.

She purred quietly when she felt him kiss her hair.

She felt his manhood pulsing steadily under his breeches, pressing against her body. She wanted to touch him there with her hand, but he stopped her, lifting her palm and kissing her fingers. She swallowed quietly, lowering her gaze.

"− don't you want my touch? −" She asked with a sadness that she could no longer hide, with a fear that he didn't want to do it with her anymore.

She heard him sigh softly, his hand tightening in her hair, pressing her closer to him.

"I crave your touch as much as never before, sweet wife, but I would cause you pain now. Do not fret. When your skin heals, you will beg me to stop."

______

Taglist@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis

[sandcobangevent]

Nobody, no body.

by @paperleef and @brother_m1ne

CHAPTER 1

“John. Know that when I leave you, it is not for my own benefit. You were on the line, John. I couldn’t in good conscience, let you be the one to bear this weight. You have been through enough, you have so much ahead of you. I, comparatively, lack the importance. Your mum, John. Your friends, your army pals, the booze brigade as you call them. Do not blame yourself when I go. I won’t be able to tell you, I will just have to go and you will have to know in your heart what I am talking about. It wasn’t you John, it was never you. I have to leave to save you, Watson. I’m sorry”

“Who are you talking to mate?”

“No one, just, the listeners.”

“You? Talking to the listeners? What have you done with the real Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am the real Sherlock Holmes?”

“Forget it, don’t worry,” John tells him. John. 

Sherlock knows it will happen. Sherlock knows he will leave John. Sherlock knows he will be forced to stand on the edge of the precipice, Sherlock knows he will realise he cannot go back and keep Watson safe, and Sherlock knows the only way off that precipice is down. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how, but he does know why. Moriarty knows the only way to get to Sherlock is through John. Sherlock does not value himself, he enjoys his life but he does not place a value upon it, he places a value on Watson’s. 

Sherlock knows taking Watson on this trip with him was a bad idea, is a bad idea. He did try to convince Watson to leave, to go back to England because he had been tracked. Despite his best effort, all the hoops he had Watson jump through, he was followed, he has yet to tell Watson this, he doesn’t want to see John worry. Escaping England was best for Watson’s sake. Leave the police to deal with Moriarty. Clearly didn’t work. The police failed to catch the professor himself. And although Watson would never admit it, he blamed himself. You can see it in his eyes. They would still be in England if he never had started this podcast. Sherlock would be safe (he wouldn’t, but Watson refuses to accept that is the case.) Now he finds himself sat in an air BnB with John, waiting, planning. Deciding what to do. 

“Sherlock, do you- erm. Want to go out? Of the house, this house, that is. Erm- Moriarty probably isn’t even here. He’s probably scheming about how to get all of his… accomplices out of jail. Plus we’re in the middle of nowhere. He’s never going to know we’re out here.”

Sherlock is faced with two choices. A- Tell John that he was in fact, followed, and Moriarty could be anywhere, or B- Say yes and hope to god he can save Watson, in both ways. 

…

“Okay. But can I wear the sunglasses and the ear defenders?”

“You can wear whatever you like mate. I was thinking we go to this waterfall. It’s apparently gorgeous. And it’s only 2 miles from here, we don’t even have to leave the woods. We’ll be safe I swear.”

“Well… you were in the army. If anyone knows how to move around a wood tactically, it’s you.”

“Sherlock, for the eighteenth time I’m not teaching you military patrol and crossing.”

“Eh… worth a shot.”

They can’t help but think the walk was lovely, and well-needed. They spend it laughing about their lives, the past couple years, telling stories they should have realistically cried about, thinking of old cases, old friends, the people they’ve met. And it’s lovely, or it would be if not for the looming threat of Professor Moriarty, it would be if every time they turned a corner, Sherlock didn’t have to look around it and step out first, didn’t fear it might be the last step he takes. 

And the waterfall… well it was gorgeous. Jagged rocks with fast-flowing flowing water cascading through them, small flecks of the water circling the sky like fragile rain. John truly had outdone himself. It was everything they hoped for. They ran down to the bottom, careful not to tumble down the stairs, took their socks and shoes off and paddled in the puddle. John splashing Sherlock, Sherlock trying not to be annoyed and then laughing even harder when he splashed John back, and John found himself completely soaked through to his pants.

“Mate now I’m gonna have to walk around the house arse naked while this dries.”

“Watson, you will not be walking around the house naked. At least wear some pants.”

“My pants are wet, yeah? Soaked. There is no wa-”

A scream, a cry for help, shouting.

John’s attention immediately redirects. 

“I’m- Sherlock I-”

“Go, Watson. I'll pack this up and meet you there a minute.”

So without even putting his socks back on, John sprints. Faster than he has in a very long time, if he’s honest, faster than he thought he could, leaving Sherlock to clean everything up.

Except he didn’t. Sherlock knew it was a trick. Because it was, wasn’t it? The pitch of the scream, the area it’s coming from. It doesn’t line up. It has to be a trick. A trick by the man they’ve been waiting for, the man stood at the top of the waterfall, staring down at Sherlock.

“It was never you, Watson.” He whispers to himself as he walks up the stairs, getting closer to the man. 

“Ah… Sherlock Holmes. Nice to put a face to the name.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen me before.”

“Well… potato potahto, it’s a term of phrase.”

“I am aware.” 

“I am aware, of your little weak spot.”

“And what might that be?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, a certain Doctor Watson.”

--------------

“Sherlock… mate? Sherlock. Sherlock, I couldn’t find them. No one was there. I heard running, in the opposite direction. No one was there Sherlock.” John shouts, hoping he’s close enough that Sherlock can hear him. He makes it back up to the top, still unsure where Sherlock is, panic rises in his chest as he gets closer. And his heart sinks when he sees both his and Sherlock’s shoes, lined up in the very same place he left them.”

“Okay… erm. Sherlock? Sherlock this isn’t funny. Sherlock? Holmes? Sherlock?” He shouts into what feels like oblivion. He scrambles, spinning around and darting his head and eyes in every possible direction, searching for a slither of dark skin or a flash of green eyes. He turns back to his old military tactics, sure they were for self camouflage but surely they have to work for finding people? Shine, shadow, shape, shade, sound, speed, silhouette. Silhouette. The silhouettes of two people atop the falls, the silhouettes fighting, the silhouettes shouting, the silhouettes falling… falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling. The silhouettes splashing. The silhouettes never coming back up. The silhouette in the shape of Sherlock Holmes.

“SHERLOCK!!” John screams so loud his throat rips, “SHERLOCK.” He screams Sherlock’s name out like he's begging for forgiveness, jumps in after him, he’s neck deep in water, kicking and screaming and touching and feeling and diving and checking and looking and it’s all coming up empty. His hands are empty, his lungs burn from a lack of oxygen, his legs tire from a loss of adrenaline. And there is one one there. It came up empty, the search, Sherlock never came back up.

He’s… Sherlock Holmes is… not, here. 

Sherlock Holmes fell from a waterfall and didn’t come back up.

Sherlock Holmes is dead. 

CHAPTER 2

The anguish in John’s chest is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It’s this tearing, ripping pain. He’s felt this love, for Sherlock, this adoration and infatuation. Sherlock Holmes is truly wonderful, Sherlock Holmes saved him. After the war when he’d lost everything, Sherlock was there. And now that love has swollen so much, and burst. It feels like blood is coating his insides, like no amount of tears will ever be able to wash away the thick warm liquid. His chest tightens and his breathing quickens and everything is wrong. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Sherlock Holmes was the greatest mind in London, perhaps in history and… he died in such a normal way. Drowning, is what his autopsy would say, if they had a body to conduct a post-mortem on. 

John truly doesn’t believe this pain will ever go away. It doesn’t go away when he climbs out, more wet than he was before, it doesn’t go away when he calls Mariana in tears, it doesn’t go away when he calls Lestrade, it doesn’t go away on the plane, in the cab, in 221B, in Mariana's arms. It never leaves. And John knows it never will, he knows this pain will always follow him around.

And it definitely doesn't go away when he lays in bed and watches Sherlock crash through the water over and over and over like it’s some sick film. And it only aches more when he, three months later, decides to update the listeners, and it only hurts more when going through the mics files, he finds a last message from Sherlock, to the man he would never see again, to the world he would never see again, to the two best people he has ever had the pleasure of getting to know.  

“John. Know that when I leave you, it is not for my own benefit. You were on the line, John. I couldn’t in good conscience, let you be the one to bear this weight. You have been through enough, you have so much ahead of you. I, comparatively, lack the importance. Your mum, John. Your friends, your army pals, the booze brigade as you call them. Do not blame yourself when I go. I won’t be able to tell you, I will just have to go and you will have to know in your heart what I am talking about. It wasn’t you John, it was never you. I have to leave to save you, Watson. I’m sorry”

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Isobel, Before

On something of a whim I decided to compile, in chronological order, the flashback segments from Isobel's POV that are woven throughout Moon-chosen, Moon-guided. I was curious how they'd read, and it turns out I quite like how they do - so here they are posted as a standalone little prequelish thing, a series of windows into a developing relationship and some family drama. This includes the segment I wrote for the upcoming third chapter, so consider it a sneak peek of an update that will take me a little while longer because it decided to develop a plot or some such nonsense, you know how it is. The years are my own very rough guesses, trying to somehow work around the Spellplague while keeping it all approximately a century before the main plot of the game, so don't take them too seriously.

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Ketheric Thorm Length: ~8000 words Rating: M, for canon-typical violence (including temporary character death) and sexual content

---

1381 DR

-

It is an unusually warm and bright summer day for Reithwin, the relentless sun urging you to rush your errands around town and make your way home to the merciful shade. And it is upon your return there that you find the glorious Dame Aylin laying waste to an army of training dummies in the otherwise empty practice field beneath Moonrise Towers. 

You steal a moment to watch and appreciate the spectacle that is her entire being in perfectly orchestrated motion, uncharacteristically free of her ever-polished armour, sleeves rolled up - a vision of ferocity, even if it is against such laughably unworthy foes.

It calls to your mind, amusingly, the poor announcer in your father's audience chamber a little over a month ago, so very unusually formal and far too visibly nervous, struggling to rattle off one too many titles.

The Valiant Dame Aylin Silverblood, Undefeated Sword of the Moonmaiden, Paladin and Daughter of Selûne. Arriving as formal Emissary of Our Lady of Silver, speaking in Her name.

She turns when she hears you clearing your throat to announce your presence, an indulgent while after your arrival. Ever so slightly out of breath, with a subtle sheen of sweat on her radiant brow, she inclines her head with respect. "Ah! Lady Isobel. I was just thinking of sending to fetch you. A request, if you please."

"Of course, Dame Aylin." Anything for the resplendent emissary, you want to add, only half-teasingly. It is frustratingly difficult not to act a smitten fool around her, and sarcasm has proved a feeble defence from her charms.

Her request, however, is nowhere near anything you might have anticipated.

"I would have you meet me in the sparring ring, if you are willing."

You blink. "I-- pardon?"

"You are no mere lord's daughter, nor are you simply the demure local healer. I can tell by your bearing you have training. Not the typical mace of the clergy, no," she hums, as if in thought, looking you up and down quite brazenly, appraisingly. "The rapier, perhaps, along with a dagger for the offhand? No, rather, the quarterstaff--"

"The spear," you cut her off. And the lofty, approving tilt of her chin is so fetching as to be insufferable. "I can protect myself, you're right. My father is an accomplished general, after all," and stiflingly overprotective to boot, but that part you bite back and keep to yourself. "It is only fitting. Besides, any devotee of Our Lady knows how important it is to be able to fend for oneself."

"Show me, then, general's daughter," she gestures to the packed-dirt training ring with a grin. "I grow quite bored of this straw-filled wicker regiment I have been pitted against."

She's got a good head and a half of height on you. Her reach outclasses yours quite overwhelmingly. She is visibly broad and strong and unshakeable as a mighty fortress. And though you do indeed have training, the martial arts were hardly your main focus - very much unlike her.

A challenge, truly, but one you cannot help but suddenly crave.

"Fine, then, I accept." A giddiness washes over you as you speak, and your head feels oddly light. The heat and humidity of the day, surely. Treading dangerous ground, Isobel.

Aylin immediately goes over to the training weapon racks to put away the blunt sword she has been using, and you follow her.

"I have trained in arms of all sorts, but I find I most favour the greatsword," she muses as she rummages, retrieving two wooden staves with padded ends, testing their weight. "The spear I must confess I have neglected somewhat, in recent times."

You smirk as she hands you a staff that has evidently passed inspection. "There is no need for excuses, Dame Aylin. When I trounce you, I assure you it will have been fair and square and well deserved."

You expect the hearty bellow of her laugh, some lively banter in return, an exclamation, Ho! Instead, she inclines her head in a respectful gesture, and does so with a surprisingly soft smile and oddly inscrutable gaze in your direction. "I would expect no less of you, my lady." 

You look away hastily, wipe the sweat from your hands and put on the leather gloves from your belt. The day has been far too hot for them and the afternoon sun is still beating down fiercely, but you are not about to embarrass yourself and risk losing on the technicality of a splinter. 

Then, you face each other.

Her stance and the way she holds the wooden training weapon speak of years, decades… centuries of experience, perhaps. It is hard to truly imagine, and you find you do not really know. Immortal, yes, but… well, since when? Does she have a universe of deeds and escapades on you, a hundred lives lived to the fullest, or merely the knowledge that they lie ahead of her?

When could it possibly be polite to ask such a thing?

You shake away the distraction of your thoughts, just in time to block a quick, testing blow aimed at your own weapon. A tease, really, hoping for a reaction you know well enough not to provide.

She continues with the probing attacks, none of them with any real force behind them, and you think how under normal circumstances it might be a good strategy to let your opponent waste her strength and tire herself out like this - but you know better. You have discreetly observed enough of her training sessions to know that if she is anything at all she is tireless.

But she is leaving it up to you to attempt anything other than these light provocations. So you do - you would hate to disappoint, after all.

You strike out high at her head, once, twice, then at her front leg, swift as a viper, and when she moves her weapon down to parry, you jab at her shoulder and step back in time to avoid the afterblow. 

"Oh-ho! An excellent feint, perfectly executed!" The joy that lights her face even as she rolls the struck shoulder is so infectious, you can't help but laugh breathlessly, warmed by this small triumph. "I was indeed correct in my assumption - the most noble Lady Isobel is not to be underestimated. Her skills and merit extend far beyond even the lofty requirements of her duties - be they of the court or of the faith."

The next strike you attempt, flushed with both the heat of the day and the effusive praise, is met with far more resistance, and soon you are exchanging blows with vigour. She repays your shoulder blow with a tap to your hip, then tries to strike the staff from your hands in a disarm you just barely avoid with a well-timed tilt.

Your next attempt at a feint is parried at the very last moment, but you do not retreat, and so you end in a bind. She is much stronger than you, yes, but your angle is superior, and you can see her straining to stay in position, close to that ever-important centreline, and keep her balance. A bead of sweat trails down her neck to her collarbone, and it takes you a moment to realise you are following it, rapt. It takes you another moment to register she is staring at you just as raptly, even as you feel your hair sticking to your temples and realise the paint around your eyes is likely a smudged mess.

Distraction. An opening if you've ever seen one.

"Do you know, when I heard an emissary of Selûne was coming to our town, I did not expect her to have a bard's silver tongue on her." Instead of moving to disengage and putting distance between you, you draw even closer to her, until your mouth is almost at her ear. "In more ways than one, perhaps?"

Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed silver, shining. It is the oddest and most captivating blush you have ever seen, made only more so by the closeness of your study.

And of course, the moment of distraction proves sufficient for that slight shift you needed. The great oak topples with so little effort - leverage, always, the key. Her reaction is faster than you anticipated, however, and so with the force of her riposte you go down right after her. Foolish of you, really - the thought has time to rush through your mind as your sense of balance disappears - to underestimate an accomplished paladin so.

In any case, within moments, Aylin is on the ground, and you land atop her. You have enough presence of mind, somehow, despite the proximity and the warmth and the, well-- to reach for where your weapon started to roll away and press the end of it lightly against her neck. "Yield?"

She raises her hands, palms up in surrender, and nods, struck speechless for once.

You scramble rather gracelessly to your feet in all your triumph, and offer her a hand up. She accepts, then somewhat disappointingly lets go to dust herself off before you've had a chance to fully appreciate the feel of her hand in yours.

"Well!" Aylin turns the bright glint of her full attention on you, charmingly tousled still. "I see no point in struggling to prolong a losing battle. A challenge, skillfully won." She steps closer to you and inclines her head in a slight bow. "Besides, I can tell my yielding on the field of battle pleases you, and I am not one to deny a lady her pleasure."

All of it spoken with a smile, and a shockingly honest, unmasked, open, and entirely unabashed look in her eyes. Damn her.

You do your best, feebly, to catch your breath and return to something resembling calm propriety. And you fail to squash a niggling doubt. "Thank you for the bout, Dame Aylin. But… honestly now, were you holding back?"

"Only as much as is appropriate for the training ring, of course. One is never to exert one's full might in these circumstances, as you well know." She shakes her head, a small frown furrowing her brow, and you can't help but feel this is a recitation she has been made to repeat until it stuck, something she had to deliberately become aware of after getting carried away one too many times. A thought to file away for later, perhaps. "But not in the sense you doubtlessly meant, no. I would not pretend and deceive after asking a fair duel of you. Such things are beneath Dame Aylin."

The heat floods your cheeks again. Damn her phrasing. 

"Ah," she clears her throat. "The day has grown too hot for martial pursuits, I fear - let us retire."

She offers you her arm, ever gallant. You allow yourself the bold indiscretion of taking it only after you have peeled off your gloves and tucked them back in your belt. You've not known Dame Aylin for a very long time, but you are well aware she is possibly the least subtle creature in all of Faerûn. The ill-concealed catch in her breath and stiffening in her shoulders as your skin meets hers is a treasured token you stow away for further contemplation.

It is a regrettably short walk to the pleasantly shaded entrance hall of Moonrise.

-

1382 DR

-

Sharran forces dare attack even here, in the shadow of your father's moonlit fortress, in the very heart of a famously devoted Selûnite region. Perhaps they heard, or tortured out of some poor soul, that their hated Moonwitch had sent an emissary.

But the emissary does not seem to be quite what they expected or prepared for.

You've heard of Dame Aylin's exploits, of some of the many glorious deeds to her name - well, to be quite honest, you've deliberately asked around for them and chased down all the tales, however ridiculous they seemed, with somewhat concerning single-mindedness. But none of them, not even the most outrageous exaggerations with all the force of poetic licence behind them, can compare to actually seeing her in the heat of battle.

It is certainly dangerous to be so distracted in the midst of a clearly planned and organised assault on your home, and it is especially egregious to keep looking up, chasing a vision as it flies somewhere high above all of you, soaring over the head of your father's statue gracing the centre of the embattled town square. But she is so utterly glorious and radiant and filled with unquestionable purpose in all that she does, and you are utterly beyond help.

"Selûne, Moonmother, in Your name!" The clear voice suddenly rings out from somewhere close by, drowning out the din of battle in your ears. You turn just in time to see a flash of silver light engulf one of the masked attackers, burnished black disks brazenly displayed on their armour, and, well, you are not the only one smitten.

But then - disaster. Three of Moonrise's most recently recruited silver-bedecked guards find themselves stumbling into a group of enemies that close a circle around them. You see one of them fall, gripped by inky-purple strands, before you can even start to intone a spell; another one loses his footing and opens himself up for a deadly blow.

Quick as lightning, Aylin rushes down and forward, pushing the stumbling guard fully out of the way. Instead of him, the cultist's scimitar finds purchase in her gut, sliding through a gap between armour-plates like butter, and another's obsidian-black axe bites into her shoulder.

The sound it makes, that Aylin makes, draws a shout from you. A bolt of moonlight dispatches the first cultist, rage and terror somehow making your aim uncanny, and you step forward to bathe the rest of his nearby comrades in deadly, burning radiance before he has even hit the ground.

After this, the battle is over as quickly as it had begun. The last of the attackers falls on her own blade rather than be captured and questioned, crying out some pitiful, ill-conceived mantra about secrets. 

You find you do not care: your world, for the moment, has sunk down to the breadth of one woman lying on the trampled ground in a distressingly rapidly growing pool of silver, the guards she saved hovering around her in a mix of awe and alarm.

They let you through without hesitation - you are a cleric, after all. A healer. But as you drop to your knees at her side and attempt to assess the damage, you can tell you are too late.

Your hands fly in well-practised movements all the same.

"Do not worry, fearsome, fair Isobel," Aylin manages, breathily, barely audible, around a mouthful of blood. Her hand makes a very weak attempt at a dismissive wave, or grabbing your wrist to stop your ministrations, you cannot quite tell. Her helmet and her wings are both already gone, and the silver burning in her gaze just moments ago is a weak flicker. "I--"

Her eyes flutter closed and she falls limp beneath your hands and you--

--do not have time to even begin to comprehend what has happened before she is gasping awake again, coughing and groaning, spitting up a clot, trying to sit up.

You gape for a moment, then help her in her efforts, lean her against your chest. The weight of the armour feels like it might crush you, but moving away feels unthinkable.

"No tears, no," she mumbles, half-coherently, as you strain to understand, as a gauntleted hand reaches up to brush against your cheek clumsily. "So mundane a blow cannot… truly fell… Dame Aylin."

It is one thing to be aware of it in theory. Another thing entirely to witness it. Immortal.

There is a crowd gathered around you by now, you register faintly. People crying out prayers of praise and thanks to the Moonmaiden, for Her infinite wisdom and Her endless gifts and the indomitable daughter-champion She has blessed you all with. You feel a tug in your chest, like you should be joining in; like you would be the one leading the prayer in ordinary circumstances. 

But you feel terribly far away from it all even as Aylin's breath grows more steady as she leans against you. You see her smile, still bloody, and understand only the most general sense of the reassuring platitudes she is whispering at you. 

You bring her to the House of Healing with the other wounded of the battle and insist rather possessively on treating her yourself. Only afterwards do you tear yourself away from her bedside to take full stock of damage and casualties while she sleeps it off. 

Your father rushes to embrace you tightly as soon as he catches sight of you from the House's grand entrance, and you let yourself cling to him for a moment. You do your best to assuage his worries, claim - lie - that you were in no real danger, insist on continuing to help here where you are most needed as he returns to his gubernatorial duties. And somehow, miraculously, he lets you go.

As you help the dutiful sisters with the worst of it, you finally manage to focus on murmuring your own prayer of thanks. It helps clear the long-clinging fog from your mind. And it helps, truly, that you count no deaths among Reithwin's faithful - the only fallen today are Shar's to claim if she deigns to do so.

Well - and then there's Aylin.

You go to check on her in the morning, after you've managed - been forced into, rather - a very brief nap. 

The glorious and apparently unconquerable Dame Aylin is awake, reclining against the headboard of the only occupied bed in that wing. You don't recall requesting she receive any special treatment, and she doesn't look too pleased with being singled out as if in a place of honour - in fact, she mostly looks bored. She is frowning down at herself, plucking at loose threads hanging off of the bandages that cover most of her shoulder, chest, and abdomen - your own handiwork.

You step into the room and set down the basin of fresh water and an assortment of healing supplies with a deliberately loud clatter, jarring her out of her reverie. The moment she sees you, an expression of blatant joy dawns on her face. You try very hard not to read too much into it.

Instead, you make very standard proper-bedside-manner-dictated small talk as you peel away the gauze. The wounds are mostly healed, as you would expect from your application of any and all magic you had remaining that night, but there is a small line of gold running down towards her left side, where the blade bit in and through, and another one cupping across her shoulder. Oddly beautiful for what is presumably a scar - and highlighting the marvellous build of a finely muscled torso, pipes up a segment of your mind that has no place around a sickbed.

You wrench yourself back into professionalism and lightly press down with your fingers, following the shining gold, the freshly knit-together skin, still reddened and bruised in places. "Do you feel any pain when I do this?"

"None at all," Aylin answers resolutely, entirely back to her old self. But then- "Ah," she winces as you find a particularly sore spot, expression wry, "it would appear I spoke too soon." 

You trace back up, murmuring incantations, letting the cool, healing relief flow from your fingertips.

The way she is unphased by all of this seems… uncanny. In fact, she shows more concern for you, completely untouched by the battle, than for herself. It is oddly and slightly frighteningly flattering, in retrospect, that she used her dying breath - well, this particular dying breath - to reassure you. 

And it all makes much more sense now, as things slot into place. The recklessness of her fighting style, of her whole manner. The way she shrugged off blows and rushed ever forward, where the battle was thickest and fiercest.

But now you've seen she is immortal, yes, but not invulnerable, however much she might like to act like she is both. And if she pulls herself out from literal death, no matter the scope of the wounds, she does not seem to magically heal much past that - the evidence is before you now. You can already picture her merely patching herself up with her own healing magic in the middle of the fray, as if in passing, just enough to enable her to storm on. All while her enemies gape and turn tail when they realise the futility of standing against her.

"I only hope you did not worry overmuch, Lady Isobel. It is in my nature, inextricable from my being. I cannot fall, not truly. But I keep the reminders, sometimes - wrought in gold."

Then she very cordially points out a few more, as if to indulge you. Some bigger, some smaller, some thin lines, barely there, some wide and jagged. But all of them bright gold seams, seamlessly integrated into her skin.

"Why not silver?" You blurt out, then feel your face burn with embarrassment. And then a mild but growing horror as you think back to the silver staining your hands and robes as you knelt on the damp cobblestones. This is in turn chased away by an odd warmth as you recall how she murmured your name and reached for your face. 

Aylin, however, guffaws joyfully, stopped short only by a sudden wince as she pulls something still tender.

"Would you believe - I do not know? It is simply how I am, how I have always been. Perhaps I shall ask my Mother to elucidate, when next we commune." Then she beams at you. "What a joy and pleasure you have proven to be, Lady Isobel. To make me consider things about myself I have never had cause nor inclination to before. A rare treasure."

You blame your lack of sleep on the ease with which she is managing to fluster you without even seeming to consciously try, so you do your best to keep your response polite and nothing more. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Dame Aylin. All of Reithwin treasures your presence and is grateful for it, especially after tonight."

She looks up at you and you meet her gaze, pausing in your ministrations. She looks disappointed, if anything, and the disappointment is shared - those are not the words you truly wish to say to her. And you cannot quite explain to yourself why you feel like a sudden distance has sprung up between you, after months of a beautifully built-up rapport, laid on the foundations of those first few shared star-struck gazes. Why this one out of all the many reminders of her divine nature has shaken you so.

As you continue reapplying bandages and keep distractedly checking in with her about the tightness, she catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. "My wounds are a distant memory, for they are being tended by fair Isobel--"

There is a naked determination writ all over her face now. It brings to mind her battlefield bearing, more than anything else, but her eyes are wide and soft and almost pleading.

"Truly, I am in the best of hands." A kiss again, and she lets the hand go. It is a perfectly polite and courteous gesture. Nothing… scandalous. But there is a clear ardour to it you did not acknowledge before. Calling attention to a line you have not yet crossed, but that you have both, perhaps, been toeing for a while.

Then she moves to sit up fully, even through visible winces, and shrugs off the steadying hand you place on her shoulder.

"You are the worst patient I have ever had," you state dramatically, laughing. She merely cocks her head in response, so very winning and charming even when still covered in blood, dirt, and partially unravelled bandages. "I will go get some more fresh water so you can clean up - though we've already ruined these sheets, I fear."

But you do not move, despite your words. Your eyes have not left hers in what seems like hours, but can't have been more than a minute. There is a blatant yearning there that you know is reflected in your gaze, that you have both become utterly incapable of hiding.

"I would ask, greedily, another boon of my most gracious healer," she murmurs.

"Oh?" You lean closer, ostensibly to hear her quiet words better. "Why, Dame Aylin, after your valiant performance tonight, I might just grant it."

You are almost nose to nose when Aylin speaks up again, her throat visibly working, her entire impressive self working up the courage to leap the distance - and you find you very much want her to.

"A kiss, then. To drink but once from the lips of the incomparable Lady Isobel Thorm would soothe all that ails me, seal all my wounds."

You watched this woman take an axe to the shoulder and a sword through the belly, and only now does she sound hesitant. Nervous. Afraid, even. The smallest of trembles in that rich, regal voice.

"If… if I have misread, if I have misinterpreted your intentions, I beg your forgiveness with all possible contrition…"

Your reply is wordless as you surge forward, boon happily granted. The first of many to come.

-

1383 DR

-

The dinner is only slightly awkward, as far as these affairs have gone in the past. The most notable thing about it is that your father, it seems, has learned from last time.

First of all, Balthazar isn't here - wasn't invited, or had to beg off due to some undoubtedly important business. What your father sees in that man and why he holds his advice in such high esteem is quite beyond you. It is an amusing thought, however, that he, too, might have suffered from the horrible awkwardness and simply invented an excuse for this occasion.

Second - oh, Lady Arianella Bormul had been lovely, the very picture of elegance and rather breathtaking grace. With a crown of curls you felt a stab of envy over, and a perfectly cut gown that accentuated every curve of her and every dark blush shade of her skin. Carrying herself like a queen in the dining room, but perfectly polite and amicable in the conversations you two were inevitably forced into afterwards, with intriguing flashes of a cutting wit. But you shared so very little. And she was beautiful like a work of art whose objective qualities everyone agreed upon, you included, but that just were not to your personal taste.

Now you wonder just how obvious you'd made it.

As your father shoots you pointed glances from across the table and over a deliberately placed carafe of wine, you allow yourself, briefly, an entire slew of unkind thoughts. About how maybe things would be different if your mother were still here. About how much easier it would be if you had siblings, so that the entire future of Reithwin and the Thorm family and your father's heart didn't rest on your shoulders. About how selfish you truly would like to be. 

Then you shove it all back down and smile at the guests around the table, and offer your opinion about the most excellent skills of your local mason's guild and their potential for expansion.

The young Lady Jana Whitburn is strategically sat right across from you, as her father and yours conduct the important conversations on venison and marble and slate trade that this visit was ostensibly arranged for. She is tall and broad and clad in a marvellously fetching brocade suit of dark green. Her mother, rather obviously focused on you since their arrival in what is clearly a tactical division of duties agreed upon in advance, talks about Jana's successes in the tournament arenas across the Coast and her pending performance in Waterdeep's Field of Triumph. She herself, in a pleasantly deep yet melodic voice, mentions being interested in jousting, as a means of keeping her riding skills sharp while she is not out and about keeping her family's lands safe. Tilts her head at you with a winning smile at the conclusion of one adventurous story or other, the sharp cut of her chiselled jaw accentuated in perfect candlelight. You smile back, and poke half-heartedly at your tasteless dessert.

Later, you take her for a walk in Reithwin's small but well-kept gardens. She very gallantly offers you her arm, and you take it. Your father and her parents beam, and you contain your sigh. But when you look up at your companion, you are slightly surprised to notice that there is something brewing behind her eyes as well.

As soon as you are out of eyesight and earshot, you stop, take your hand off her arm and turn to face her.

"My apologies, Lady Whitburn…"

She almost winces when you address her, and shakes her head as if she is trying to physically shake off the formality and the trailing remnants of the dinner atmosphere. "Jana, please, Lady Thorm." 

"Jana, then," you smile your most agreeable smile, "and so I must be Isobel, no?"

"Of course, Isobel," she smiles back, but it is clearly strained, and you feel nothing so much as pity.

"Listen, Jana, I…" You hesitate, struggling to put your words into polite, inoffensive shape.

All this does is highlight the lack of Aylin, the lack of the connection and utterly natural understanding between the two of you. The ease. Even when there was supposed to be some fundamental and unbridgeable rift between you, according to your father.

"I'm afraid my father has misled you and your family - not out of any desire to harm, nor with ill intent. But, you see, I… I already have a lovely woman courting me. Well, rather further along than mere courting, I would say…"

To your surprise, Jana bursts into laughter, light and clear, and you are spared the embarrassment of elaborating further.

"Isobel, you cannot believe what a relief that is for me to hear."

You pause, a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm of her response. "Oh?"

"I'm afraid I count myself taken as well. Now, make no mistake, you are perfectly charming, and a delight in conversation. But," she waves a dismissive hand, "the heart wants what it wants and all that."

"That it does," you agree, and this time your smile is genuine. A tension you had gotten so used to seems to melt away from your shoulders, and the two of you resume your stroll among the gardener's latest offerings. "My father, well… he's a shrewd man. You and my Aylin would get along splendidly, I think. You seem very much alike in many ways."

"As would you and my Iona. She is training to be a cleric too, an acolyte of Ilmater. I swear, the realms have never seen a more patient and kind creature. Whenever I visit her at the temple I take a moment to observe her finishing her rounds - the way she all but glows with compassion is--" Jana halts both her words and her steps, slightly embarrassed, as if she has only now caught herself in her charmingly lovestruck enthusing. "Ah, but I've gone off on a tangent, haven't I?" 

You cannot help but smile at the sight of someone so utterly, beautifully enamoured. It is, after all, a feeling you happily know all too well.

"Please," you gesture at a bench behind some conveniently tall rose bushes - one of your favourite spots. "Don't stop on my account. Though, of course, now I can't help but wonder… what is your family's objection to the match? If you don't mind me asking," you add hastily.

Jana gives a wry smile as she takes a seat. "My parents would prefer someone of much higher birth for me." 

"I think mine would prefer I set my sights lower," you chuckle ruefully.

Jana's interest seems to be piqued. "Is that so? I've heard some… rumours, since our arrival. I've been wondering about, well, what kernel of truth spawned them."

"Have you, now?" You arch an eyebrow, allow a bit of bite into your tone. "You've barely been here a day - I wouldn't have taken you for a gossipmonger."

"You'll have to forgive my natural curiosity," her grin is as easily charming as it was during the dinner, but now, in the unexpectedly pleasant atmosphere of friendly understanding, you allow yourself to fully appreciate it, and to grin back. "But you must admit it's a bit unusual, Isobel. A celestial paramour… I suppose your father wants you to look lower than the very moon in the sky?" 

Her dramatic gesture in the general direction of said moon earns her a giggle, which she seems to take as encouragement.

"Is it true she single-handedly took on a score of Nightcloaks and won?"

You think back over the many rousing tales of victory Aylin has shared with you, and when nothing rings a bell you realise she must be talking about the raid last summer.

"You mean here, when the Sharrans dared to attack Reithwin?" It's hard to contain your amusement at her eager nod. "Well, it wasn't exactly single-handed and there were no Nightcloaks among the Sharran forces, but I can confirm she was certainly impressive."

You decide to leave out the part about Aylin dying and coming back right before your eyes. It is something you've yet to discuss with her, more than a full year later. Something you've no idea how to bring up, and something that inspires in you feelings you cannot quite define.

Something you know you will have to confront, one day.

For now, you sit on a secluded bench and shirk familial duties with a fellow highborn daughter. The two of you trade stories for the rest of the evening, and by the end of it you feel like you've known both Jana Whitburn and Iona Bluewater for years, and find yourself rather invested in the future of their relationship. In turn, you hope to have painted a picture of an Isobel who is more than just General Thorm's daughter, and of an Aylin who is something besides her divine silver bloodline.

You part amicably when the time comes, even promise to write to one another. Later on, the leave-takings complete, both of you having played your respective parts well enough to buy yourselves some very brief reprieve, you go to retreat to your room. Every stair you climb still seems to drop your heart that much deeper into a listless moroseness.

The air in your room is heavy and stale after the garden's freshness, so you decide to take your brooding out to your balcony. You may have won a friend today, but your father will be in a dour mood when he finds out his attempt has once again fallen through. And then how long until he plans another? Or turns to something else? No, this was simply untenable--

A gleaming Aylin alights on the balcony and pulls you into an embrace in a single, elegant movement, and it is like the Moon rising to dispel the dark of a cloudy night.

The first thing you notice as you are subjected to one kiss after another is that your beloved seems to be of a rather amorous disposition. You still wear your jewels and your finest silver-blue gown, the picture-perfect lady. But with the way Aylin's hands are wandering you sense this might not be the case for very long.

You place a hand on her chest, the metal pleasantly cool against your palm, and she stops, looking at you both questioningly and with blatant yearning.

Which should be ridiculous. You were barely apart for a day! You've gone longer without seeing each other when Aylin flew away on some divinely ordained quest or mission or another. But the feelings you read on her face are a perfect reflection of your own, and you are sick of the very thought of denying them. Instead, you throw your arms around her and draw her close once more.

"I missed you," you murmur the truth into her neck, just above the edge of her gorget, into that bit of unearthly pale skin that is always so conveniently available for you to kiss.

"I have dutifully stayed away, exactly as you bade me to," Aylin doesn't sound too disgruntled, and for that you find yourself both grateful and relieved. "But your guests are gone at long last, and so I consider my duty done."

You suppress a scowl at the bitterness that rises in you - because yes, you did pull Aylin aside and request, against the palpable wishes of every fibre of your being, that she not show herself around Moonrise today. All in the ultimately futile pursuit of appeasing your father, in a way so shallow and childish and stupidly obviously temporary that you feel a flare of anger - disgust, even - at yourself for not standing your ground. For going along with it all in the first place. But the slight yet audible disdain Aylin puts on the word guests is too conspicuous, too intriguing, and so your curiosity trumps your rising guilt.

"Do you have something against the Whitburn family?" Surely, if there was something objectionable about them, your father wouldn't have invited them the way he did. Aylin would have warned you of anything sinister. But then, suddenly, a different, more darkly amusing flavour of thought arises. "Or do you merely not like Lady Jana Whitburn?"

Aylin huffs, tilts her head with an unconvincing nonchalance. "She seems a fine woman. A knight with several deeds to her name - in particular some courageous outings against a local Cyricist offshoot, very recently. I hear she conducted herself with utmost skill and bravery."

"You've looked into her, I see?" You ask teasingly. Aylin's frown alone is an entire hundred-page novel. "Aylin. Are you jealous?"

The tinge of possessiveness in the way she holds you against her chest is clear to you now. You also find you have no complaint to give.

"I cannot help but feel this latest attempted match is… rather shrewdly targeted. Do you not find it so? Why, I would near take it as a slight."

With some reluctance, you pull away the slightest bit in order to face her properly.

"Aylin, look at me," you tilt her chin up, make her meet your eyes, reaching over to smooth the thundercloud away from her brow. "Forget about it, about them. I would have none but you - you know this by now, I hope. Only you."

Forever, you dearly wish you could say, sometimes. Your fingers trace down her cheek and to her lips as you watch her ire pour back into fervour. 

"Isobel, I swear, from the moment our eyes met, I--"

You interrupt her with a kiss - she is too striking and too beautiful and too achingly, passionately devoted not to.

The entire situation is a problem to solve, and a mounting one. You can tell by your own rising annoyance and resentment each time the subject comes up that you cannot entertain your father's attempts at denying your relationship for much longer. But you can sense in both your and Aylin's current moods that any discussion will be anything but productive.

You break apart, but stay close enough for you to whisper against her mouth. "Why don't we stop wasting time, and instead of wallowing in misery, you take me to bed."

A different frown creases her brow now as she inclines her head towards the door you left ajar behind you. "Your bed? Here?"

You glance back as well, almost drawn in and through the imposing towers of Moonrise and all it represents.

"Yes," you reply with little hesitation. You decide then and there to be done with this farce. No more flying away to stay at Last Light, or utterly unsubtle attempts at sneaking off, slinking back before dawn only to present yourself downstairs come morning, unacknowledged but fooling nobody. There are other methods in your arsenal besides pointless subterfuge. "And tomorrow - if you wish to join us, of course - I would like to invite you to breakfast. Where you will sit at my side."

Where you belong, you swallow back, keeping your mock-proclamation formal. Where the world should and will acknowledge you belong.

Aylin's smirk reassures you she understands fully how you intend to play this. "How could I decline my lady's invitation?"

You tilt your chin up, the picture of a lady issuing a decree, even as your lips curl into a smile. "Despite any slights, intended or not, and protests from my family, it is an honour to have you here. I will see that it is better demonstrated, as it should have been from the start."

Or perhaps it would be better to say how it was at the start, before Ketheric Thorm's welcome for Selûne's emissary cooled down to an icy, formal tolerance - of course, exactly as your and Aylin's relationship blossomed, decidedly informal, regardless.

Aylin's mouth is hot on your neck as she effortlessly lifts you up and carries you inside. You feel her grin through her kisses. "I think, Isobel, you'll find the honour is all mine. And so is having you. Here or anywhere else."

You cannot help but laugh, taking her face between both your hands and peppering it with kisses in return, always delighted by her utter lack of both subtlety and hesitation.

Once Aylin plants you on the bed and herself between your thighs, your dress lost to some darkened corner and her gauntlets lost to the aether, she leaves little room for thought or speech. Relentless and utterly driven, she refuses to stop until your legs are jelly, your head is void of all concerns, and your heels have all but left dents in her backplate. 

Her face both glows and glistens when she rests her cheek against your stomach at long last, alight with some private amusement and sheer pride. You thread your hands through her hair and catch your breath, and for a little while simply bask in her presence.

She stretches out a bit, unfolds her wings just enough to let fluffed-up, ruffled feathers settle back into place, and you sigh at the sight. So magnificent in her devotion, your angel.

Aylin next makes a show of licking at her fingers with a pleased smirk, then her lips for good measure. "I may not have been invited to the evening's festivities, but my darling, ever caring, ever thoughtful, provides bountiful nourishment nonetheless. It is the height of honour, to have such a delight saved for me alone."

You flush and squirm, and would like to state something rather precise and factual about moon cycles and the workings of your mortal body. "Aylin!" You throw an arm over your burning face instead. "Gods, you say such things…"

"But you take such delight in it when I do," she replies, tilting her head faux-innocently.

"I adore it. I adore you. Come here and I'll show you just how much."

This is what prompts her to finally take a moment to dismiss her armour, bringing her next to you in a heartbeat. You take another precious few seconds to marvel at how perfectly she fits into your arms, like she was made to be there, instead of for any divine mission.

You spend the night curled around each other in a too-small bed, both of you choosing to be utterly brazen.

-

1385 DR

-

You were very young when your mother died. The searing, half-understood pain of her departure had time to dull into an ache, then into a sense of absence you have grown up with, that will always be yet another part of you. You keep her final letter, and reread it less and less as the years and then decades go by. You can hear and feel her words just as well in the soft, warm moonlight that blankets Reithwin on blessed nights. It makes you feel like you can firmly grasp and hold and understand all that she tried to leave you with.

There is a distinct sense that she is proud of you. That she will see you again one day and tell you so herself. So you smile up at the Moon, the ever-changing treasured constant in your life, and bask in the pale, gentle love you receive in return. 

When you lost a mother, Reithwin lost its head cleric. In the years since, it has had only interim duty-bearers. And you understood, years ago, even as you settled into a promising role in the House of Healing, that you were being looked to as the replacement.

And true - this has ever been your calling. You feel you were born for this service, sometimes, so easily does it come to you - the deeply felt devotion, the lightness of moonlight always ready at your fingertips, the sheer awareness of Her presence, of all She gives and provides and strives for. A cause so good and just and right you would barely deign to call it a choice - though a choice it is, always, freely made by you, again and again and again.

So when you reject the notion of taking up office at Reithwin - at least for the foreseeable future - and announce your plan for undertaking several pilgrimages of increasing length and complexity, it causes a stir among the clergy and a dark thundercloud to settle upon your father's brow.

The further away the locations you list as you stand before him in his study, oddly formal, the deeper his frown becomes. By the time you mention leaving Waterdeep and the House of the Moon and the settlements on the way to Neverwinter, he raises a hand to cut you off.

"I do not think this is wise, Isobel. There is need of you here. The roads are perilous--"

"I can take care of myself. You know I can, papa - you've seen to that. I have trained and prepared for this all my life." Then you smile, hopeful, and make your biggest misstep. "Besides, Aylin will be there to protect me, should the need arise--"

"Of course she will," you catch the mutter under his breath and your mouth slams shut.

You take a deep, steadying breath, and reach across the desk to lay a gentle, reassuring hand on your father's, meeting and holding his heavy gaze. "Reithwin is my home. No matter where the road takes me, no matter how far, I'll always come back. And to you as well, papa."

Reithwin, ancestral seat of your family, safe and idyllic, surely does not need you as much as the wide world; the vast, colourful, challenging variety of the realms. There is so much you can do, and offer. What good are gifts if you are not going to use them? Hoarding them, hiding away, sheltered - no, you refuse to be a waste.

"I need you here, Isobel."

There is an edge of desperation to your father's voice that makes your breath catch and your eyes burn. A pain that calls to mind, oddly, the sting of the black ink being slowly applied around your lids, a needle shaping the curl of the holy symbol down towards your cheekbones. 

And there it is, perhaps - the real root of the struggle at hand.

"I can't be your little girl forever," you exhale, frustration mounting, somewhat undercut when you see the naked hurt on his face. "I can't be just that," you amend. "I have an entire life to live. My own life."

"With Aylin," he suggests darkly. Disapprovingly. "And when she carelessly discards you, a mayfly in her eyes--"

"Is that what this is truly about, again? Father," not quite papa at the moment, no, as you try so very hard to keep your calm in the face of your own rising irritation, "must we?"

"How can I not, Isobel? When she has clearly been feeding you this - this drivel."

"It has nothing to do with her!"

The doubt is writ plainly all over his face, and you bristle. Fine. If he is not ready to relinquish his chokehold over Isobel Thorm, cherished daughter, then he will have to reckon with Isobel, accomplished cleric of Selûne, and prospective Silver Lady initiate. You let go of his hand and step back, square your shoulders demonstratively, stand up ramrod straight.

"Our Lady champions and rewards self-sufficiency, agency, travel, and discovery - of ourselves, the world around us, and all in it who might need guidance or help in any way. It is mine to freely give, and I intend to do so, wherever I am needed. In Her name."

You turn and leave without waiting for your father to scrounge up a response.

It is the last conversation you have with him for a century.

-

It happens so very quickly, for something that would rewrite the fate of your home and all you ever loved for the next hundred years. Like a carelessly tossed pebble turning into a rockslide.

An ominous chill that barely has the time to register fully; a bark-whine from Squire, cut short; a searing pain in-- through-- your side and your chest, fading into numbness within moments, so fast that you barely choke out a desperate blood-drowned breath as blackness swarms the edges of your vision; a frantic cry of Isobel! ringing out from somewhere above or below; and then--

nothing

and nothing, and nothing, and nothing.