#of strength but only one of you has died in a tomb and can walk back out alive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aiyexayen · 4 years ago

Note

re: that "I'll live for you post" - WHERE'S THE ESSAY

this post? [innocent face]

alright, alright, JUST TWIST MY ARM WHY DON'T YOU, just force me to talk more about my boys!

4.9k word essay under the cut

Wei Wuxian

Let us take a look at Wei Wuxian first. Wei Wuxian has no problems throwing himself in-between the people he loves and danger, or even certain death. Hell, sometimes he just throws himself into it for fun and profit!

To some extent, putting yourself in danger to help others and being willing to die is something of a cultivator thing in general, a hero thing in general, right? And Wei Wuxian is a prodigy, exceptionally strong and clever, so he has more reason than most to be a little cavalier. But most of the point of training so hard as a cultivator and getting strong and aligning yourself with a sect is kind of so you can be in real danger of dying as little as possible, one would presume.

So we're going to set aside the danger-as-a-profession thing for now, because I think it's only tangentially related.

The real point is, Wei Wuxian is sacrificial to a fault. If there is a problem, he decides he's the one who needs to fix it. And his first go-to solution is to throw himself at it, to give up anything of himself if it's viable. As clever as he is, if he finds a workable solution that involves his own sacrifice, he doesn't stop to look for anything else.

Some of it is pride--not wanting to admit he needs help from anyone else, and the shame of being seen as weak.

Some of it is arrogance--a very natural kind given his competence, the presumption that he knows best in a given situation (neurodivergent arrogance walking hand-in-hand with self-esteem issues is always a fun time).

Some of it is appropriate--ranging from his own moral imperative to protect the weak and do what's right to his understanding of his place in culture and in his own sect and relationships.

Some of it is a natural bent toward caretaking, "fixing," and heroics--someone has to do it, so it's going to be Wei Wuxian. He won't hesitate to take initiative in any other area of life, and this is no exception.

And some of it, yes, is a lack of value placed in his own life--between a more youthful, dramatic perspective on 'I would die for you/for this cause' taking priority in his worldview, and some genuine self-esteem issues. Issues largely stemming from his uncertain place in the world growing up and his uncertain relationship with parental/guardian/master and other familial figures, all stewing under the surface and brought to light sharply when the world went to shit and choices were made and he lost or seemed to have lost everything from his reputation to his home to his extant support structures. The paranoia and voices in his head (the ptsd and resentful-energy-as-ptsd-metaphor both) only drove that home.

Basically, Wei Wuxian was already trending in some unfortunate directions but his circumstances and the people surrounding him kept him grounded, and the events of the story as it unfolded really pushed him all in. No one thing or one person--even Wei Wuxian himself--is really to blame for that, which is the beauty of the story really.

I also think Wei Wuxian started to buy into some of his own stories at his lowest points--the things he said or came up with, lies he told publicly, justifications he made for his choices once the heat of the moment and the panic was over. Justifications he made to himself and to others. He purposefully led people to believe much that was incorrect about him and his character and his status, to which the response was distaste and horror, and even though he planned it that way in order to push everyone away I really think he started to believe it himself. Depression and trauma are just really fun times.

I'm getting a bit off-topic.

The point remains, Wei Wuxian is extremely sacrificial. He comes by much of it naturally, and not nearly all of it is bad or melodrama or angst or even unhealthy or problematic. It's one of his good qualities, too, and it's one of the ways he knows how to love.

All of the threads weaving together to make Wei Wuxian and the situations he finds himself sacrificing things in are all true, but it also really comes down to love. He loved Jiang Cheng enough to sacrifice his everything and risk his life doing so. He loved his sect enough he was willing to sacrifice his right hand. He loved his sect enough to sacrifice his very ties to it. He loved Lan Zhan enough to sacrifice their friendship. He loved Jin Ling enough to sacrifice himself to the curse he got in the Nie tombs. (And more!)

Wei Wuxian loved, and so he sacrificed. Thus, the initial post.

Jiang Cheng

Let's switch gears for a moment and talk about my darling Jiang Wanyin.

Ah, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng. Taking the initiative and sacrificing at the drop of a hat and so forth are not really characteristics of Jiang Cheng's the same way they are for Wei Wuxian.

And yet, is he not also a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang; is he not also a young hero? Has he not pride, and the incentive to do good?

Does he not also see love as sacrifice?

Zi Zhizhu was his mother. The woman who sacrificed to get Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to safety. The woman who killed herself and crawled across the ground to hold her husband's hand in death.

You think she wasn't Like That the whole time? You think Jiang Cheng picked up nothing of such behaviours from her, even before that day?

Hah.

Besides which, there's absolutely an underlying theme of Jiang Cheng trying to be like Wei Wuxian for much of their lives.

Partially just...Wei Wuxian, strong and clever and popular shige, always manages to get credit and glory and good stories and good favour, exemplary of the Jiang motto--the one Jiang Cheng's own name is tied to. They were supposed to be shuangjie, besides. How could he not want to be like him at least a bit? If nothing else, it's a little brother's curse.

And partially this is also due to Jiang Cheng's parents and that whole Situation.

It was complicated for so many reasons, and absolutely left Jiang Cheng feeling inferior to Wei Wuxian. As though he needed to be more like Wei Wuxian, to emulate him, in order to be worthy of his title and station and inheritance, something that turned out to be categorically untrue in the end. There are many kinds of leaders, and many kinds of strengths.

As an aside, I personally think that's something Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan knew, themselves, as adults and leaders and political figures in their own rights. Adults often don't realise or think about how the things they say can influence children's entire worldviews and senses of self (why, no, I don't speak from experience, why would you ask such a thing ahaha).

Jiang-zongzhu and Zi Zhizhu got a lot of their own relationship difficulties and misunderstandings and conflicts and conflicting attempts to want the best for their children (and ward) tangled up in everything. I think if they'd ever been able to speak plainly, if they could manifest into the Ancestral Hall and speak to Jiang Cheng, they would say so.

Just as Jiang Cheng would have cause to be horrified by much of what Wei Wuxian believed about himself, I think Jiang Cheng's parents would have cause to be horrified by much of what Jiang Cheng believed. (I mean, and Wei Wuxian, probably.)

Anyway.

Jiang Cheng has plenty of reasons to aspire to those same ideals of sacrifice. And it's not just aspirations, either--we see him follow through.

He walked outside from that inn, saw Wei Wuxian in danger, and made a decision in the space of a single breath--a decision with full understanding, too. He knew he was giving up his entire life for Wei Wuxian's. He said goodbye in his head.

I would argue (and I'm sure I've said this before somewhere too) that his sacrifice was the purest example of this in the entire story.

Perhaps some of it is that many of Wei Wuxian's sacrifices are premeditated and just about all of them have alternative solutions that don't involve him just diving in and giving pieces of himself up.

That isn't to say that Wei Wuxian wouldn't see a sword aimed at Jiang Cheng and take the blow himself. But we never see him do that, exactly. As much as Jiang Cheng has internalised this ideal of Wei Wuxian's, he both encounters fewer of these situations and has other problem-solving tactics in his repertoire.

The way Jiang Cheng hates himself doesn't lead him to think of himself as disposable. I could get into a (very amateur) discussion of negative schemas formed in childhood and their various similarities and differences, and the different ways Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian's brains appear to work (Jiang Cheng sees himself as inferior, while Wei Wuxian willfully dehumanises himself in other ways), but basically, it's simply a different set of psychological issues.

But! When he is faced with the choice, Jiang Cheng absolutely dies for the ones he loves.

He loves his sect and his family, and he internalises love as sacrifice, and when it comes down to an extreme moment he chooses to die for them.

And then he doesn't die.

And then the war happens.

Jiang Cheng's Growth

There are a lot of reasons for Jiang Cheng to grow in this area, and I think it starts with inheriting the sect.

(This leads to excellent thoughts about What If Wei Wuxian Had Somehow Become Sect Leader but that's an au for another day.)

If sect heir was a position full of responsibility and reputation management, how much more so is zongzhu? Jiang Cheng is suddenly responsible for all these people. Whether he's good enough or not doesn't even matter. The job is there and it's inescapable and he's the only one there to do it.

I'm absolutely sure he still has all kinds of inferiority shit he's dealing with by post-timeskip and he only just gets to touch on some pieces of resolution by the end of the story, with the one person still in the world who would even know anything about the life that gave it to him.

Jiang Cheng has been responsible for people before, in small ways--night hunts and such, I'm sure, and he was certainly in charge of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples who went to Cloud Recesses. But being at the top of that hierarchy entirely is such a different matter, and he did so at a very young age and in a very fraught time.

The fact that he had to deal with all this new responsibility and duty to people more than his family and to causes greater than the first people in need he encounters is a huge perspective shift. Especially as a sect with nothing to give and no wiggle room where it comes not only to basic resources post-war, but to things like reputation and political standing. This is, of course, a huge facet to the conflict between him and Wei Wuxian (and the Wen remnants) at that point in the story.

But on a personal level it also speaks to the sacrifice thing. If Jiang Cheng sacrifices his life, he is not just sacrificing his own life anymore.

When he gave up his life for Wei Wuxian, he had not yet inherited. His parents were only barely gone. There was nothing to inherit. There was no surety of there ever being something to inherit ever again. Everything else was already gone. It was only the three of them, barely surviving, running for their lives. It was only him and Wei Wuxian in a street, and one of them had to die.

But once he inherits? He's a commander. He's a leader. He has all the knowledge and all the networking connections. He has the reputation. He has the social standing. He might still have a long way to go in developing his skills, but he has a natural leadership ability and he does have training appropriate to his station.

What happens if he personally sacrifices his life? What happens to all of that? What happens to everyone depending on him?

That's not very satisfying, very epic-worthy. That's not very dramatic or romantic. It's gradual, and messy, that kind of change and realisation. Becoming that kind of person. Making choices based in that reality. Deciding that you do not belong to yourself.

And I think it really comes to a head when his siblings die.

I think it comes to a head personally. Not just in his role as Jiang-zongzhu. We don't see Jiang Cheng choose not to die, in as many words. But we certainly see him choose to live.

Or, perhaps, we see the evidence of that choice.

Jiang Cheng could have faded away. He could have started delegating all his responsibilities, gotten help from other sects, trained up a replacement. He could have made such things necessary by getting more and more reclusive. He could have pulled a Qingheng-Jun.

Hell, with a-jie gone already, he could have just said fuck this and followed Wei Wuxian off that cliff, and if you don't think he wonders about that sometimes--at least at first--then we have very different interpretations of Jiang Cheng as a person.

And no, none of those are sacrifice. But at some point, he still chose to do the opposite.

He chose every day to live for his sect, to keep growing it into something powerful and secure. He took that vow that he made and he fucking stuck to it.

And he chose to live for Jin Ling.

I don't half wonder if that was a bigger driving force at first than anything else.

Jiang Cheng could absolutely have left Jin Ling to be raised by his Jin family in the absence of his parents and fucked off to hide away in Yunmeng and had nothing to do with him. He could have done a lot of things, let himself develop in a lot of ways, unhealthy ways.

But he so very clearly did not.

Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng have a close relationship. Jin Ling defers to Jiang Cheng, is answerable to him on night hunts and beyond them. It's never questioned why he's basically just in the Yunmeng Jiang party by himself. Yunmeng Jiang disciples answer to Jin Ling in turn, follow his orders without question in the absence of their zongzhu. It's a Yunmeng Jiang disciple who hands Xianzi off to Jin Ling outside the Guanyin Temple in Yunping, and Jiang Cheng is intimately familiar with Xianzi's commands and is apparently a trusted person to give them (which, we find out, Jin Guangyao is not.)

As much as Jiang Cheng is not good at saying what he means, and especially after everything he's been through his softer bits have grown harder and harder carapace around them, Jin Ling never seems to misunderstand what Jiang Cheng means. They snipe at each other and snark and bitch and roll their eyes and so clearly love each other.

Jiang Cheng's love for Jin Ling shines brightly the second you know how to interpret Jiang Cheng, and Jin Ling absolutely does. Jin Ling's trust in Jiang Cheng is incredible.

Jin Ling is practically Yunmeng Jiang's heir, and practically Jiang Cheng's son.

That sort of thing doesn't just happen, because you're related or whatever. In fact, the story goes out of its way to present blood relations not being close, especially father figures.

Which means from a young age, Jin Ling knew Jiang Cheng's love. Jiang Cheng, struggling young zongzhu of a struggling newly-rebuilt sect, who just lost everything, barely more than a kid himself, figured out he needed to not only stay alive, but needed to live for Jin Ling.

He needed to teach him everything, needed to figure out how to be the best of his own father and mother, and the best of Jin Ling's father and mother, and live up to every lost bit of love Jin Ling should have had, and try, and try, no matter how unworthy or unfit or inferior he felt. No matter how much he fucked up and didn't know. No matter how much grief he was dealing with. No matter how many people hated him and how few friends he had. No matter how much there was to do. No matter how overwhelming the endless tide of days, of forever in front of him felt, horrible and empty of everyone that had come before. Jiang Cheng still chose to live.

He carved out that new life because of love. He didn't die for anyone, and he didn't die for anyone's memory. He lived.

"I never thought I'd be worth the work it would take to piece myself together," but he did, for his sect, his disciples, his family's legacy, his siblings' memories, and Jin Ling.

And, as a bonus knife, the things we see him chide Jin Ling the most for? Are specifically things Wei Wuxian would have done, and even things he would have done in following him. Grandstanding, not asking for help when needed, wandering off alone, making unnecessary sacrifices.

Wei Wuxian's Growth

That brings us to Wei Wuxian coming back. And, well, the boy still has a long way to go. He goes through a lot of kinds of growth post-timeskip. And I think this is one of them.

For one, he's already fucking died once.

Honestly, almost ironically, that death wasn't even fully a sacrifice. Perhaps in some ways it was, in some ways he internalised that it was. But regardless, after all his sacrificing, he finally died. And, much like Jiang Cheng's sacrifice, it didn't stick. He woke back up. Albeit 16 years later.

Now, he wasn't keen on dying, or he maybe would have just gone back. But that doesn't mean he'd suddenly decided to live for anyone rather than die for them.

And, indeed, we still see that side of him come back with him in full force. He starts off by deciding he will just live this new life without Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan altogether.

I think, for Wei Wuxian, this matter of sacrifice ends up being tied into a lot of other pieces of his growth--none of it happens independently of each other.

First, he is shown and told that he is wanted. That's the first thing. He cannot simply go on without inconveniencing/endangering/roping anyone else into his shit because his ties to other people don't work in only one direction. He is wanted.

Lan Zhan wants to be at his side, has not forgotten him, and loves him unwaveringly. That is a huge first step, right there at the beginning, when Lan Zhan grabs his hand, and they make eye contact, and by the time Lan Zhan turns to look away Wei Wuxian is grabbing his hand back desperately and that pretty much says everything it needs to right there.

The idea that Wei Wuxian can act at all without having any negative affect on anyone tied to him is something we see even outside the concept of sacrifice--how many times before his death, even before his defection, do we see him say things like "you can insult me, but don't involve the Yunmeng Jiang sect" like. Like. Wei Wuxian please. That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works.

So I think him realising that other people will willingly be tied to him and there's nothing he can do about it, that his actions affect the people who care about him all the time, is something he still has to learn/relearn even after everything that happened leading up to his death. I think, in particular, Wei Wuxian realising that it's not just his mistakes and fuckups that affect people, but his intentional actions, too. Like sacrifices. Even if they're at his own expense. Because people care and that's okay and good.

Lan Zhan drives that home with things like noticing that Wei Wuxian has transferred Jin Ling's curse to his own leg, and then insisting on carrying him.

Lan Zhan notices. Lan Zhan cares. This act of sacrifice does not end with Wei Wuxian suffering. It has cascading effects, even something this small. It is, perhaps, more effective a lesson on a small scale with fewer complexities woven in, than it would be on the larger scale issues he dealt with before his death.

This idea that his sacrifices affect people beyond him is carried through the rest of the story, too, from the way everyone seems to fret about him after the Burial Mounds and Lan Sizhui runs to hold him, down to the fact that he has to answer for how his sacrifice of his golden core to Jiang Cheng affects Jiang Cheng. Both the absence of his own golden core being a catalyst for a lot of other shit, and finding out about the core transfer actually fucking Jiang Cheng up. Which, it turns out, Wei Wuxian kind of knew would happen, he just thought he could get away with not dealing with it if he kept the secret better.

Wei Wuxian can't escape his sacrifices and his actions having an effect on those around him, the ones who care and the ones he cares about, or even the object of his sacrifice, and he really does have to have that hammered home.

He also deals with growth related to his pride and arrogance. He learns how to be weak, he learns how to have alternate forms of strength, he learns how to let others in, and let others stand with him.

Most of this is related to Lan Zhan, and I've already covered it at least somewhat in another meta, but it relates back to this, because those are two driving forces behind his sacrificial nature.

If Wei Wuxian is allowed to be weak, is allowed to hesitate, is allowed to go to others for help, is allowed to look for alternative solutions, that sets a better precedent for cutting down on the habitual self-sacrifice tendencies.

Additionally, he learns that others can and will stand with him in his sacrifices, when they are necessary.

Look at the way he pushes Lan Zhan away on the steps of Jinlintai, but Lan Zhan steps back toward him, and draws his sword, and declares his love before heaven and earth, saying in as many words that Wei Wuxian need not walk his path alone, and they fight together.

And the next time Wei Wuxian goes to sacrifice? In the Burial Mounds? He doesn't even think twice before volunteering Lan Zhan to stand with him. His entire plan revolves around the idea that Lan Zhan will stand with him--without even consulting Lan Zhan--and in doing so, they may be able to prevent Wei Wuxian from actually sacrificing his life.

Already we see him internalising a lot of that growth. He doesn't need to grandstand or prove himself; he doesn't care what everyone there thinks of him, and for the ones he does care about he is secure in their regard for him. He doesn't first attempt to sacrifice himself and be bait to draw the fierce corpses away while everyone including Lan Zhan runs off. He doesn't have to be convinced to accept Lan Zhan as part of his plan. He doesn't have to have Lan Zhan simply stay behind and then deal with the addition of him later.

Compare, if you will, the Xuanwu cave. Wei Wuxian absolutely expected everyone else to leave while he drew its attention, and Lan Zhan staying was not part of his original plan. Yes, later on they attacked the Xuanwu together, but that was different entirely. At first, he was just being bait to get everyone else to safety.

In the Burial Mounds? He's already worked Lan Zhan having his back into his plans.

It's still a sacrifice, but he's come a really long way about it.

So now that we've mitigated some of the sacrificial tendencies, modulated their effects on his choices, we come down to the "live for you instead of die for you" issue.

My positing that Wei Wuxian has reached this point by the end of the story has a lot more to do with having seen the patterns of his growth, watching the way he interacted with Jiang Cheng regarding the issue of the golden core transfer being revealed, watching the way he interacted with Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan in general evolve, and watching him allow himself to have more and more attachments by the end of the story. And getting the overall vibe that living is now important, and there are things to live for in this world now that he's back in it.

However, if I had to narrow it down to one moment to exemplify this, I would point to the moment where he's caught around the neck by Jin Guangyao.

Wei Wuxian absolutely knows that if Lan Zhan sheathes Bichen, they're all fucked. Lan Zhan could easily take everyone here who would fight him, but not if he sheathes his sword and seals his spiritual power. And at this point it's increasingly likely that if they let themselves be captured they're simply not going to make it out alive. None of them. No matter what Jin Guangyao says.

Lan Zhan's best chance for survival and Jin Guangyao's best chance at being brought to justice/captured are one and the same in this moment--Lan Zhan keeping his sword, and either taking Jin Guangyao down himself or escaping to go fetch the assembled sect leaders and such at Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian knows this. It's why he begs Lan Zhan to be okay with his death and to do this Right Thing anyway.

Lan Zhan is not, and does not.

I don't think Wei Wuxian is surprised by this, to be fair.

But he could have ensured it would happen. He could have ensured that Jin Guangyao would go down. He could have ensured, more importantly, that Lan Zhan lived. He could have prevented Lan Zhan from sheathing Bichen to begin with.

He could have sacrificed himself.

It would have been incredibly easy at that point. All he had to do was fight back instead of hold still. Jin Guangyao was not bluffing, probably, though he just as surely knew if Wei Wuxian died then he was next, he counted on everyone wanting Wei Wuxian alive more than they wanted him dead. So if Wei Wuxian had tried to fight back or escape, he would have died.

Jin Guangyao would have been shocked, very very briefly. The resulting chaos would have seen everyone in custody who needed to be. Perfect.

And, you know, Lan Zhan would have been once more Wei-Ying-less.

Wei Wuxian very notably does not make this sacrifice. Even if it means they get captured. Even if it means they likely die together instead of only one of them dying. Even if that math is terrible on the surface of it.

He doesn't make Lan Zhan watch him die again. He doesn't presume that his loss means nothing. He doesn't presume that his life is not worth it, that his sacrifice is worth it.

Wei Wuxian actively chooses to live. He chooses to live for Lan Zhan. For the chance that they will both find a way out, and if they don't, then they are together in this and that matters more.

And he keeps making that choice. At no point in the confrontation with Jin Guangyao, for all those hours and hours and hours of back and forth and monologuing in that damned temple, does Wei Wuxian try to grandstand or throw himself sacrificially into the mix in any way. He is always working with everyone there to whatever extent possible, to the ends that everyone (including people he cedes the political superiority to) decides upon. He releases ownership of the situation, of needing to fix the situation, of needing to fix the situation by giving himself up.

I've been writing this so long I'm starting to lose the threads of my own thoughts, but yeah.

By the end, I think Wei Wuxian learns a lot and grows a lot and finally hits the point that Jiang Cheng hit years and years prior.

"I never thought I'd be worth the work it would take to piece myself together," but he was confronted with the idea of it again and again until it had to stick, and so he did. For Lan Zhan, for Lan Sizhui, for Jin Ling, for the other juniors.

I do think there will always be some element of self-sacrifice to Wei Wuxian's character that remain unchanged. He is a caretaker and a fixer at the heart of him. He is a big brother and I think maturity has only expanded that trait. He's also notably not a leader, and to some extent he does belong to himself both more and less than he ever could before his death.

But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. And it doesn't negate him embracing the idea of living for the ones he loves, getting better for the ones he loves, and letting them keep him in their lives.

I'd like to think that this piece of character growth is another significant thing in favour of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng being able to forge not just a healthy relationship but a healthier relationship post-canon than they may have ever had before, or at least in a very long time.

#you would not believe how long this took to write out #why am i like this #my meta #unedited #the untamed #the untamed meta #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #wei ying #wei wuxian #sacrifice #i may or may not be accepting constructive criticism at this time #this whole thing was probably terribly redundant but i'm too lazy to reread it and edit

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waiting4inspiration · 4 years ago

Text

Darkness before Dawn XVI: The End

Summary: Kurst has enough power to interact with people in the living realm and teases at your breaking point by killing someone in your family. Geralt finds the tomb in your painting and hopes that this last attempt at saving your life works

Warnings: angst, strong language, blood, murder, small fluff, magical elements, mentions of abuse, did I miss anything?

Word Count: 3,660

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

You don’t realize that you’re in the castle, running down the halls until you see your mother walking by herself. Thinking that you’ve broken out of what you’re used to being dreams, you don’t even question how you got to the middle of the castle. You’re just happy to be out of Krust’s hold.

“Mother?” you call out, wrapping your arms around you when you realize that you’re slightly cold. She doesn’t stop or turn around. So you call out to her again, this time louder and sterner. “Mother!”

She stops and slowly turns her head over her shoulder. A smile fails to grow on your face because of the way her eyes seem to look past you completely. Like you’re invisible. It’s not like when she used to look at you before as if you mean nothing, as if you don’t exist. This time, it’s really as if she can’t see you.

A dark chuckle sounds behind you and you feel an all too familiar, terrible hand touch your shoulder. “Poor Princess. Mommy can’t see ghosts,” Kurst laughs, making you push his hand off your shoulder as you turn around to face him.

You back away from him as he takes a step forward. “What are you talking about?” you ask, a frown growing on your face at his words as you shake your head in confusion.

All he does is smirk at you and look up at your mother as she starts to slowly walk again. “Why don’t I show you what I can do so far?” he slyly says. Then, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and then steps forward.

His footsteps echo through the hall and it makes your mother jump around. She gasps at the sight of a strange man standing a few feet away from her but quickly composes herself. “Who are you?” she demands, raising her head in confidence and regality.

Your eyes grow wide as you look between Kurst and your mother. How can she see him and not you?

That’s a stupid question. It’s like he told you. With enough of your soul, your life force, he can interact with people in the living world. And when he looks at you with that evil smile, you know that he’s not going to just talk with your mother.

“No!” you scream as you rush towards him to try and stop him. But he stops you by catching you by your throat, tightens his grip and makes you heave for air.

“I’m a friend of (Y/n),” he says to Uza, takes a step forward and then pushes you away from him.

You fall on the ground, coughing and heavily breathing as you touch your neck where he had his hand. When you close your eyes, you can feel your strength in the living realm fading. You’re dying. You wonder what will be the breaking point.

Uza rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest as she examines the man slowly walking towards her. “Where exactly are you from? Because I have never seen you before or anyone dressed like...that,” she speaks, gesturing to his clothing that looks old, almost falling at the seams and with faded colors.

Kurst laughs, nods his head and looks down at you. “Actually, I’m from the spirit realm. You’ve probably heard of me,” he says, lifting his gaze back to Uza when she shifts on her feet. “I’m Kurst.”

The realization falls over your mother’s face and her mouth drops open in shock as her eyes grow wide. She shakes her head frantically as she backs away when Kursts takes hasty steps towards her. “No, it’s impossible,” she whispers, and it’s the first time you’re seeing fear in her eyes. Actual fear.

Pushing yourself off the ground, you figure that if you’re still alive in the living realm, you can draw whatever strength remains to use some magick to save your mother. “Kurst, leave her,” you weakly order, making him turn around with Uza in his grip already.

He tilts his head in confusion at you. “Why should I spare her? What has she ever done for you?” he questions, holds onto her tightly when she tries to escape his hold. His speaking to someone else that she can’t see is what stops her from screaming for help and makes her look for the person he’s talking to; you. “Just think, (Y/n), all those years where she hurt you, left marks on your body. You can get revenge for that right now by seeing her die right now,” he growls, his hand turning into the claw you remember scratching you the night you were cursed. The claws that left a scar on your forearm.

“(Y/n)?” Uza questions, looking around for you. “(Y/n), please-”

Kurst stops her from speaking by pushing a sharp claw against her throat and shushing her softly. “Why try and save someone as despicable as her? After everything she’s done to you,” he says, smirking at you as you shake your head at him.

“She's still my mother,” you say, stepping closer to him as you hold your hand behind you to hide the blue glow as you conjure a spell. “No matter how awful she’s been, she doesn’t deserve to die by your hand. No one does.”

And with the last strength you have in the living realm, you throw your spell towards him, hoping it will set his entire body ablaze. But that doesn’t happen. He holds out his hand and catches your spell, absorbing it and smiling brightly. “I thought you’d do that,” he chuckles.

Just before you can even move forward to try and physically stop him, he slices his claw through your mother’s throat, making blood run down her front. The sight is just like what you saw he played a trick on you with Charlotte. Only this time, the blood is real and the horrible gurgling sound your mother makes as she falls to her knees tells you how true this.

You watch her body fall to the ground, your heart sinking in your chest as you fall to your knees in front of her. You’re absolutely speechless and you don’t know what to do. You can’t conjure up more magick because of how weak your living body is and you’re pretty sure Kurst will finish all this soon.

He breathes out a sigh as he steps around your dead mother. “Don’t worry. I can make sure your entire family dies with you,” Kurst states, making your head turn up to him as he smiles down as his clawed hand. “So you don’t get lonely in the spirit realm.”

Knowing that there’s nothing else you can do, you drop your head and bite your lower lip at the thought that you’re ready to give up. You thought you’d beat this curse with Geralt, and Ida. You thought you’d defeat this Death curse. You never thought you’d give up. But you're ready for that now.

Landing on the ground with unsteady feet, Geralt grunts and tries to find something to steady himself on. “I hate portals,” he mutters to himself as he turns his head over his shoulder and slightly up to the sky to see the portal that Ida hastily created to bring him to wherever he is close and disappear.

He can only dread the next portals that will bring him back if he is successful.

His head turns back to see what lies in front of him, and it’s almost as dark as your painting. A normal human would have to be squinting to be careful of falling over tombstones - both those that are still standing and those that have fallen to pieces. Geralt doesn’t care for the tombstones. He’s not looking for a particular one.

He’s looking for a mausoleum. The one in your painting. He had just enough time to memorize it before being thrown into a portal, but every tomb he comes across looks similar. Except for one feature. The name.

Sastan. That was the name your depiction had so that is the name he is looking out for. He’s alone in this, Malla taking the job of continuing to search for you in the spirit realm. Perhaps then, if she does find you, she can protect you from Krust, hindering his plan to steal your life force.

Keeping his silver sword in hand in case there are any monsters lurking around, Geralt’s eyes never stop moving from side to side. He knows he has to move quickly, but he doesn’t want to risk missing anything. He has to check every mausoleum name, check that there’s no Graveir hiding somewhere, no Ghoul that jumps up from under the ground. Those types of monsters are very fond of cemeteries like this one; dark and gloomy.

Then, he stops something that he had forgotten about in your image. That menacing symbol on the roof of the tomb. It’s the only mausoleum to have that circular symbol, Geralt doesn’t know how he missed it. He hums to himself, runs his tongue over his lower lip, reads the name engraved in the stone, and then takes the step towards the door of the crypt.

He wants to end this once and for all.

Lighting a torch with a flint, he pushes on the sturdy wooden door. It doesn’t budge. So, he takes a step back, holds the torch in one hand, and kicks the door above the handle, making it crack open. Without hesitating, he moves forward and into the crypt by pushing the door open.

The tomb is dark, the only light coming from the torch in Geralt’s hand and the open door behind him. And there’s only one sarcophagus in the sepulcher. He hopes this is it. He hopes so much that this is what he’s been looking for. He hopes that this is what will end the curse and bring you back to life. He hopes that when he moves the stone top, it will be the bones he needs to burn.

Swallowing roughly, he pushes the top of the sarcophagus off, making stone grind against stone and expose the corpse. Geralt’s nose scrunches at the smell, but knows that he’s smelt worse. The smell of a corpse is nothing compared to the corpse of a Nekker. Or even a living one at that.

With a deep breath, he lowers the fiery torch and drops it in among the bones. Taking a step back, he watches the fire catch on the scraps of material that give the fire life and allow it to spread.

He’ll wait there until every single bone is nothing but ash.

Kurst tries to take a step forward to you, but it’s like his foot is pinned to the ground. He tries again, this time his grunt of effort making your head lift up away from your mother’s body to look at him. “What are you doing?” he asks, glaring at you with dark eyes.

But you shake your head, frown at him before glancing down at his feet. Then, you see fire forming under his feet. It’s not the blue fire you threw at him. This is real fire and it makes you crawl backward away from him.

His head snaps down to his feet when he feels the fire and watches it starting to rise up his leg. “What are you doing, you bitch?” he shouts, trying to move again but he stays in his place.

“It looks like my Witcher found your grave, Sastan,” you whisper, a small smile growing on your face as you tear your eyes away from the flames starting to engulf him.

Kurst screams in agony and continues to try and move his feet as his hands swat at the flames creeping up his body. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch the fire burn his flesh, but there’s no smell. He continues to scream in pain, and all you can do to try and find the heat from the fire. But you still feel cold. Before the flames reach his head, Kurst looks at you with dark eyes. “I’ll get my hands on you somehow, Princess. Dark magic still exists,” he shouts, his hand shooting out as if to grab you.

“Only in the living world,” you state, staring at his burning figure with a small smile on your face.

This is the revenge you wanted for someone who has hurt you. Watching the person who caused sleepless nights, gave you nightmares, and invoked fear in your burn is somehow like a breath of relief. Knowing that they’ll never hurt you like they did before again makes you smile.

And as he burns up, the fire disappearing along with him, you expect to wake in your bed, surrounded by your family. But you don’t. You remain alone and on the floor of the hall.

Your gaze falls down to the body in front of you. Blinking, you almost expect your mother’s corpse to disappear like it was one of Kurst’s illusions. But she remains there in a pool of blood. Tears fill your eyes as you slowly crawl forward, a lump forms in your throat as you reach out to touch her shoulder.

Your hand goes right through her body as if you were touching water. A sob leaves your lips as you fall back to a seated position, your hand shooting to your mouth and you force yourself to look away from your mother. You feel a pang of rising guilt inside you, the kind that normally comes when your mother blamed you for things in the past.

And you can’t help but hear her voice tell you that this is all your fault, that she died because of you. This is all your fault.

It hurts even more that you don’t have a single happy memory of your mother. She’s always cared more about Charlotte than you, treated her better than you since you were a child. Even in the moments where you were basically dying, she didn’t care. She didn’t change like Charlotte did. Now, you don’t have anything to think of to make the realization that she’s gone easier.

Yes, perhaps Kurst made some sense. She’s done nothing for you and maybe this is what she deserved. But still, you don’t think a death sentence isn’t a verdict for anyone. You would have thought of something else to ‘get back at her’, as it were.

A hand falls on your shoulder making your head snap up and hope that it’s someone in the living realm that has found you. Someone like Jaskier, your father, Ida, Charlotte. Geralt…

Malla gives you a small, sincere smile as she helps you stand to your feet. “I know I’m not the one you wished to see right now,” she whispers when she notices the hopeful look on your face die.

“Am I dead?” you ask, not knowing if it was too late for Geralt to save you or if he really did succeed. All you know is that you’re still a ghost in the living realm. But when you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at your mother, you find that she’s gone and you’re not in the castle anymore.

You're in that big, black nothingness again. You look around for a while, trying to find someone, something, anything in the emptiness. But just like it was only you and Kurst last time, this time it’s just you and Malla.

“No. But you’re not alive either,” she says as she holds your hands in hers. “This is where you have the choice not all spirits have. You can stay here and die peacefully in the living world. You’ll have no more pain and this emptiness can be whatever you want it to be. Something that makes you happy, a place filled with people you love. Or-” She pauses, lets her words settle in your mind for a moment before she turns to show you a door behind her. It’s the door to your room. “You can choose to go back and live your life where nothing is set in stone and no one knows what will happen.”

Staring at her for a moment, your mouth drops slightly as your eyes shift to the door. You blink, not sure what to do. The former sounds like it could be so serene. You can have anything and be happy. You can choose to not be a queen, have your painting station and unlimited paints and brushes. You can have Geralt.

You shake your head, clear your throat and look at Malla again. “What about Kurst? Isn’t he now stuck in the spirit realm? Won’t he come after me?” you ask. You don’t want to go through everything again now that he’s essentially been defeated.

“Because his bones were burnt, he lost any kind of power he had before. And, trust me, there are a few spirits here that have some...business with Theis,” she says, a small smirk on her face and a chuckle on her voice. “And if you choose to stay here, no matter if your own bones are burned, you won’t have what he was looking for.”

Her explanation makes sense and you nod your head. “And my mother? Is she here?”

Malla sighs, tilts her head to the side and places her hand on your shoulder. She can hear the sorrow in your voice but isn’t sure if it’s because of her death or because of the thought that you might be stuck with someone that has the potential to hurt you. “You won’t have to see her and interact with her if you don’t want to,” she gently says as she steps to the side to let you choose between the door and the emptiness.

You don’t know what to choose. You can be eternally happy here. Knowing that if you do choose life, the curse will be broken and your father will pay Geralt for his work, spending the Witcher out of Eronia and leaving you. There’s no way you’ll be able to go with him. You’re the future heir to the throne and you still have so much to learn. And you don’t want that feeling you’re sure you’ll feel if you ask him to stay and he says no.

Still, there is still so much you have in the living world. You have your father, Jaskier, your sister, and Ida. You have your magick that excites you every time you learn something new. And even though it was never your choice, you’re sure that you could help people so much as a Queen with magick in her blood.

And nothing will compare to Geralt’s real touch, no matter how realistic it will seem. You’ll still know that deep down, it’s not real.

With a deep breath, you step forward and close your eyes as you push open the door.

It was like everything was a dream because when you open your eyes again, you’re lying in your bed and it’s as if you’re waking up because it takes a moment for you to realize where you are and what happened before this. You feel someone’s hand over yours and you slowly move your head to see who it is.

Your movement makes Ida’s head snap up and a smile breaks out on her face when she sees your eyes open. “Dominic,” she calls, quickly looking over at your father standing at the foot of your bed with his back towards you before he moves to place the back of her hand against your forehead.

Hearing Ida calling, your father, Jaskier, and Charlotte all turn to look at you, joy and relief spreading across their faces when they see you moving about, trying to get Ida to stop feeling the warmth returning to your skin that used to be so cold. “Thank Gods,” Dominic whispers as he moves forward and sits down beside you, his hand reaching out to touch the side of your face makes you sigh.

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice cracking as if you haven’t spoken in days. Charlotte and Jaskier join your other side and you sigh again. “You don’t have to crowd around me like a newborn baby,” you mutter, making them laugh and back up a little bit to give you some space.

That’s when you remember your mother. You don’t see her in the room and it’s the one thing you hope was just a dream. When you shoot up with a gasp, your head starts to spin and Jaskier’s hand quickly shoots out to stop you from falling over. “Take it easy, (Y/n). You just came back to life,” he chuckles, but you only shake your head as you look to Ida and your father.

“It’s mother. Kurst...killed her,” you whisper, a lump forming in your throat makes it hard to speak and you look over at Charlotte when she shifts in her spot.

“I’m sure she’s okay-”

“No,” you sternly say, cutting your father and looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “No. She’s not. I saw him kill her.”

Charlotte raises a hand to her mouth and looks at Dominic who looks at her for a moment in return. And just like that, the joyous atmosphere of your awakening ends and is replaced with one of terror and anxiousness. Without a word, your father turns and briskly walks to leave the room. Charlotte moves to try and follow him, but you quickly grab her hand to stop her, shaking your head when she looks down at you. You know it’s best if she didn’t see your mother in a pool of her own blood.

You know you don’t want to see it again, even if the image is stuck in your mind.

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quazartranslates · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH56

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 56: Purgatory Reunion (VIII)

The news caught Qi Leren off guard. The Illusionist’s strength was unfathomable. If it was the Village of Dusk, Qi Leren didn't need to worry about his safety at all, but this was the Underground Ant City.

An underground world ruled by field-level masters, where humans and demons coexisted, and every month, an army of demons vastly impacted this underground fortress, and there is a gap leading to the underworld in the depths of Purgatory...

It was too dangerous here, and the place the Illusionist had gone missing was the royal palace of the Dragon Ant Queen.

"What was the Illusionist going to see the Dragon Ant Queen for?" Qi Leren instinctively guessed that it might be the Dragon Ant Queen who detained the Illusionist, but he didn't know why the Illusionist had come to the Underground Ant City. Chen Baiqi hadn't told him, and Qi Leren hadn't asked about it while on the way to Ning Zhou.

"This....." The contact Celia hesitated. It was likely that she couldn't disclose the mission information casually. Although Qi Leren had come with the Illusionist, he was not an executive officer of the Court.

Hesitant, Celia glanced at Ning Zhou again. She remembered that this man was the Holy See’s special envoy in the Court.

Ning Zhou asked: "Have you contacted the Court?"

"The letter requesting instruction was sent out yesterday, but I'm afraid I won't receive a reply until next week," Celia said.

"Tell us what happened, it won't help to wait any longer," Ning Zhou said lightly.

"Yes, Mr. Ning Zhou. The thing is, the Prophet has a secret agreement with the Dragon Ant Queen, which stipulates that when the next Dragon Ant Queen succeeds the throne, the Prophet will send someone to witness. When the Prophet received an invitation from the Dragon Ant Queen, he appointed the Illusionist to witness the handover ceremony," Celia said with a heavy expression. "Before leaving, the Illusionist agreed that he would contact us every day, but there’s been no news since he entered Dragon Ant Queen’s royal palace."

"Didn't you go to him?" Qi Leren asked in wonder.

"We went, but we couldn't enter the palace without Dragon Ant Queen’s edict or the Prophet," Celia said.

Qi Leren thought about it. The royal palaces of the Dragon Ant Queens of all previous dynasties were not in the same place. Their royal palaces were magnificent, huge and unfathomable, and even horrible to ordinary people—because their royal palaces were their last tombs.

Since the day they began to reign, they had been building magnificent tombs for themselves. The deeper they dug, the bigger they were. With huge manpower and their own almost terrible power, the tombs Dragon Ant Queens were a huge city, which was built from the day they had begun to reign and would not stop until the day they died.

Strangely, except for the first Dragon Ant Queen, who lived a long life, every Dragon Ant Queen has been in office for only 20 years. This Dragon Ant Queen had been in office for 22 years. She had been a young girl 22 years ago, and now she was as old as an elder.

Her underground tomb had already been built so large that it could be called a magnificent underground city.

This was also her palace.

"But there is a clue..." Celia gritted her teeth and told the information. "On the morning when the Illusionist went to the palace, a gambler saw him in an underground casino that demons frequent."

"Have you verified it?" Qi Leren asked.

"I sent someone, but the informant who went to verify didn’t come back. Recently, the number of unidentified missing people in the entire Underground Ant City is several times that of the past, which is very alarming," Celia said gravely.

"Has there been a similar situation before?" Qi Leren asked again.

Celia was silent for a moment, as if thinking something. For a long time, she sighed softly: "I’ve never experienced it, but I have heard of some things... This situation is very similar to the period when the previous Dragon Ant Queen fell more than twenty years ago. The order of the whole Underground Ant City had completely collapsed, and the tension between demons and human residents had intensified. Although it wasn’t the time for the demon tide, demons poured out from every corner, and neither humans nor demons could easily survive the disaster... It was a very horrible and chaotic period. Every time power has been handed over, there was blood shed. Think about it, this is the death of a field-level master. Her death is a devastating blow to the field under her rule. Although the Dragon Ant Queen is in a special situation that she can pass on the field in some way, this inheritance is by no means easy. In the final analysis, it’s our lives that are too fragile. The weak clinging to the strong can't endure the rain and wind. Even those who are close to God's existence will fall one day, let alone vulnerable ordinary people like us."

Qi Leren's heart was heavy. In this short yet long time, he had experienced too many feelings that he couldn’t experience in peacetime. Too many people were wandering here, but they were still struggling to survive. Whether it was life, emotion, or the connection between people, it was too fragile in this cruel and turbulent world. Here, what was cherished would be destroyed, entrusted would be shattered, praised and degraded, and beautiful things would be broken one by one, but you couldn't even blame anyone.

Because they were really, really, too weak… The people who used to live in Maria's "dream" would eventually face this demon-infested world, because the "god" who had once sheltered them had also fallen. How long could the Village of Dusk under the Prophet’s protection be stable for?

The old Devil had fallen, the Holy Nun had fallen, and the Dragon Ant Queen was about to fall. This group of people were almost "God" in the eyes of ordinary people and couldn’t be detached from the laws of the world’s order.

Qi Leren felt powerless. He didn't know whether his hand could fight against this cruel world. He wanted to protect a person, a person who was not recognized by the Holy See and would not compromise with the Devil, a person who drifted to hell but yearned for heaven. He wanted to accompany this person and give him a last harbor.

But could he really do it? Qi Leren couldn't help but doubt himself. Even though he had pushed open the door to a half field, the road ahead was still so long. He was just like a child looking at the night sky. After the dark clouds in the sky parted, he saw the bright starlight, which pointed the way forward for him. But it was the light of hundreds of millions of years ago, which was hundreds of millions of light years away from him. He could see it, but he could not touch it.

Suddenly there was a slight touch on his fingertips. Qi Leren froze and hooked Ning Zhou's hand behind him with his own.

The temperature from another person's life soothed the restless soul. Qi Leren forgot that Celia, the Court’s contact person, was standing in front of him, and turned back to Ning Zhou and said, "Let's go to the underground casino."

Ning Zhou squeezed his hand hard: "Mm."

"Also, please send another letter to the Courthouse to explain that I’ve found Ning Zhou. We’ll stay in the Underground Ant City for a while, and we’ll help find the Illusionist." As Qi Leren spoke, he suddenly found Celia was silently watching them hold hands, and suddenly wanted to take it back. As a result, Ning Zhou held him too tightly, and a slight struggle didn't work at all.

Qi Leren took a peek at Ning Zhou. He had no expression on his cold face, as if he didn't feel anything wrong with the contact's line of sight, so he held the hand of someone of the same gender silently, calmly, and like nobody was watching.

On the contrary, Qi Leren felt as if he had been caught holding hands secretly by a school principal. His heart was beating fast and his face was red.

What was happening? Wasn't Ning Zhou super shy? At the beginning, during the Witchcraft Sacrifice, he had obviously blushed!

This confusion plagued Qi Leren the whole way. On the way to the underground casino, Qi Leren’s thoughts were full of this problem, absent-minded, and he was distracted several times. After being stared at by Ning Zhou several times, he guiltily beat around the bush: "There’s so many people here. Isn’t it not good for us to hold hands?"

It wasn’t good, it made them stand out. In the Underground Ant City full of coldness and malice, two men who walked hand in hand had a completely different impression from the group of lonely passers-by who wished to be separated from strangers by a few meters. But the surprised eyes of passers-by didn't affect Ning Zhou at all. He was unmoved and insisted on holding hands.

Hearing Qi Leren’s question, Ning Zhou stopped and looked at him, and there was a hint of shock in his expression.

Qi Leren was confused and stupidly looked at him in wait for a while.

The two people looked at each other without speaking.

"Aren’t we..." Ning Zhou said two words and paused again. Qi Leren inexplicably felt that his expression at the moment seemed a little nervous. "...Aren't we going to get married?"

Qi Leren: ???!!!

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newamsterdame · 5 years ago

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a deadly education is tone-deaf at best and racist at worse; not the cure to jkr anyone was hoping for

Harry Potter’s massive cultural impact means that we haven’t seen the last of magic schools set in Britain, and we probably won’t for a long while. In some ways, the fantasy genre’s response to Rowling’s work is tiresome. In others, it’s exciting—because a generation of readers and writers have grown up to bring their own perspective to the limits of Rowling’s work and push it beyond the limits of its author. However, if you’re looking for a transgressive magic academy book that interrogates the limited morality, inclusivity, and perspective of Harry Potter, you should put Naomi Novik’s A Deadly Education back on the shelf and keep looking.

A Deadly Education tells the story of Galadriel “El” Higgins, a half-British half-Indian sorcerer attending a magic school where the consequences of any mistake might mean sudden death. El is a loner by nature and circumstance, but walking alone in the halls of Scholomance might mean being attacked and devoured by one of the school’s monsters. This puts El on a crash course with Orion Lake, the shining hero of her year who takes it upon himself to save the lives of his fellow students, including a less-than-grateful El.

The set up honestly sounds pretty good—a prickly protagonist, a heroic rival-slash-love interest, a deadly setting, and the potential for deep lore in magic and world-building. Unfortunately, not only does Novik fail to deliver on any of the premises’ strengths, she also chooses to weigh her narrative down with reductive, tone-deaf, and downright racist details.

El’s particular class of magic relies on language. El speaks English and Marathi, and picks up Sanskrit, Hindi, Latin and Old English in her study of language-based spells. It’s a little uncomfortable that Novik lumps dead and defunct languages like Latin and Old English together with actively spoken ones like Mandarin, Hindi, and Spanish, but that isn’t where Novik’s faux paus end. El approaches languages like computer programs to be downloaded onto her hard drive. Despite languages being the basis of her magic, she has no personal connections to the ones she’s speaking. She views other students and their languages the same way, identifying groups of students as “the Mandarin speakers”, “the Arabic speakers,” etc. Novik seems clueless about the relationships between the languages she’s building her world’s magic around, putting Sanskrit tombs in Baghdad and declaring that the Scholomance has a library aisle containing all of India’s languages. (About 800 individual languages are spoken in India, fyi.)

This clinical approach to diversity extends from language into character. El doesn’t try to make many friends, and honestly it’s not hard to see her classmates don’t try to befriend her, either. She doesn’t describe her classmates as people—she describes them as assets. And while that could be explained away by the premise that half her classmates won’t make it out of school alive, and El needs allies more than friends to survive, it doesn’t make it any better when El refers to others exclusively by the language knowledge they offer her. A character named Ibrahim has no personality or backstory, but he conveniently pops up when El needs someone who knows Arabic. A character named Kaito is thoughtlessly grouped in with the Mandarin speakers. An Argentine character exclaims in Spanish when she’s excited or relieved. There’s an uncomfortable distinction between the languages that get written out in the text—Spanish, French—and the ones that get narrated away—a character exclaims in Mandarin.

Novik goes out of her way to let us know that the population of Scholomance is diverse. There’s a group of South and West African students (only one of whom is named, and none of whom are important). There’s a “civilized” enclave of magicians in Toronto who value family and human life more than other groups. One character might graduate and go to Bangkok, but he’s looking to secure himself a place in Shanghai instead. Naomi Novik really knows the names of cities on at least four continents, and she’s not about to let you forget it!

But aside from names, languages, and cities, Novik has given no thought to what diversity means, or who these characters are if they come from diverse backgrounds. El calls on “Mandarin-speaker,” Yi Liu, exclusively by the name Liu. Is Liu meant to be this character’s first name? Or her surname? El doesn’t call anyone else by surname, but Liu is a Chinese surname, one of the most common in the world. El’s father is a Marathi-speaker from Mumbai, but El has no personal connection to Indian culture. Her father’s family prophesied that El would be a destroyer, and other than that rejection El has nothing to say about India or half of her culture. She refers to her Indian relatives in clinical English descriptors (my father’s mother, my great-grandmother, my uncles), even though she is purportedly fluent in Marathi and should know words like Panaji, Aaji and Kaka. El says that her Indian family is from an old Hindu enclave, and yet they have djinn as servants. (Djinn aren’t a typical part of Hindu cosmology, though they are a significant part of Islamic texts.)

Making El biracial seems like an afterthought, not something that affects her character in any way. It just creates some truly unfortunate optics, like when El goes on a three-paragraph description of how unnecessary she finds showers and how dirty she is at any given time. El’s father died making sure her pregnant mother (and therefore, El herself) would live, and yet El barely thinks about him. His name is mentioned once in the entire book. El complains that (presumably white) British people “assume she speaks Hindi” or call her the color of weak tea. But her Indian heritage is a veneer placed on top of a character who is otherwise just a default white protagonist.

All this adds up to a character (and a world), that reads as nothing so much as colonial. El feasts on the languages of others for her own edification, power, and survival, but she doesn’t see her classmates as people, and she doesn’t see language as a living thing related to real cultures. And I’m given to believe that Naomi Novik holds the same views, what with how she throws around the word “mana” as part of her world-building without considering its roots and real-life meaning to Polynesian and Melanesian peoples.

However, nothing makes the cultural tone-deafness of this book more evident than this passage:

Dreadlocks are unfortunately not a great idea thanks to lockleeches, which you can probably imagine, but in case you need help, the adult spindly thing comes quietly down at night and pokes an ovipositor into any big clumps of hair, lays an egg inside, and creeps away. A little while later the leech hatches inside its comfy nest, attaches itself to your scalp almost unnoticeably, and starts very gently sucking up your blood and mana while infiltrating further. If you don’t get it out within a week or two, it usually manages to work its way inside the skull, and you’ve got a window of a few days after that before you stop being able to move. On the bright side, something else usually finishes you off quickly at that point.

El’s pithy commentary about imminent death aside, I have a hard time reading anything but casual and thoughtless racism from this passage. The nefarious and deliberate myth of dreadlocks being unhygienic (and by extension, Black people being endemically dirty) is pervasive to this day. And Naomi Novik decides to include this passage in a book that has no major Black characters, in which dreadlocks never even come up in any meaningful way, just to remind us that in this magic world of hers, dreadlocks are dirty! Monster insects nest in them! The consequences are death! There was no good reason to include this passage, and all it does is draw on inaccurate and racist myths and perpetuate them into a world where anti-Black racism is never contended with. Although, I suppose, why would it? El never has need of any languages from the West or South Africans.

A Deadly Education bills itself as a subversive, even feminist, response to Harry Potter. But just like J. K. Rowling, Naomi Novik is a white author who uses other cultures thoughtlessly to build her own magic world. Other cultures and peoples exist, but only to serve the aims and needs of white (or mostly white-coded) characters. Novik has no empathy, no care and apparently no ability to Google anything about the cultures she wants to draw on. And the result isn’t just insulting—it’s boring. The world-building in this book is as dry and dusty as any history written by 19th century British colonizers.

Using some foreign names and making your protagonist biracial does not shield your work from racism. It does open you up to more pitfalls in depicting other peoples and cultures, if you don’t care to look out for them.

It would be nice to close by saying that despite its flaws, A Deadly Education is an enjoyable book. But it isn’t. It’s just a badly-researched, emotionless story told by rote.

#a deadly education #naomi novik #book reviews #quality text blog

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spaceaceathena · 4 years ago

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The first time Aurora steps into Kirkwall’s Chantry, she almost expects to set on fire. She’s desperately out of her element but she persists, hesitantly trekking down the wide hall towards the looming visage of Andraste.

The cold, hollow stare chills her to the bone. It’s a stare that disapproves of her every action— a stare that she’s seen in her mother, in her older sister, in every person in Lothering.

Aurora wishes it weren’t so ingrained in her memory. When did it even start? When did she start messing everything up? She raises her gaze to Andraste, silent as a tomb, for some sort of answer.

Nothing. Why did she expect any different? The Maker and Andraste have been silent since her father died, since Carver died.

But then again, why would they spare their attention on someone too far gone? The last time she’d set foot in a Chantry, it was not to worship them or say a prayer— it was to fool around in a confessional box while a service was going on.

Clumsy hands and mouths seeking and finding one another in the tiny booth, the only sound being their breathing as they knew they both had to remain silent.

Aurora never has to wonder what happened to that boy from the confessional booth— fleeing Lothering had allowed her to stumble upon his body, demolished by darkspawn.

Now, she’s back. Alone and afraid in the vastness of this Chantry, with its high vaulted ceilings and copious amounts of candles.

Silently, she slips into a pew and kneels, hands clasping together. She tries to ignore the feeling that everyone there knows how badly she’s messed up. Every single error seems to be written on her back, a perfect view for any sister or mother that passes.

Aurora knows she hasn’t been much of a believer but, she needs some form of hope right now. Any little scrap will do. Her family is crammed in a house with their Uncle Gamlen, her older sister has taken Bethany on her expedition to the Deep Roads, and her mother is still mourning Carver’s death.

She practically begs Andraste for some little glimmer of hope that can keep her afloat. Aurora knows such selfish prayers go unanswered, instead turning her focus to Nevaeh and Bethany’s safety. It’s more charitable that way.

When she finally opens her eyes and lifts her head, she realizes that she’s not alone in the Chantry. There’s another person there— a brother no less.

For a moment, he seems to register that she’s staring, his bright blue eyes twinkling as he gives her an honest and warm smile. Aurora feels her face practically burn as she tries to look anywhere but towards him.

Being caught staring is another thing she can feel shame for— as if she didn’t have a list a mile long already. She doesn’t even wait to find out if he wants to come and talk after his prayers, she books it out of the Chantry. Perhaps that had been her small glimmer of hope.

The second time she works up the nerve to return to the Chantry, it’s 3 years after Bethany died in the Deep Roads. The memory of Nevaeh returning home with her ragtag group, her face a study in misery, is etched into her memory.

Finding out her sister died widens the empty chasm in her chest— it’s only getting wider and deeper at this rate with each family member’s passing.

The main hall of the Chantry feels as empty and desolate as she is. It’s dark and cast in gray, rain pelting against the stained glass windows in front of her.

It feels nice to be dry and indoors, it’s better than sitting alone in the Hightown mansion and whiling away the hours because her mother won’t let her adventure with her older sister.

Aurora understands, her mother has already lost two out of the triplets, she can’t afford to lose the third. It’s hard to lose your brother and sister, what do you do when the people you share birthdays with, tell jokes to and cling to are gone? What do you do when you’re no longer a triplet— you’re alone now.

In this case, Aurora finds herself empty, waiting for someone to fill in the cracks. She turns to Andraste once more, getting to her knees with her silver gaze towards the statue.

It takes strength to not react when Mother Petrice makes an offhand comment about how she didn’t expect to see Aurora here on her knees in the Chantry, she pictured her on her knees in the Blooming Rose.

The remark causes Aurora’s face to turn bright red but she chooses to ignore it anyways. She’s been far too exhausted lately to think about witty comebacks. In fact, she finds she’s too exhausted to even receive guidance from Andraste.

It doesn’t surprise her. The Maker and His bride have always been silent. If they cared, surely Bethany would still be alive.

Getting to her feet, she decides that maybe she ought to walk away but her eyes catch a glimpse of a brother replacing candles.

At this point, she knows him fairly well. Sebastian Vael. Prince, priest and friend of her sister’s. Aurora finds him more tolerable than Varric, who she spends a bit more time around than she’d like to. She takes a pause. Tolerable isn’t the right word, she doesn’t tolerate him. She genuinely enjoys Sebastian’s presence.

There’s something about him that makes her feel like someone genuinely cares and thinks the world of her when everyone else disapproves. Maybe he’s just like that with everyone.

It seems he’s caught her staring though, Aurora’s face immediately reddening all over again. She should’ve learned from last time but she can’t help that there’s something captivating about him.

Sebastian’s smile brightens and warms her day as she heads over to him. He knows how hard things have been for the Hawkes, offering his condolences and an opportunity to put Bethany’s name on the remembrance board.

Aurora doesn’t want pity... but she does want closure. She agrees to put Bethany’s name up, hoping it will make her feel better. Sebastian helps her find the perfect place to put it, guiding her hand with his. He’s as gentle and warm as she’s dreamt he’d be.

They both linger in silence, she’s not in the mood for idle chatter anyways. By the time her sister’s name is on the board, the rain slowly seems to move on its way, signaling she should head home.

Aurora offers him a grateful smile and thanks before she leaves the Chantry once more.

Aurora doesn’t go to the Chantry anymore. Why should she? The Maker and Andraste are silent after all— they’ve basically made a mockery of all her prayers. She’d prayed for both of her sisters to be safe and one died. The next she just prayed for guidance, anything but all life had done was take her mother from her too.

It’s just her and Nevaeh now. When your big sister’s the Champion of Kirkwall, you find yourself alone most of the time. Sure, Sandal, Bodahn, and Orana are around but it doesn’t feel the same.

Suddenly, the emptiness she’s felt in her chest after Bethany passed has suddenly grown. Aurora clings to the family’s mabari, he’s one fixture of the family she can trust to stay by her.

The whole mansion feels empty without family to fill it so she occupies her time to her room, it’s much less space to fill. Her days typically consist of sitting in front of the fire with their dog and reading, the dog content to be used as a small pillow while she rests her head on his side.

It’s odd to her when Bodahn knocks on her door to tell her she has a guest. Aurora never has guests, her sister maybe but never her. Her bedroom door opens slightly and it’s almost a relief to see Sebastian there.

He comes over to join her, sitting down in front of the fire as he sets down a small bundle between them, carefully untying the knot to reveal pastries from Hightown- tarts, small cakes, and she’s pretty sure she sees a cookie or two in the mix too.

Sweets do seem to make things feel a little brighter, she takes one of the cookies and splits it in two, offering the larger half to him. She used to do that with Bethany and Carver when they were in Lothering. It feels nice to be able to do it again.

Aurora’s almost glad Sebastian doesn’t say anything, she hasn’t felt up to talking in a few months. Nevaeh is hardly around after all and even if she attempts conversation, her throat tightens and chokes her out.

The past few months have given her time to reflect and she understands that deep seated need for revenge that Sebastian had for those mercenaries. The man who took her mother from her was killed by her older sister but Aurora almost wishes that she’d been the one to sink a blade into his throat. Wishes that she could see the fear in his eyes, fear she’s certain her mother faced in those last moments, before he fades away entirely.

The mere thought of it makes her blood boil all over again, her free hand clenching at the rug, knuckles stark white. Then she feels a familiar warm touch, Sebastian carefully taking her hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Aurora glances to him, just carefully watching his measured smile as he squeezes again. It helps to ground her, even just a little bit. She leans into him, pressing as close as she can until he has his arm around her shoulders. It makes her feel safe, feel loved.

Then she realizes that maybe Andraste had heard her prayer for hope because when she’s with him? She feels she can handle anything.

#athena writes #no proofreading we post and go like cowards #anyways uhhh enjoy a small sebhawke thing i wrote last month :-)#oc: aurora hawke #sebhawke #sebastian vael #:-) I have the courage to tag it now

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sonicspsychos · 3 years ago

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(Almost) Lost and Found

While Virgie’s dark fay verse takes place post MOE, I don’t think any fans would object if things happened this way.

@eternalstrigoii

The remaining humans had gone, and Maleficent and Borra were leaning over a dying Conall. Borra was about to pick up and carry him home when Maleficent noticed something.

Maleficent’s head whipped up with a start, and what she saw baffled her at first. Where the tomb blooms once were were fay-all the ones who had fallen, and the ones whose blooms had been taken by the humans. “Who are you?” Her voice boomed in the darkness.

Borra stood, and his gaze landed on a figure in the center-something or someone whose figure seemed to be flickering between human and that of a desert fay like himself. The figure was staggering, supported only by the now risen little fay who swarmed around her. The figure’s gaze shifted on Conall, and Maleficent stiffened, unsure of this strange new figure that seemed to be both human and fay. Was it a trick?

“She’s of the phoenix, same as you.” Conall’s voice came out next, and he coughed. “She’s revived the fallen.”

The figure-a short female-shuffled her way to their sides, and practically flopped next to Conall. As if drawn to it, her gaze and hands shifted to his wound. “I need strength,” she murmured.

“Only she has that kind of power,” Conall said, nodding to Maleficent. “Her and you, the lost one.”

The figure, her form still shifting, shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t know how she knew, but she said, “You don’t need that power to help me. This power-I don’t remember having it, but deep down inside me-I feel all that’s needed is a desire to recover what was lost. If you have that, you can help me.”

Oddly enough, it was Borra’s hands who covered hers first, followed by Maleficent’s. Power surged from all three, though the greatest amount came from not the newcomer nor even Maleficent-it came from Borra himself, who of all people had spent his entire life fighting to take back what the fae had lost. When the light cleared, Conall was beginning to sit up, and the mysterious newcomer slumped over, passed out in Borra’s arms.

When she woke up, it was to the sound of arguing-mostly between Borra and Conall, whose lap her head was resting in. Every so often, the argument would stop long enough for Conall to chuckle at the sounds of snoring coming out. Borra tried his best to look annoyed, but even his lips twitched in laughter before he began again.

“You would have died were it not for the girl, Conall!”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try for peace. After all this time-”

“After all this time, you ought to know that peace is impossible!” Borra shouted. Other fae murmured their agreement, and Conall sighed.

“Borra-”

“He’s not wrong.” Her eyelids fluttered open. Her form was still shifting, but her face had become that of a desert fay rather than the human it had been transformed into. Slowly, she sat up, and staggered to her feet-mostly with Conall’s help.

She staggered again, over to Borra this time, whose face turned soft just slightly at the sight of her. He offered her a hand, and she took it, walking forward before turning to face the crowd of gathered fae.

“The only name I know for myself is Virgie,” she said. “So I guess that’s what all of you can call me until someone comes up with something better. I don’t remember....a lot of things. But apparently I can do some amazing things.” She nodded over at Conall, who nodded back.

“What I remember of where I’ve been I’d rather not talk too much about, but I know humans use people. Humans are cruel. But at the same time, I don’t think all humans are bad any more than I think-well, that all of anything else is. That being said, I’d just as soon not see one for a while.” There was a mixture of laughter and agreement around her.

“I will tell you all that I was used by humans, and it wasn’t pleasant. As my mind began to clear, I tired of fighting and wars. I too would like nothing more than peace. But-” She paused and looked up at Borra. “If wanting and praying for peace was enough,it would have happened long ago, wouldn’t it?”

When Borra nodded silently, she went on. “Some of you might disagree with the idea of fighting anything. It’s scary, and it’s tiresome. I just got here, and there’s probably a lot I don’t know or understand yet. But what I do understand is that this is more than just Borra wanting to war with humans. This is about fighting for something he believes in-all of you-wait, of us. I’m counted, right?”

“Of course you are.” Borra chuckled, though rather than amusement, there was a mixture of understanding and respect in his eyes.

“If my opinion counts here, I say this-those who wish to fight, fight for our people. But do it cautiously, and if you have the chance to make peace, take it. After all, it’s not as if we have to invite them over for dinner. We’re not inviting them for dinner, right?”

This time Borra did laugh. “Of course not. I think you should go back to bed, by the way.”

Virgie wanted to say she was fine, but something in his eyes suggested no room for argument, so she let him lead her back to Conall-where she promptly fell asleep again.

#maleficent: moe #drabble #long post

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cross-d-a · 4 years ago

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if you're doing those characters then please give me more amazing takes on princess mute 🥺💕

OMG IM SO LATE ANSWERING THIS BUT HERE I FINALLY AM

Also omgg thank you SOSOSO much for asking me about Princess Mute?? THE LOVE OF MY LIFE??? You know me so well, vish!! I love and adore you so much!! Thank you for giving me the chance to blabber on about the woman I love!! ⁽⁽٩(๑˃̶͈̀ ᗨ ˂̶͈́)۶⁾⁾

ALSO! I’m gonna do my best to like- not spoil all my plans for whispers, haha

The rest is under the cut bc I just have a lot of FEELINGS~ about our resident zombie girl

❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

How I feel about this character

OH BOY OK I JUST??? LOVE HER??? A LOT???? I wasn’t expecting to get quite so immediately and intensely attached to her?? But from the second I heard about her in the legend I was just gone. Completely done for. I’m generally a sucker for mythology, and there’s just SO MUCH that’s fascinating about the tale behind the Princess Mute and the South Sea King?

Even though Princess Mute is so central to the myth, the South Sea King is deemed as the most important? I mean- duh it is his tomb, but Princess Mute is the catalyst? None of this would have happened without her? She’s main character material and yet she isn’t the main character of her own story?? She has practically no agency? It’s so? Fucking? Fascinating?? And there is so fucking much left unanswered? The myth says she turns into a goddamn monster?? Is this- figuratively? Or literally? Is she a monster for breaking gender norms and committing the ultimate taboo by killing the Emperor??? Like- holy FUCK? Like- LOOK at this pic from Ershu’s Expensive Powerpoint:

and a close-up for good measure:

(note the HORNS/HELMET?? the LIGHTNING STRIKE!!! 👀👀👀 how she’s dressed as a SOLDIER?? that SPEAR??? also she’s depicted as much bigger than the emperor!! which, of course, means she’s more important!!!!)

and, HELLO!! She’s called the PRINCESS MUTE. She is only known/named in association to someone else. Her name has been erased from history. It isn’t important to anyone. Which is so fucking ironic. She’s Princess Mute. Her voice has been stripped from her, just like her agency. This tale is the Mute Emperor’s and not her own. Her suffering means nothing to anyone. Her life means nothing other than for the Emperor to desire and the South Sea King to mourn over (and WOW!! ISN’T THIS JUST!! SO perfectly encapsulating Nanpai Sanshu’s female characters and their relevance to the story/male characters)

(so what is her goddamn name???? I mean, I know what I’ve named her, but sorry dudes. Again. I don’t wanna spoil too much :) )

also, WHY is the South Sea King covering her eyes when she’s sent off to sea in the origami boat?

What actually happens to her after this? The body we see of the South Sea King has long white hair so I assume he died pretty old? So why does she look so goddamn young?

And- the million dollar question here (WHICH I HAVE A LOT OF HEADCANONS FOR BUT I DON’T WANNA SPOIL WHISPERS): What happened to her after she killed the Emperor????

ALSO!! WHY IS SHE HOLDING A DINGLAN RULER WHEN SANSHU FINDS HER IN THAT FIRST EXPEDITION?? (internet says it’s a “special ruler used for making shrines, carving wood statues and making tablets of gods. Later used in measurement of architectural scale; measuring instrument for the netherworld, wishes best for tomb owner) did she design her own father’s tomb?? is there more to her becoming a leather figurine than filial loyalty/sacrifice??

Why does she have a tattoo?? I go a bit into this in my fic, but from my understanding it was unusual for people (women especially!) to have tattoos during this time! (this is just from my research! if I am wrong please correct me!)

For anyone who hasn’t read whispers, there were a a few tribes (minorities!) during this time who tattooed themselves (and to this day, they continue this tradition :) ). The Li were often attacked by invaders who assaulted the women and sold them as slaves. The women ended up tattooing their faces and bodies to make them less appealing, and it ended up becoming a tradition. When a girl came of age she’d get tattooed. Then we’ve got the Dai, who (from what I understand!) got tattoos of animals with characteristics they wished to embody, such as to show their virility and strength! So they’d tattoo tigers and dragons, etc.

So why does Princess Mute have one? Who gave it to her? WHAT ACTUALLY IS IT!!!!!! (eternal frustration that we never see a clear shot of the whole thing!!) It kinda looks like a heavily stylized fish? With some waves. But I am unsure! But it would make sense, considering the ongoing theme of snakes and fish throughout dmbj.

Also, her scars seem very strange. Like- if someone skinned her (YIKES!) then- her scars don’t really seem like they’re a result of skinning (double yikes!!). You’d think that for a woman who was the daughter of the King, they’d take more care to preserve her face?? So why does it seem like someone has done their utter best to ruin it? Did the Emperor do it himself? Did her father? Or did someone else do it?? Did she do it herself????

Also, I just wanna cut the bullshit with the creepy hand clam thing. A hand clam isn’t gonna wrap their fingers around Wu Xie’s hand to stop him from blowing himself up. Like. I get that it’s the censorship. I get it. But- you can’t tell me it wasn’t actually the Princess Mute who saved him. I just?? This moment is so powerful? It literally knocked the breath from my chest.

Princess Mute’s story is just so fascinating and tragic and I am just a mess over how she isn’t in control of her own story? She never is. Except for when she kills the Emperor. (AND when she saves Wu Xie) And I think that’s fucking telling.

Of course, it felt like they had more of a storyline planned for her which never happened, but I’ll get more into that later.

Basically, I just have SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!

It’s like- I dunno. Seeing a gorgeous woman flip an obnoxious man over her shoulder and slam him to the ground without breaking a sweat and watching her walk away with stars in your eyes. You barely know anything about her but you’re already half in love and you just want to know more.

I’m super Gay for her, if you couldn’t already tell.

Honestly, she just perfectly represents all the female characters and their treatment in dmbj with all the extra PIZAZZ of the mysterious supernatural/mythological elements. She just makes me go feral and I adore her with my entire heart.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

NUMBER ONE I SHIP HER WITH MY CUTE AND PERFECT GF XIAO BAI!!!!!!!!

They are my two favourite (okay and my wife Su Nan!) female characters in dmbj. I think their stories parallel each other pretty beautifully? They’re both women in a powerful position, though with limited agency. They both defy gender norms and accomplish things (I’m counting killing the Emperor as Accomplishing Something) in a very male-dominated world. And- okay. I know the Princess Mute is technically dead. But she also?? is someone still doing stuff?? and pushing along the storyline?? as a zombie?? So I’m just gonna say that both of them aren’t truly killed off for the Man Pain like all the other female dmbj characters (except for Xiu Xiu, and I guess Chuchu but ChuChu’s situation is kinda....Iffy. At best.)

Also both of them are linked pretty heavily with Wu Xie? They both have an interesting relationship with him. And Princess Mute leads Wu Xie to Xiao Bai!!!

And okay this is spoiling a bit of whispers, BUT!!! Warehouse 11 was built atop the South Sea King’s temple. Isn’t that fucking important??? I stand by my headcanon that Xiao Bai is a Warehouse kid (descended from the Founders) and so she grew up there. And like- ignoring censorship bc I can AND because Reboot leaves a lot of supernatural stuff up in the air anyway- wouldn’t growing up atop an insanely powerful temple do something to you? Wouldn’t it affect you in some way?? There’s just!!! SO much potential between Princess Mute and Xiao Bai!! Plus!! I think it’d be great for Xiao Bai to form a relationship with another woman. She needs some female solidarity in her life.

And- well. I just ship Princess Mute with all the dmbj women, really. Princess Mute has two hands, why can she use them both?? I’ve got a couple Princess Mute modern au’s going and in one of them she just- sweeps A’Ning and Su Nan off their feet :)

I really can’t ship Princess Mute with any male characters, I think. There’s just- so much underlying trauma surrounding her agency and how she’s been used by the men in her life. Also, I like wlw & mlm solidarity. Let Princess Mute and Wu Xie wallow over their Stupid Crushes. Or Princess Mute & Xiao Ge. I’m not picky.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Purely bc of my own au, I am very much invested in Princess Mute & Li Cu (& spirit snake). As I mentioned before, there’s a running theme of loss of agency in their own lives and suffering the consequences of others’ actions. Plus, there’s a lot of supernatural happenings surrounding the both of them. Why wouldn’t they find a connection?

And, obviously, I adore Princess Mute & Wu Xie. Princess Mute saved Wu Xie and then Wu Xie was promptly obsessed (can’t say I blame him). They had such an interesting relationship in Reboot that was just- so fucking tragically dropped.

My unpopular opinion about this character

SHE SHOULD BE MORE POPULAR!!!!!!!!!! She is so goddamn fascinating and gorgeous and I just!! Want!! Everyone to adore her as much as I do!!!!!!!! At least I feel a bit accomplished for swinging some readers over to her side in whispers!! That’s something!!!

I’ve got like- a million au ideas with her. I’m going to be the creator of the content I wish to read!!!!!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I WISH SHE COULD HAVE GOTTEN A SATISFACTORILY COMPLETED STORYLINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She just gets completely dropped after she leads Wu Xie to Warehouse 11. So once more, she is a plot device and not. And actual. Person. Her importance is tied irrevocably to the male leads. Her agency is not her own. Wu Xie cares so much about her, and okay, he’s trying to figure out a mystery and we all know how he gets when he’s trying to puzzle out a mystery-- but you can’t tell me he just- stops caring after he encounters Warehouse 11??? What happens to her after that?? Does she rot away in a box in Wushanju?? Does Ershu take her back?? I’m just?? WHAT????

I want to know her side of the story and not what everyone else has said. I want her to actually properly communicate with Wu Xie. I want her saving the day again and I want her being fucking badass and I want her and Xiao Ge being soft together and I want her and Xiao Bai to bond fall in love and I want everyone to just- fall in love with her? And care about her? And I want to to find herself caring about these fucking idiots too???? Can you imagine her and Liu Sang bonding over shitty fathers and lack of agency and Trauma?? Can you imagine Princess Mute getting her life back and the freckles returning to her slowly darkening skin and her being silly with Hei-ye bc he keeps shoving increasingly ridiculous sunglasses at her. And can you imagine her trying on jeans for the first time and picking out a cute bomber jacket and shoving a baseball cap on her head and dipping her feet back in the sea and befriending shibie bc she’s just?? that?? cool?? while Iron Triangle is off on the side fretting like she isn’t befriending some very dangerous creatures but it’s okay bc she’s a dangerous creature too and she understands fear and desire and hunger.

I want her returning to Thunder City. I want her getting closure. I want her story to get closure. Period.

And I know it didn’t happen bc censorship and Nanpai Sanshu and just- a host of Other Things. But I want it, and she deserves it.

AAAHH VISH!!!! Thank you so much for letting me yell about Princess Mute!! Sorry I couldn’t go more in depth with headcanons but!! Like I said, I don’t want to completely spoil you for whispers, so I’ll keep those close to my chest for now

٩(*ゝڡ��๑)۶♥

#dmbj #the lost tomb reboot #princess mute #dmbj meta #sorta??#tltr #Wu xie #Xiao bai #cross talks #reunion: the sound of the providence #bai haotian #ask game

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hothian-snow · 4 years ago

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Worldbuilding: Sith Magic (WIP)

An update to my original post.

I want to theorize about what magic may have been commonplace during the times of the Sith Pureblood, before they became influenced by the Dark Jedi. Some beliefs and practice may have evolved into what we know today, but many traditions will have likely died down, lost to time and to cultural colonisation. These are my headcanons, inspired by some headcanons others have made plus my own understanding of traditional witchcraft and Ancient Greek magic.

1) Magic of the Sun

Korriban is one of the original homes of the Sith Pureblood, and presumably the most prominent one. What could be seen the moment you step onto Korriban is the rocky red ending desert and the blistering sun. Magic from many cultures around our world are rooted in the land, and I believe Sith magic should be no different. In this case, their magic will be drawn from the sun, the bones that lie beneath the sands.

In the real world Greek Magical Papyri, a record of Greco-Egyptian magic spells, the sun god Helios is called upon in various rites ranging from consecration to restraining anger to bringing victory. In that same manner, I believe the sun may be called by the Sith to perform magical acts. In a lot of POC traditions, planets are also deified to be gods (something like astrolatry in Thailand etc), and so the Sith - who in my views are POC-coded - may revere the sun as a central religious figure (which makes it ironic that the concept of the Dark Side of the Force was later made to be the enemy of the Light). The sun nourishes, but it also burns. The light allows you to see, but too much can blind. It is the sun’s heat that rot corpses, freeing flesh from bones, rushing forth decomposition. The sun is life and the sun is death.

Just as Ancient Greek witches could be identified as descendants of Helios due to their flashing eyes, it is also possible that the Sith Pureblood may view themselves to be descendants of the sun. After all, their fiery eyes are like two miniature suns and their distinctive red skin are like the blood-red dawn.

2) Magic of the Bones

In many ways, the Force is similar to the real-world belief of animism. Inside everything is something that is alive and powerful. In the bones, buried beneath the sands, are a vault of memories. Through feeding the bones - feeding the spirits within the bones - one can cultivate a relationship with the dead. One can redden the bones with flowers from cactus mixed with drops of blood, or blacken them with roots and soot. Incense smoke can be like food to the soul. This works for both animal and Sith bones.

Once awakened, bones can be your teachers, or used both as an offensive and defensive tool. The empty eye sockets of skulls can be placed in strategic places, eternally watching guard. Fangs and claws can be turned into magical talismans, to protect their masters and shred their enemies to pieces. Bones may whisper their wisdom to you. Learn from the tuk’ata how to protect and defend. Learn from the K’lor’slugs how to poison and strike.

3) Necromancy

With the talks of bones, we cannot avoid the topic of necromancy. In a lot of POC cultures, ancestor veneration plays an integral part of bringing families together. As the Sith Purebloods are POC-coded, and because we have seen in-game that ghosts of ancestors (Lord Kallig) may wish to help their descendants (the Sith Inquisitor), I believe ancestor veneration would have a prominent role in Sith culture. Ancestors may send you dreams for you to be prepared for upcoming threats. Ancestors may work their magic from beyond the grave to influence situations in the living world.

Aside from having a ghost literally show up, transmission of knowledge through dreams is one way that tradition can be passed down, in spite of the Sith Genocide that occured. Children may have been made orphans, but it does not mean that their parents can’t speak through them in an oneiric vision. Texts may have been burnt, cultural artifacts may have been destroyed, but magic prevails. History finds a way to be remembered.

Dream incubation can be used to receive information that would be otherwise unknown. Trances can be used to induce visions from the dead and from higher powers. Ointments made from poisonous herbs, smeared onto the body, can be used to induce the liminal state required for a person to get in touch with the otherworld.

There is also canonical evidence that necromancy was practiced among the Sith before the Dark Jedi colonised them: Dathka Graush, a Sith King of Korriban active in the decades prior to the arrival of the Dark Jedi Exiles in 6900 BBY, was among the earliest practitioners of Sith necromancy. Necromancy can be as dramatic as raising zombies using occult incantations, reanimating the freshly dead and the buried skeletons. However, I also want to go for a different approach.

Inspired by Ancient Greek necromancy, I believe the dead can be split into many types. Perhaps there are the restless dead, like the Greek aōroi, the spirits who could be appeased and channeled to wreak havoc. Perhaps there are the mighty dead, (war) heroes who have been elevated to the point where they are venerated and prayed to for strength and miracles. The dead can be called upon to glean prophecies, and deals can be made with them, pacts sealed in blood. The dead can teach you secrets and grant you powers, and you can send them forth to haunt your enemies until they are maddened. A Sith may ask the ravenous dead to feed upon their enemy, and pray that the power of the tomb claims the rest.

Some parts of the current Sith cultural beliefs may have been influenced by the beliefs of the Sith Pureblood (pre-Dark Jedi arrival), but twisted into a reactionary belief in response to the Jedi code. For example, the Jedi seems to have an accepting attitude towards death (“there is no death, there is only the Force”) while the current Sith seems to wish to overcome death, whether through having a long-lasting legacy or through occult means (like Darth Zash or Emperor Vitiate). This is why a Sith like Darth Marr who are not scared to die are viewed as being terrifying. I believe this culture of immense fear towards death is a new thing.

In my headcanon, the Sith Pureblood originally viewed death as something to respect and fear, but also understood it to be a necessity - and in some cases, a beautiful part of life. Through death, grapes are transformed into wine. There is sacredness in the sweet and cloying rot, a holiness to decay and entropy. Because of this, there may be a field of magic that focuses not just on reanimating corpses, but on hastening (or temporary slowing- with consequences) the way and speed at which something decomposes. Imagine a Sith gripping their enemies with their bare hands, and from that touch comes a death sentence: bodies begin to bloat, festering sickness seeping into muscles and bones, flesh turning necrotic before death consumes them.

4) Potions and Poisons

The art of pharmakeia and veneficium is something that came up in the Sith Inquisitor storyline. Zash makes offhand remarks about poisoning her foes, and the ghost that taught the Sith Inquisitor how to Force Walk requires the Inquisitor to drink a cup of poison first. Poison can both kill and teach. In the real world, many traditional witches who walk the poison path have made allies of their poison plants. In Greek myth and religion, Circe uses potions to transmute men into pigs, and transforms women into monsters by poisoning water with drugs.

Ziost, which became capital of the Ancient Sith Empire after the reign of the Sith Overlord Adas came to an end, was described to be a planet of dark forests and barren tundra. With forests comes plants, and with plants comes poison. Perhaps dirt from graveyards and places of bloodshed can be mixed with foul herbs, along with powdered molts of poison insects, and then infused into oil to be made into a tool for cursing enemies. Should a hair or piece of armor from one’s rival be found, one could powder that and mix the blend into a poppet, enabling a Sith to feed their enemy poison from a distance.

The flipside of poison is medicine. Healers may have been as abundant as poisoners, or perhaps healers were poisoners and poisoners were healers, for the difference between killing and treating is just application and dosage. Potions may also be made to bless and enhance the abilities of someone - something like how stims are used in the current setting - and washes and ritual baths may be used to free someone from unwanted afflictions.

5) Force Lightning

I believe Force lightning has always been used by the Sith Pureblood, but its prestige and popularity only has sky-rocketted once Vitiate became Emperor. Dromund Kaas’ constant lightning and perpetual thunderstorms may have been “a result of the Sith Emperor's experiments in arcane and forbidden uses of the dark side of the Force”. Hence, it may be possible that the usage of Force lightning became a symbol of power due to Vitiate’s influence.

6) Sith Artifacts and Tools

The most well-known artifact of the Sith is the Sith holocron. I am not certain but I believe the oldest Sith holocron may be the Telos Holocron, and one of the earliest contributors to the Telos Holocron was Ajunta Pall who was a Dark Jedi. The holocron’s purpose in storing information and passing down the legacy of a Sith Lord is linked to my view that it is the Dark Jedi who want to be immortalized and are afraid of death, not the original Sith Pureblood. Thus, I infer that the Sith holocrons are made by the Dark Jedi who colonized the Sith, which makes sense considering that it just looks like an alternative version of the Jedi holocron.

However, one clear power of the Sith holocrons is how they are able to ‘corrupt’ its user to the Dark Side. This made me wonder if the Sith Pureblood may have had artifacts and fetishes that served similar purposes in corrupting, influencing and swaying their enemies. If knowledge could be passed down through ghosts and dreams, then there is no need to spend time crafting the perfect holocron and effort could instead be focused upon creating tools of defense and offense.

It would have been very practical to create an artifact out of roots and bones, place it in places of ruin, death and grief such as places of murders, and enchant it to soak in the horrific sympathetic energies of the locales it was placed at until it becomes full, brimming with misery and torment. It could then be buried on the plot of land that a Sith’s enemy lived on, hence bringing suffering to their home and family. Something like that - something folk-ish, something requiring only skill, cunning and determination, not fanciful ceremonial rituals like the ones we see the current Siths doing - is what I believe defined the practice of the original Sith Pureblood.

#sith magic #worldbuilding #swtor #Star Wars The Old Republic

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frozenartscapes · 4 years ago

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does dragongard have a crest stone?

So, I think this would be a good time to talk about how I’m approaching Crest stones and Relics in this AU (partially because this is a good question and partially because I’m not sure if it will ever come up organically in the story and I hate writing exposition dumps within a story)

Short answer: yes, technically she does have a Crest stone

Long answer: I’ve always interpreted original Crest stones as being the hearts of dragons. The stones in all the Relics, and the one grafted onto Byleth’s heart, were all once the organic, beating hearts of living people. However, when those people died, the magic contained in their bodies rushed into their hearts and the whole organ calcified, trapping the magic within.

So this would have happened to all the Nabateans who became the Relics (we don’t know their names because the weapons crafted from their bones and hearts are named after the humans who possessed the weapons, not the Nabatean themselves). And any Nabatean Rhea was able to lay to rest in the Holy Tomb, assuming their bodies were intact.

We know that TWSITD are able to eventually manufacture artificial Crest stones (and Relics, from the look of it). But they still needed Nabatean blood (it’s implied they only get this technology once they get their hands on Flayn’s blood). So this is partially why, in this AU, they go for turning Edelgard into a Nabatean over just giving her two Crests. It would be far easier if they had a more reliable blood source - since it would seem that they had to figure out how to artificially manufacture blood, too. Finite resources, and such.

So, going back to the question: yes, Edelgard technically has a Crest stone, because her heart is her Crest stone. It won’t look like a traditional stone unless she dies, but it functions very similarly. It grants her additional strength, boosts magical abilities, and allows her to access Nabatean-specific skill sets like turning into a dragon or healing sleep cycles. There is the complication that she is still technically human, so as a result things like age-based immortality have been significantly affected. (As in: she’ll live a long time, far longer than most humans, but not to the extent that someone like Rhea has.) This is also how I interpret the other living Nabateans, like Rhea, Seteth, Flayn, and the other saints. They all have “Crest stones” but until they die the stones are in reality their hearts, their source of life and power.

Ok, now I’m just going to ramble about the Relics for a sec, but I’ll put it under a cut because this post is becoming long

So: the Relics. Imma be real with you guys for a moment: I grew up Catholic, and I minored in Art History (with a heavy lean to Medieval and Renaissance history). So these Relics... Ok, here we go.

Relics in Christianity, and specifically Catholicism, are things not many people know of if they aren’t part of the religion. If you are they are something so weirdly normalized half the time you don’t even think about it. But many things about Catholicism are. (Like Transubstantiation. That is such a fun thing trying to explain and not sound like a lunatic.) But we’re talking about relics, here, because the creative choice to call them Relics in the game was fucking phenomenal.

Catholic relics are basically dead people. There are some that aren’t - the True Cross and the Crown of Thorns are notable, non-dead people relics. But for most relics boasted about by various churches, they are either part of or a whole person. Whether or not that person is the saint they are claimed to be can get rather dubious, but yeah... Dead people. Often displayed in gilded boxes or holders, covered in gold or jewels, surrounded by paintings done up by famous artists. (Also note, too: If they aren’t a person-based relic they still have some morbid connection to how the saint they are connected to died, like, for example the True Cross - an execution device, or St. Paul’s Chains - chains that bound him before his martyrdom). It’s all very morbid and a little creepy but what’s more creepy is how normal it is to walk up to a box with a perfectly preserved saint just eternally sleeping away inside before asking her to shoot you a little prayer before your big test. But I digress.

In Three Houses, the Relics are also dead people. Dead dragons, to be more specific, but the Nabateans were both dragon and human so my statement still stands. The Relics themselves are bones (which are common for a church to hold as a relic of a saint). And in order for a Relic to function properly, it also needs the Crest stone (heart) of the dragon the bones came from.

We also have seen that the Relics are highly unstable. If someone were to wield a Relic without possessing the Crest that matches it, the weapon can turn them into a Demonic Beast. And even having the Crest might not save you, as we see with Maurice, it’s possible to still be turned into a Demonic Beast through the power of the Relic/stone combination anyway.

So here’s my take on this: In Christianity, relics are meant to be a strong link between the physical world and the saint being represented by the relic. Praying with St. George’s arm present provides a better link to the saint than just praying to him normally. Sort of like, calling his office via an extension rather than using the main office line. The spirit of the Saints are closely linked to their relics, which is partially why they’re venerated so much.*

*I should note, however, that many of these relics are listed as the “real” relic, but in reality are more like a piece of wood or random body part discovered on a Crusade and brought back as a “treasure” from wars that ravaged many parts of the Middle East. They might hold spiritual significance, but just remember that the acquisition of many of these relics was certainly not the Divine miracle people claim - which also conveniently relates back to Three Houses when you realize what the Relics truly are and how they were obtained

So in Three Houses, every Nabatean crafted into a Relic still has their spirit present within the bones and Crest stone. They can’t really interact with anything outside of the Relic, but there is a strong connection between their spirits and their heart/bone/blood. This is why only someone possessing a particular Crest can wield the corresponding Relic. A Crest (the blood) ignites the power in the stone (the heart), which then prompts the body to come alive (the bones of the Relic itself). If any one of those things is missing or incorrect, the spirit behind the weapon will do one of two things: nothing, or react to the error. The angrier the spirit, the more violent the reaction. And I don’t know about you, but if I was ever murdered so my body could be twisted into a grotesque weapon to then be used to kill more of my family, I’d be pretty pissed about it.

If the bodies of the Nabateans are not laid to rest, they cannot be at peace. And the anger they feel about what happened to them and their brethren will continue to burn and fester. For some Nabateans, their anger was stronger than others. Whoever Maurice killed to get his Relic was so furious that it didn’t matter Maurice also had their blood - that rage still turned him into a Beast anyway. (But at the same time, Maurice was also the asshole who did the deed. Marianne, however, is a kind, gentle soul who does not enjoy raising her hand against any living creature. That would be something the spirit of the Nabatean could sense, and it would reflect how they respond to the user of the Relic.)

This is also why, in the canon game, characters with weapons made from artificial stones/bones did not face any issues. It’s implied that Aymr, for example, was created specifically for Edelgard. Despite holding the Crest stone of Maurice, she has no issue using it, because they reconfigured the stone to be attuned to the Crest of Seiros. (It’s also entirely possible that they just created this stone, and the Crest of the Beast was carved on it for ??? But this would effectively make the stone a blank slate to pair with any Crest that was available.) So these artificial weapons would not have a spirit of a Nabatean connected directly to them, and would be safer to use as a result.

(In terms of Crest stones being able to turn people into Demonic Beasts, even without the Relic, I see that more like handling something like a radioactive substance. The sheer amount of raw draconic power contained in a Crest stone would be enough to transform a human into a monster, just through contact alone. Even the artificially created ones still stem from that same magic, so holding one of those without any sort of protection would result in the same thing. That's why I'm starting to headcanon that, rather than just her two Crests activating at the same time, Edelgard just ripped the Crest stone out of Aymr when she turned into the Hegemon. Real or not, holding a Crest stone in your bare hand is a lot like that scene from Chernobyl when a firefighter unknowingly picks up a chunk of the exploded reactor core with his bare hand: You're dead before you even realize what you're holding.)

#nabatean!edelgard #heart of a dragon #au ideas #fanfic #headcanons #sorry i kind of go off on a tangent #i've been thinking a lot about this #world building

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the-girl-in-the-box · 4 years ago

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Can You Imagine? IV

A/N: Oof. This chapter was really fun to write, especially beginning to explore Freydis's abilities more, and whereas I wasn't too sold on the last chapter, I REALLY feel good about this one! Ivar didn't have to face up to much of what he'd done in Kattegat during Season 6, and as much as I love him... He's facing up to it now. It's not too easy to earn the forgiveness of someone you killed, after all, is it? I hope you enjoy :) Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive… she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

The Moment of Adrenaline

What followed was not at all something the spectators had expected to see. They had expected a joyful reunion, husband and wife reunited when her life had been cut short. Of course, had the story of Freydis’s death been truthful, had she really died in the Siege of Kattegat as a casualty of war, then this would have been true.

Those watching this hadn’t known that Ivar was the one who killed her. They were found in the same tomb, buried as husband and wife, and the truth died with Hvitserk. All that was known was that Freydis had sacrificed her life for Kattegat. It made sense that, instead of this, Freydis and Ivar should have been thrilled to be together once more.

However, now she was facing the door again, instead of running to him, and pounding on it, begging to be released. It seemed she had even forgotten what she could do, that if she wanted to, she could pull the door from its hinges with a flick of her wrist.

When the door didn't open, Freydis felt her heart sinking into her stomach. She was well and truly stuck in here with him. Finally, she turned, looking at him with wide eyes. From the way her chest rose and fell, he could see she was panicking. So, he lifted his hands and began to approach her as one approached a wounded animal.

"Freydis, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "I swear, I won't hurt you again."

"Liar!" Freydis shouted back. "You killed me, Ivar! How am I supposed to believe you now? You killed me, and you killed our baby!"

The two spoke in Old Norse, and those watching behind the mirrors began to look to each other confusedly. Only Professor Andersen understood a word of what they said, and his eyes widened at the revelation. They'd just proven about a million history books wrong.

"I know, I know," Ivar said. Every step he took, her breathing became faster and harder. So, he paused, and watched her movements instead. He needed her to calm down before something went wrong.

The truth was, though he knew what powers were given to him, he couldn't be sure what they had given to her. It was very likely that she had something different. After all, he'd been told he could see her if she survived her experiments and tests. They'd had next to no doubt that he would survive.

And, try as he might, they wouldn't hear of him trading experiments with her. He had begged to see her before they did anything to her, in case she didn't survive, and he had begged to take what they were giving her, begged for them to give to her what they wanted to give to him. After all, after what he'd done to her, he knew she was the one who deserved to survive this. He was the one who should sacrifice himself for her.

It didn't seem Freydis knew any of this, though- not that it would make up for what he had done, not in either of their minds. He'd killed her, and even sacrificing his life now to save hers wouldn't undo that. He doubted if anything could undo that betrayal of her love and her trust.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try to earn it back, if he could. Even if he had to fight tooth and nail to earn it back, he would.

But what Ivar didn't know, was that Freydis hadn't loved him when she betrayed him. Far from it, she had come to hate him. Even now, she hated him. The betrayal that turned her against him was his decision concerning Baldur. That hadn't been his decision to make alone, and it wouldn't have been one she'd have ever agreed to anyway. Then again, perhaps that was exactly why he made it alone. Perhaps he preferred to beg her forgiveness, rather than to ask for her permission.

Whatever it was, he knew that gaining her trust would not be easy, not now, and he might never have her love again. The part of his mind that rarely let him rest whispered that he didn't deserve to, and he knew it was right. No man who would kill his wife deserved her forgiveness.

Clearly, she was having the same thoughts, as she had finally seemed to realize he didn't mean to hurt her, regardless of what he did mean to do. The fear in her eyes slowly turned to that of confusion, as she looked over him from head to toe, and then her eyes slowly returned to his eyes.

"How are you standing here?" she asked him. "Your legs, they should be breaking."

"It is whatever..." He waved his hand about, not having a word for it in their tongue. "Serum they gave me. It healed my body, Freydis."

She held up a hand, and closed her eyes, almost looking as though he'd just slapped her. "Do not speak to me as if you know me," she hissed out. "You have lost that right."

"I do know you, though," he said. "I'm the only one here who does."

Freydis laughed bitterly, looking at him and crossing her arms. "Is that true?" she questioned. He knew that tone in her voice, the sort that warned him he was treading on thin ice. "What do I prefer to drink with my evening meals?"

Ivar blinked a few times. "Ale," he said, as if it were obvious.

"Mead," she corrected. "You preferred ale. What was my favorite color, before?"

"Red."

"It was blue. You favored red."

He swallowed thickly, feeling no small amount of nerves coursing through him. "Freydis," he said quietly.

"Don't."

As her eyes connected with his, he saw that strength returning to her. The very strength that he'd seen in her eyes when she looked at him, and confessed to letting Björn, Hvitserk, and their army into Kattegat. He shifted on his feet.

"You never knew me, Ivar. I knew you, but you did not know me. I did everything for you, and what did you give me in return? You gave me a throne, but you made it miserable to sit in."

"I loved you," he replied. "That was all I could give."

The once Queen laughed, and shook her head. "You say you loved me, but I am not sure you did. I think you believed you did, but you loved how I loved you. Can you truly kill someone you love?"

Flashes of blonde hair, a bloody battlefield, axes and swords, slipped quickly through Ivar's mind. Two brothers, lying on the ground, gone. He had killed Sigurd, he had killed Björn, and he had killed Freydis.

His eyes refused to meet hers, proving- if nothing else- that he felt a deep shame for what he had done. That was three he had killed, three of the people he had loved most dearly. And he'd even asked her once if he should kill Hvitserk, who he may have loved most of his brothers, in the end. Hvitserk, who returned to his side, and stayed by his side, after all he had done. He'd been the only one.

"I did love you," Ivar said, nodding a little as if reminding himself of that. "I still do."

Now, it was Freydis who swallowed. "Part of me wants to believe you," she said. "Part of me does. You even told me, before you killed me, that a part of you would always love me. So perhaps that is why I believe you do love me now. Or that a part of you does. But you must know I have lost my love for you."

Finally, his eyes did return to hers, and he almost wished they'd still been as cold as they'd been only a few moments ago. Instead, he found that they were sorrowful, and she was approaching him. He could almost picture that dress she'd been wearing when he killed her, her hair pulled back in that braid, as she walked.

He blinked again, and he realized he actually did see that, that he saw them in Kattegat once more. She cupped his cheek, and he blinked a few times as he looked into her eyes. “You left my heart in that forest with Baldur,” she whispered.

Ivar's eyes widened a little as he looked into hers, and he began to pant softly. "Freydis," he breathed, looking away from her and back to Kattegat. "How did you- how are we...?"

"How are we what?" she questioned, watching Ivar curiously. He looked up at her with a confused expression, and she only mirrored it.

"How are we in Kattegat?" he asked her.

She gave a slight chuckle, and answered, "We have always been in Kattegat, Ivar. But you cannot stay."

Ivar looked around, and when she chuckled darkly, he looked back to her again. "Freydis..." he began warningly, and her chuckles turned into laughter as the doors burst open.

Björn and Hvitserk entered the room, which he knew to be the Great Hall of the longhouse he'd grown up in, and he stepped back.

"Thank you, Freydis," Hvitserk said, and smirked as he approached and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his hand resting on her back.

"You've delivered him to us as you said," Björn commented with a smirk. "And now, we will deliver him to you."

Freydis smirked as well, a dark look in her eye, as she turned and wrapped her arms around Hvitserk's waist. "Thank you," she said. "I look forward to seeing him burn. Or perhaps we should tie him up, leave him to starve in the forest as he did Baldur."

Hvitserk chuckled as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Whatever you wish, sweet Freydis," he said.

Ivar was backing away from Björn , who was steadily encroaching on him as Freydis began to laugh, until pain shot through his body from one kick from his brother. His leg broke, and as he fell to the ground, Björn made sure to break his other leg as well. "No escape for you, Boneless," he growled. "Not this time." He could barely see Freydis looking up at Hvitserk, could barely see his brother kissing her, his wife, before his eyes were drawn to the sword Björn pointed at him. The sword slid into his chest and made Ivar gasp, which drew the attention of Hvitserk and Freydis, the latter of whom finally pulled away from the former to approach him. Björn moved away, sheathing his sword, as Freydis got to her knees and cupped his cheek.

When he reached up to cup hers, she caught his wrist, and twisted his arm so that he cried out, unable to stop her as he grew weaker. "I look forward to seeing your body hang from a tree," she hissed out, and the world went black.

Things suddenly shifted, and Freydis was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. She seemed angry, and perhaps a little amused, though the look in his eyes could only be described as confusion and fear.

"How?" he managed, looking back around the small room he'd been allowed into so he could see her. "How did you-?"

"I showed you your worst fear," she said, and smirked. "Admittedly, I doubt Hvitserk would have killed me. He wasn't the one who killed Thora after all, was he?"

Ivar blinked a few times as he looked at her, shaking his head. "Freydis..." he said once more. "Why would you show me this?"

She gave a small shrug before answering, "Because I wanted to know. And, if I am entirely honest, because you deserved it."

"I-?" he managed, shaking his head. "I am not sure that is my worst fear. Not now. Now, that is a nightmare, but it is not my worst fear."

Freydis looked at him with a slightly curious expression, and she lifted her hand. "Shall we see what is your worst fear, then?" she asked. "I would be happy to do so..."

Red smoke began to slip out of her fingers, and he watched as her eyes turned red. Whatever power they had given her struck terror into his heart, and he was almost entirely sure his worst fear was already playing out before him. The one woman who had every reason to hate him now had powers beyond that of any Völva, and could possibly kill him with a flick of her wrist. He was entirely reliant on her mercy.

"Freydis," he said, again lifting his hands in a show of surrender. "You do not want to do this, hm? You don't want to kill me."

Rage overtook her, and she screamed out, "You do not know what I want!" A flick of the wrist and he flew back into the wall, a harsh thud sounding throughout the room as he hit it, and fell to the ground. "You are the last person who knows! You took everything from me, Ivar! You took my son, my love, my people! Do you want to know what I want?"

She crouched down in front of him, looking him in the eye as the red faded from hers, and the smoke retreated into her hand once more. "I want it all back." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and her eyes began to water. "I want our son, I want our lives, I want our love back," she whispered. "But you destroyed it all." Her finger jabbed him in the chest, right where Björn’s sword had driven through his heart in the vision she had shown him. "I cannot have any of those things now, Ivar. You killed our son, our love, and you killed me. I can never trust you after what you did. Just as you knew you would never again trust me."

She had claimed just a few moments ago that he didn't know her, but Ivar knew that wasn't quite true. Perhaps he hadn't known her favorite drink, or her favorite color, and perhaps he should have, but he did know the look on her face, the sound in her voice, when her heart was breaking. Or, more accurately, when her heart was broken.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, wanting to comfort her, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "Don't do that," she said quietly, her voice strained. "Don't."

With that, she stood, and walked to the door. He watched as she now opened it, with what he could only describe as her magic. One thought was constantly echoing through his mind as he watched her go, his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears.

He was lucky to be alive.

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#ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #history channel vikings #ivar's heathen army #vikings history #can you imagine?#chapter four #ivar x freydis #freydis #queen freydis #ivar #freyvar

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soulgathered-a · 4 years ago

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cassandra about : theseus ( x ) for @caustixsoul

chin prepped in one hand, cassandra sits with crossed legs on the grassy greens of elysium, looking up at prince zagreus with a certain fondness. for once she had not mumbled about her regrets in life as he entered but awaited him in silence.

“gratulations for bringing your mother back” she can see zagreus open his mouth, a questioning look on his face. but she simply tips against her head. “I’ve had... blurry visions for a while that the queen will return. I wasn’t sure though. whatever kept her unseen from the gods, kept her hidden from my sight too. I think I only could see her a little because we’ve got to know each other”

she can see understanding cross the prince’s face as he grins and sits down besides her. “you could have told me” he says with that friendly tone that told her that he did not hold it against her that she did not. he believes her prophecies, never had troubles with the curse apollo gave her. but after hearing some of her story, zagreus understands as to why she hesitates with sharing her visions. ( she had not been believed in so long and old habits die hard... even more so for the dead ).

as per usual, cassandra pulls out those little items she has prepared for the prince and his journey, and as always she watches him give them a long thoughtful look... what gift to pick. what strength to gain.

“so she is back and yet you still fight your way through here. do not tell me you’ve grown attached to the residents here? perhaps the thrill of fighting theseus?” she teases him of course and laughs as he groans, saying something that he definitely did not seek the battles with the hero.

“you never come to the colosseum, why is that?” the question takes her by surprise. is... the answer not obvious? but she has to remind herself that zagreus does not know the details of the war she had lived through. “I’ve seen enough battles in my life. they do not excite me... and I think, seeing me there might hurt theseus.”

“you know him?” she shakes her head. “never met him, not in life at least. but I’ve known his mother. aethra was her name, she came to troy with helen. I liked her - as much as one can like someone who wishes for your enemies to storm your city, because she knew that it might mean her freedom. but I cannot blame her, I would have wished for the same.”

cassandra lays down, eyes staring into nothingness as she remembers aethra. what a proud woman to have endured all that she did. “...when troy fell she was reunited with her grandchildren. but I believe that theseus died during the years of the war, I am not sure though, we did not get many messages... but I know she died over the grief of losing him” ten years. ten years of hell. ten years of a terrible war and that woman’s reward was to return to the tomb of her son.

the princess feels the godling shift beside her - he has made his choice and as is his nature, he wants to press on. she sits up, raising a hand to stop zagreus from walking away. “he is a proud man. arrogant and... certainly he has yet to lose that hubris of his but zagreus - do not mention her. his mother I mean. I cannot tell you how he would react, but I believe it would be a low blow and unbecoming of you. and I think you understand right? the topic of a mother can be complicated and painful”

zagreus nods and she smiles. he’s too kind for his own good. he probably would really never mention this discussion they had. so she offers something else “next you come here, I will tell you some embarrassing story I know about him. and then you may annoy him all you want! now go on, prince. give them hell out there.”

#caustixsoul #❝ headcanon ❞ ( cassandra ).#[ this isnt rlly a lot about theseus bcs they dont know each other ]#[ but she knows stuff about him.... & i forgot that they are partly linked ]#[ ANYWAY this became way longer than i expected IM SO SORRY ]#death cw #war cw

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pulpwriterx · 5 years ago

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BEN SOLO ALL THESE YEARS

Rey decided to stay on Tattoine.

The desert, after all, was her home.

Poe went back into the spice business, and even branched out to include good booze and cigarillos.

Finn joined him in yo ho, you ho, a pirate's life for me.

And in their business?

They needed a good scavenger.

A year or so went by.

Finn and Poe bought themselves a posh bachelor pad in Anchorhead, but Rey preferred solitude.

She knew that that both of them would have been willing to give her a shoulder to cry on, and the benefit of a man's company.

But after the way Ben died in her arms, Rey wasn’t ready to hold a man, again.

The old Skywalker farm didn’t look like it, but it was a nice place to live.

It had been Ben’s home, after all.

He had left the outside looking run down and desolate, like no one lived there, but past the blighted door in the dusty courtayrd, it was a different story.

Typical Ben.

When you took off his mask, he had another mask on beneath that, and beneath that was a big story, a tall tale, and a pack of ever-evolving half-truths and outright lies.

He had restored the old farm, on the inside, and underneath, where the farming equipment and tanks had been, he kept a smuggler’s treasure trove.

Tunnels filled with all kinds of swag, from booze and cigarillos to old Rebel Alliance and Imperial Uniforms, and less innocent cargo like crates of blasters and pallets of coaxium.

There was also five years of food and supplies, and one of the tanks had even been converted into a vault. It was full of credits, black molded chests of Imperial gold coins, money from all over the Galaxy.

Ben had left the farm, and all it’s contents to Rey Skywalker.

He had also left the Millenium Falcon to Rey, but she hadn’t the heart to fly the ship she loved so much.

With both Ben and Han Solo dead, neither with a final resting place?

The ship was like their tomb.

The Falcon, and Ben’s secret refuge, with it’s hidden treasures; they were all, in some strange way, his legacy.

When Rey wasn’t whizzing around the stars with her friends, she led a peaceful, solitary life as the guardian of the legacy of the family that gave all for the peace that finally broke out in the Galaxy.

Besides, she wasn’t wholly alone.

Poe always let BB8 go with her, to keep tabs on her, and Threepio and Artoo were glad to finally get to go home.

It was a special place for her.

In the two years between when she and Ben killed Snoke, and when they killed the Emperor?

They used to meet at the Skywalker Farm.

Their bonds remained unbroken, even after she had rejected his offer to join him, and they had grown closer, not just through the talks, and the laughing, and the stories, most of which were lies.

Yelling.

Pointing fingers.

Sneering.

Cursing.

Stamping feet.

Breaking things.

Throwing shit about.

Lightsaber duels.

Even the bad times, even the shit times were precious to her, now.

Rey would sit, quietly, watching the twin suns, and think about the past.

Like the time they had a horrible fight through their bond, and called each other vicious names, and threw things at each other, and smashed up their own gear, in a rage.

But then Ben had said.

“I need to see you in person, Rey.”

“Why? What can we do in person that we can’t do through our little talks?”

“We can make love. Don’t you want to? I do.”

“There is nothing like love between us, Kylo Ren!”

Ben had given her the Solo shrug.

“Then we can fuck. I'd rather fuck. I was just trying to be chivalrous.”

And somewhere in their laughter, they had agreed to meet at the Skywalker farm, on Tattoine.

Rey had no idea that Ben had a home, and it became their refuge.

Rey would lie there, in Ben's big, brass bed, and close her eyes and think about when he was there, beside her.

Those stolen days and nights where they would laugh, and fight, and screw, and cuddle under the fur blanket in the cold desert night and plan for a future they both knew would never happen.

Sometimes, she could almost feel his big body, lying there beside her, and she could smell his scent.

Hear his voice.

Feel the way her little body had moved under his big, strong hands.

Of course she would also lie there and think about their lovemaking and take care of her business.

She could have had Finn, or Poe, but Ben was like an animal, like a man in the state of nature; he had been born without shame, and he had unchained a passion in her that Rey had never known she possessed.

Not that she had been a prude, but her interest in men, and her occasional dealings with them had been, well, ordinary.

Now who the hell would she find to satisfy the unchained, shameless desire that Kylo Ren Ben Solo had awakened in her?

Rey often cried, bitter tears.

But that was life.

Love is death, life is pain, and somehow you muddle through.

***

In the second year since Ben died, Rey was walking down a busy street in Anchorhead when she saw Chewie.

They hugged, and Rey was truly happy.

She took him to Poe and Finn's and they tried to get information out of him, but Chewie would only say he was working.

As he left, he asked Rey a very honest question.

“Are you happy?”

“I am content, Chewie. I have friends, work, a place to live, enough money, and I have peace.”

“But are you happy?”

“No. Happiness died with Ben. A lot of things died for me, with Ben. Love. Hope. Any interest I had in men, poor Poe, and poor Finn. But I still have life. And I can still enjoying being content with it.”

***

A few nights later, Rey had a dream about Ben.

It was a wild, sweaty, deeply pornographic wet dream that she woke up from in the throes of the kind of an orgasm women could only have in their dreams.

Or, if they were lucky, with bad men like Ben Solo.

She sat up, throwing the blanket off.

“Rey.”

Rey's heart sang an aria.

“Ben! You found your way back? When will I be able to see you?”

But there was no reply.

Leading her to believe, alas, it had only been a beautiful dream.

***

When he had come to Oneness with the Force, Ben Solo found trouble in Paradise.

Master Yoda thought he was ready for the next step.

Master Obi Wan argued that he was too young, and had resolved none of the conflict that had brought him to ruin.

Master Anakin was more direct.

“Though a man, he is still a child. And his life has been suffering and tragedy. He is young, he has found love, and we should not cheat him of the life he has fought so hard to win. Send him back. Let him be Ben Solo, and live his life. He has many years to find the New Path.”

Ben tried to speak, to say what he wanted, but found he could not.

“Young though he is, yes, but what life for him? Redeemed from Kylo Ren in our eyes. But what of the material world? If return he does, atone he must. But a bullseye on his back there will be!” Yoda insisted.

“That is a problem, Anakin.” Obi –Wan agreed.

“Then we will send my grandson back without healing his body. It will be broken. He will atone with his suffering. We will send him to a distant planet to make his recovery, alone. Dependant on the charity of strangers he once oppressed. Then let him make his way to more familiar planets, back to his identity and his home.” Anakin suggested.

“That sounds reasonable. We will give my namesake a test. But, Kylo Ren is dead. Ben Solo should not have to pay for his crimes. Then we will make it so the memory of his mask is preserved in the minds of all. But not his face. “ Obi-Wan suggested.

The others agreed.

“Speak now you may, young Skywalker. Until you find your way back, Skywalker shall you be called. Well? Back do you wish to go?” Yoda asked.

“Yes, Master Yoda. Back I wish to go.”

“Humor you have. Need it, you will.”

“But will I have to endure doctors? Needles?”

“Fear in your face, I see? Tortured you were, young Skywalker? Then your fear you must overcome. Back you still wish to go?”

“Yes, Master Yoda. I will face my fear.”

“And Ben? No cheating? If your women, strong in the Force as they are, happen to find you? Or your family? We won’t keep them away. But if you call to them? You forfeit this chance.” Anakin told him.

“Wrong that is! In his sleep, will young Skywalker’s soul cry for help! No. Also must we use the Force to interrupt his bond. Until his test is finished. Though he will call? No answer will we allow to come.” Yoda decided.

“I agree. Only by doing the evil that Kylo Ren might have done will you forfeit your chance. Good luck, Ben.” Obi-Wan said

“I have always been with you, my grandson. If you need my strength during your trial? I will answer your call.” Anakin assured Ben

Then, Ben fell into something like sleep.

***

He had a horrible dream, of waking up bloody and bruised on collapsing Exegol, limping or crawling out of the cave he was in, and then escaping in the still flyable remains of a crashed X-Wing

He woke up in a bacta tank, and panic seized him.

He started banging on the glass walls, screaming through the breather in his mouth.

The noise brought a Rodian in a white coat.

“Hey! Hey Dan, the big guy is awake! By the Force, he looks terrified.”

A guy his age with a moustache rushed into the room.

“Then let’s get him out. It’s OK, big fella. You’re safe. You’re in a Resistance hospital. There’s no more First Order. Nobody’s going to hurt you, here. Hurry up, Needo, help me, before he cracks the tank!”

The machine Ben was suspended from pulled him out, and he ripped all the wires off of his body, and crashed to the ground.

“No! No doctors! Get away from me!” he shouted.

Reduced to crawling away.

But there was nowhere to go.

“Its OK. There’s no torture droids here. You don’t have to get any injections. We're not going to bring you to the point of death, then put you in a bacta tank to fix you up, and then do it again.”

“You know about that?”

“The Empire did it to me the first time. I have a scar like the one on your other leg. But mine is only a few inches long. You must have really suffered.” The grey haired man said.

“I did. Where am I? Who are you? How much longer will this plexi-cast be on?”

The Rodian came with a long orange smock with the Resistance symbol on it, folded on a wheelchair.

“I’m Dan Antilles. I’m your doctor. You crash landed here, on Hoth. And you need another three weeks with that cast. Let me help you up. Now you might want to put this smock on, big fella. This is the size we usually use for Wookies.”

The Rodian helped Ben put the smock on.

It had long sleeves and it was fleecy and soft on the inside.

“I know you want crutches, but the break in your femur was bad. So, if you like being in the shape you’re in, and you want that leg to hold you up, later? Wheelchair. Nobody has to push you if you’d rather wheel yourself.”

Ben sat in the wheelchair, lifting his leg onto the platform for it.

“I can wheel myself.” He said.

“Good. I’ll show you around the place, and back to your bed.”

“Do you have a name, Big Guy?’

“Ben. Ben Skywalker.”

“Are you a Skywalker from Tattoine or a Skywalker from Arkanis?”

“Both. My grandfather was from Arkanis. His father died, and his mother became an indentured servant on Tattoine. We’re free, now, though.”

“Yeah, my family are from Corellia, but most of by father’s war buddies were from the Outer Rim. Tattoine, mostly. OK, Ben. It’s good to have you back. You scared us a little; we thought you might leave.”

“Me too.”

***

Snow.

Watching it snow.

Lying propped up on pillows, leaning against the wall, last cot on the ward.

A cot with a big “W” on it.

For Wookiee.

Techanically, Ben was a Wookiee, when Chewie became his godfather, he was adopted into Chewie’s clan.

Ben was thinking about Kashyyyk, actually, while watching it snow.

Thinking about how he might still be welcome, with Uncle Chewie.

Trying to get his spoon under the cast, to scratch his leg.

Watching it snow.

Blanket up to his chin, one knee up.

“...so, what happened was, there was like, a reason why Ben Solo killed Kylo Ren. More than just, you know, the war. Ben Solo and Kylo Ren, they were at the Jedi Temple together. They were friends. But they had a lightsaber fight over either the Force or a girl. I hear different things. And that's’ why Kylo Ren wore the mask because Ben Solo cut his nose off and scarred up his face...”

“Zak, can you stop talking about men? Why do you think I have my blanket pulled up?”

“You thinking about your nurse?”

“Can you stop talking to me? Forget it.”

“Sorry, Ben.”

“It’s not your fault, Zak. It’s this place.”

He looked out the window again.

Snow.

“I think about your nurse, too. She’s a big girl. She has to be six feet tall. And, like 200. But it’s in all the right places. And she’s a Twi’lek.” Zak said

“I’d like to jump into that girl and drown. Why isn’t she your nurse?” Ben asked

Zak shrugged.

Ben heaved himself off his cot and into his wheelchair.

“Well, I think I’ll go try to take a piss without pissing all over myself.”

“Good luck, man.”

***

The days bled into each other.

Ben finally looked inside the chest, under his bed, on the ward.

In the chest was his lost lightsaber, the blaster Uncle Lando had given him, his blaster belt, his lucky Sabacc dice, a couple of pair of coveralls, his boots, an X-Wing helmet, a money belt for under your clothes that had 500 credits in it, and a mess kit.

The X-Wing helmet had a number on it.

His Uncle’s.

“Humor you have. Need it, you will.” Ben muttered.

The plexi cast on his left leg came all the way up to his balls, and his leg always itched like it was on fire.

Meanwhile, no one asked him if he was related to the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.

When two weeks, and then two more passed and no celebrated persons came to claim him, people assumed that he was some distant relation.

They didn’t release him until after the cast came off, in another week.

Nobody had come for him, and he didn’t call for anyone, so he just left on his own, on a transport with hundreds of other displaced men and women with nowhere special to go.

***

The tiniest hint of a fly in the Force Ghosts’ ointment came around the time that Ben was leaving the Resistance Hospital.

General Leia-Organa Solo, also Senator Leia Organa-Solo, returned to her office on Coruscant as Senate staffers were packing up her things.

One boy almost dropped a picture of her, and Han, and Ben, and Leia caught it.

“Don’t look so frightened. I’m not a ghost.”

“But you’re dead, Senator?”

“I’m a Skywalker. We don’t just die, like other people. We have many deaths and many births, and live many lives inbetween? Less philosophically? I have too much to do to die just now. Maybe in another forty years, or so.”

The next day, after her first appearance in the Second Republic Senate, to announce that she was running for Prime Minister, Leia had an unscheduled visit in her office from Wedge Antilles.

“This had better be really important, Wedge.”

“I think it is. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I was talking to my son, last night. He saw your broadcast and it made him think of a patient of his. A man his own age that hasn’t been far from his mind. A big guy, about two meters, nearly six and a half feet tall. Long dark hair. Dark eyes. Had lots of battle scars. This kid landed a burning X-Wing on Hoth, came out of it with his flight suit in shreds, dragging a broken leg, raving about Exegol, killing them all, and finally being a free man. Spent three weeks in a Bacta tank, recovering from a whole slew of injuries, and another three weeks in a cast up to his nuts. The patient said his name was Ben Skywalker, that his father was a Corellian starpilot and his grandfather was a Skywalker from Arkanis who grew up on Tattoine. As soon as the cast came off, Ben Skywalker got on a transport with a bunch of other kids with nowhere to go and no one to see, and left the planet. And it wasn’t until Dan saw your broadcast that he made the connection, and called me about it. Does that sound like anybody you know, Leia?”

“It does. I’ve been sitting here all day, full of blind, stupid hope. Thinking that if I’m alive, then Ben might be, too. Waiting for that call.”

“Who the hell else would it be?”

“I don’t know, Wedge. But it sounds like he’s running.”

“You need help chasing him?”

“All I can get. We need to find this Ben Skywalker. But if he is my Ben? What the hell do we do, then? Poe Dameron and Rey spread it all over the Galaxy that Ben Solo fought and killed Kylo Ren and the Knights of Ren, and then he died and became One With the Force. And the smart little bastard wore a mask, most of the time.”

“Let it go, Leia. Any way you slice the pie? Kylo Ren is dead. If Ben Solo isn’t? Give him a chance. He killed Snoke. And the Knights of Ren. He saved Rey. He saved you. And he helped Rey kill Palpatine. I think he deserves it.”

“Well, Chewie will be happy. I’ll talk to him, first.”

***

As soon as the transport landed, Ben began his wandering.

At first he figured it as a kind of penance, for his many crimes.

He stopped wearing shoes, or cutting his hair and beard, and all he wore was a black hooded robe, closed with a belt from which hung a metal bowl and cup, a holstered knife, and his lightsaber.

At first Ben just begged, and wandered, changing his robes for coveralls and working on freighters for his passage from planet to planet.

But as time went on, he slipped into a lonely madness.

He took to standing on streetcorners and preaching about the evils of the old world.

By this time a small crowd would have gathered around the very tall, very gaunt man, with wild eyes and a booming deep voice inside a nest of black hair and black beard.

“It was not the Force that did this to me! No, it was the order than we tried, for centuries to put on it. Dividing it, and ourselves into Dark and Light. Jedi and Sith. Empire and Republic. First Order and Resistance. It was this blasphemy against the balance and unity of the Force that brought our Galaxy into three generations of interplanetary war! And this Second New Republic is built on the truth! The truth there is no Dark, or Light. Jedi, or Sith. Only the Force, United. As it lives in all of us, and everything! As we find the balance, within ourselves, in accordance with our form and our nature. But I know there are those that preach the old heresies. When you hear them, think upon me!”

That’s when he would unbuckle his belt and take off his robe, showing them all his scarred, gaunt, filthy body.

Ben had even made the scar of the wound that Rey healed in the ruins iof the Death Star appear in his flesh.

“Stop and look at me! I am the mistakes of the past! My mother’s brother tried to murder me, and I murdered my father in turn! With these hands! These hands! This creature you see before you was once a man! Envied by men, desired by Women! Who desires this creature, now? Who envies this wretch, now? Who? Look on me and know it is time for old things to go. You must let the past die! Kill it, if you have to! Look upon me, and remember my words.”

Sometimes they would throw money in his bowl, sometimes throw things at him.

He hoped that a crowd would martyr him, but no one ever took him seriously enough to kill him.

He slept in alleys and doorways, stowed away on ships, and felt less than human.

Ben’s will to live left him as his madness spiralled out of control. He hardly ate and hardly slept, and his starving body devoured fifty pounds of his flesh, leaving him wiry, rawboned and gaunt.

He hardly felt human, or even humanoid, anymore, because he was hairy, and smelly, and filthy, and he scavenged through garbage to eat, like some wild animal.

At the end of a year, he ended up on Tattoine, intending to make a grand end to it.

He would give his sermon, throw off his robes and slit his wrists and his throat with a dirty piece of glass from the street.

But another vagrant warned him that the city fathers of Anchorhead had recently hired a former First Order officer as their chief of police, and although the new Chief understood smugglers were the lifeblood of Anchorhead, he was cracking down on street crime, con men, muggers, preachers, pushers, unregistered whores, and so on.

Ben quietly wished his former comrade well, and gave up the ghost.

But life clung, annoyingly to his skeletal frame.

He lay in the same doorway for three days, and three nights, and on the third night he knew that he was near death.

“Ben.”

He saw a bluish light in the cold, dark desert night, and rolled his eyes upward.

The face he looked into was very much like his own.

If not for the fair hair and light eyes, it might have been his face.

Ben knew his rescuer, immediately.

“Grandfather. Have you come to take me home?”

“No, Ben. I have come to comfort you, in your suffering. I understand suffering. I understand the peace that comes from enduring suffering, and triumphing over it. But I want you to live. You have suffered enough. I release you from the restraints that we have put on your bond with Rey Skywalker. Call for help. I will wait with you, until she comes. Rey will take you home.”

***

“Rey. Rey, I need you.”

Rey sat up in the dark, and knew this was no dream.

She saw and heard Ben; she saw him through their bond.

But what she saw and heard was horrible.

His face was drawn and filthy, and the hand that reached to her looked skeletal.

He was swathed in a filthy robe, lying in a dirty doorway, in a back street of Anchorhead.

“I see you, Ben. I hear you.”

“Help me, Rey. I want to come home.”

Rey jumped out of bed and threw on her clothes.

“I’m coming, Ben. Wait for me. Don’t leave me, again!”

***

Rey stopped her speeder by the dirty doorway and was surprised to see the tall, broad-shouldered hulking Force ghost of Anakin Skywalker.

Gently, he picked up his broken, emaciated grandson, and carried him to the speeder.

“Master Anakin!” Rey gasped.

She watched him wrap Ben in the blanket she had brought, and gently lay him in the back seat of the speeder

“Take my grandson home. And don’t let him out of your sight until he’s well, again.”

“But I don’t know anything about healing! I don’t know who to call! I don’t know what to do! Someone has to help us!”

“There’s an old man living in my friend Ben Kenobi’s old shack. He claims to be a Jedi Healer. I will go there, now, and send him along to the Skywalker Farm. I am sure that he will be able to help you.”

Anakin Skywalker walked off towards the moonlit desert, and dissappeared into a little whirly of wind-driven sand..

***

Rey sped home, in a hurry.

Threepio helped her to carry what was left of Ben Solo into the house.

“Shouldn’t Master Ben have a doctor?”

“No, Threepio! No doctor! No medical droid! No bacta tank! No needle!”

Ben was terrified, but it was the first time he had spoken.

Rey was glad that he was alive enough to speak

“Alright, Master Ben. No doctor. Master Rey, what about the man in the kitchen.”

“He’s not a doctor. Master Ben hates doctors. Don’t talk about doctors! Help me get Master Ben into the bathroom, and tell that man to start doing...whatever it is he’s going to do. Have Artoo heat up some batha broth for Master Ben. Then you and Artoo go back to the shed. It’s too much for you.”

Rey slammed the door on the dithering droid, and went through the bedroom and back into the bathroom.

Ben had managed to get his robe off and get into the bathtub.

He was covered in bruises and scratches, and you could see his ribs and his hipbones.

What was visible of his face out of the rat’s nest of tangled hair and beard was suffused with all the misery the human race had ever endured.

Rey turned the water on.

“Let me die, Rey. Now that I’m home. I don’t want to live.”

“I want you to live, Ben. This is my miracle, not yours.”

“Grandfather wants me to live. Do you? Really?”

“Yes, Ben, I do! I love you!”

“Then maybe I will live a little longer.”

He lay quietly in the warm water as she scrubbed the dirt off of him, and didn’t protest even though she had to wash his hair and comb the tangles and rats out with oil several times, and then wash it, again.

It was either that or shave his head.

One of the Skywalkers had left his straight razor there, and Rey had polished it and sharpened it; why she wasn’t sure, but now she carefully shaved the filthy, matted beard away from Ben's gaunt face.

“Don’t shave it all. Kylo Ren didn’t wear a beard.” Ben told her.

It was the only thing he said, but his sad eyes watched her movements.

She helped him get out of the tub, and dried him.

“Thank you.” Ben said.

Ben leaned heavily on her as they made there way into the bedroom; he was still much larger and heavier than her.

But Rey didn’t complain.

She propped him up with pillows, and fed him sips of milk and sips of broth.

“Glass.” He said.

She handed him the glass of milk, and he gulped it down.

“Don’t, Ben, you'll get sick!”

He reached for the bowl, and sniffed it, like a dog, then put it back down.

“No. Meat.”

“You’ll get sick!”

Ben slammed his fist angrily on the nightstand.

“I’M DYING! MEAT, GODDAMN IT, GIVE ME MEAT!”

Bellowing like an angry Wookiee.

A Wookiee.

Chewbacca was Ben's godfather; he had been adopted into Chewie’s tribe, and had a Wookie name.

Kallaurra.

Angry Wild Warrior.

But she didn’t know where Chewie was and Han and Leia were dead.

“Alright, Ben. Your Uncle Chewie taught me how to make a Wookiee stew. I’ll fix you some meat.”

Rey went out into the kitchen.

She felt helpless and alone.

I don’t know him. I don’t know him, at all.

Rey closed her eyes.

And she called to Master Leia.

As usual, there was no response.

Then she called to Master Luke.

“I’m right here. I told Ben Kenobi, and Master Yoda. Make sure Ben is with Rey. Father agreed with me. They didn’t listen.”

Rey opened her eyes.

Master Luke was sitting at the table.

“No matter where I go? I always seem to end up, right back here. On Tattoine. Now I’m here in the same house.”

“You’re the JedI Healer? When did you come back?”

“Right after I thought I died on Ahch-To. I got the same treatment Ben did. It wasn’t my time. I wasn’t ready. Next thing I knew, I was alive and well, and back on Tattoine. In Ben Kenobi’s hut.”

“I wish I would have known you were so close by.”

“I wish I would have told you.”

“Master Luke, did you ever take care of someone in Ben’s condition?”

“I don’t know what Ben’s condition is.”

Rey explained.

“I have seen men as sick as Ben, and I’ve tried to heal them. Some get better, Rey, and some don’t. They have to want to live. But I’ll do everything I can for Ben. Before I founded the new Jedi Temple, I studied Jedi healing. I wanted to save lives to atone for the hundreds of thousands I had taken. And I have taken care of Ben when he’s sick. And I also know how to get him to take medicine. You make something he likes and put it in his food.”

“But we don’t have any medicine.”

“I brought some.”

Master Luke reached into his pocket and got a white cylinder, which he put in Rey’s hands.

She opened it.

It was full of capsules.

“What are they?”

“No. The green capsules are vitamin pills. The orange ones are bacta. Just pop them open and put them in the stew I’m going to show you how to make. It’s a Wookiee recipe that Ben likes. Chewie showed me how to make it.”

Master Luke made a stew with bantha broth, vegetables, a whole nerf tenderloin, and potatoes.

He showed her also how much of the pills to put in.

“Don’t let him gobble it. Feed him a spoonful or two, and wait a half hour, to see if it makes Ben sick. If not. Let him eat the whole bowl. Don’t give him any more tonight. If he’s not sick, tonight, he can have three of these big serving bowls, tomorrow. It’s not too much. Ben’s almost the size of a Wookie, so he eats like one. If his stomach is still alright, tomorrow, then he had have some bread, too. And don’t give him anything to drink but blue milk. If his stomach gets upset, crack one of these purple capsules into some blue milk, and get him to drink it. Make some more of the stew after this pot runs out. After a week, Ben should be able to eat normally. Don’t expect him to gain weight all at once. And don’t overfeed him. The bacta and vitamins should make him well in about a week. But it might take a couple of months before he gains his weight back.”

“REY! WHERE THE HELL IS MY FOOD! MEAT! DYING!” Ben roared.

“Is that a good sign?” Rey asked.

“I think so. Don’t tell Ben I was here. We’re still not on speaking terms. I’ll come back to check on him, another day. Oh, and one more thing. As soon as he feels better, he’s going to want to make up for the time you two were apart. That’s not going to happen for him, with his body in the state it’s in. Tell him to be patient. When he’s healed and gained some weight? I’m sure everything will straighten right out.”

“I wish Ben had a Jedi healer to stay with him, tonight.”

“He has one. You are a Jedi. And you have healed him, before. But be careful, Rey. Ben’s life force is at a low ebb, and he’s very sick. You can try to ease his pain, but don’t try to heal him, entirely. It would drain too much life out of you.”

Master Luke got up.

“This is the no fun part, Rey. Ben needs you, now.”

“I don’t mind at all, Master Luke. Ben is alive. I still feel better than I have for a long time. I have hope.”

“That’s good, Rey.”

Luke stood up, as if to go

“Uncle Luke? I know you’re there. I feel your presence.” Ben called out

They both froze.

“I’m sick, Uncle Luke. Are you a Force Ghost, or are you the Jedi Healer that Grandfather was going to get to come here and help me?”

“I’m the old hermit down the road, Ben. Do you want me to come to your room? I know we didn’t part on good terms. But Rey’s nervous about being alone with you, tonight.”

“Would you mind staying with me, Uncle Luke? Everybody else is dead.”

“I don’t mind at all, Ben. I’ll stay here as long as you want me to. I remember where my room is.”

***

As Master Luke had suspected, Ben wanted to gobble the food.

His instinct to live and his hunger had overwhelmed his will to destroy himself.

“No, Ben.” Master Luke said.

More patiently than Rey would have, as he moved the bowl away.

Ben tried to grab at it.

“No means no. Don’t get grabby with me.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You can’t gobble the food up, Ben. You’ll be sick, and that might kill you!” Rey told Ben.

It was a very long half hour.

Ben kept trying to get the bowl, and Master Luke gave it to her and she had to move away from the bed.

He cried.

“Don’t cry, Ben. If you feel alright, you can have the whole bowl, soon. And another glass of blue milk.” Rey assured him.

“I’m hungry! I’m fucking hungry, and I’m too weak to get out of bed and take it! Where’s my mother, Uncle Luke? Why won’t she talk to me?” he sobbed.

“Your mother is...always with you, Ben. And you’ll get better. Rey and I will make sure.”

The half-hour passed and Luke gave Ben the whole bowl of food, and a glass of blue milk.

“Eat slowly, kid. You start gobbling, and I’ll take the bowl away.”

As he ate, slowly, for once, Ben told them what he had done for the past year.

“Why?” Rey asked.

“Rey! Don’t ask why. Ben is suffering. He doesn’t need a reason.” Luke told her.

“I have one. I was asleep in a bunkhouse, with a bunch of other men on this freighter. And I realized that killing Snoke, and his troopers, and all his toadying fucking followers I killed on my way to slaughter the Emperor didn’t make up for killing my father. Sure, Snoke influenced me. Told me to do it. But I had a choice. And I chose to kill him. I killed my father. Whenever anyone would say that to me, that killed my father? I would just think, no, Snoke made me do it. But I did it. I did. I killed my father. I loved him more than anybody in the world, even though he was kind of a shitty father, and sometimes I hated him for it. And I killed him. In such a way that he doesn’t even have a grave. When I realized all of that? It broke my mind.”

Ben snapped the wooden spoon in half.

“Just like that.”

He handed Rey the bowl and the empty glass.

Luke took the spoon, and put both halves in his hand, and closed his palm.

When he opened it, the spoon wasn’t broken.

“Your mind will heal, Ben. Just like this And before this year is out? You will see Han and Leia again. I don’t know how. But I know you will.”

“I did see Dad. He forgave me. I just can’t forgive me.”

“Ben, you saved me. You saved the Galaxy. Without you I could never have defeated the Emperor. You’re a hero. Han is proud of you. So is Master Leia. Stop torturing yourself.” Rey begged.

“Ben, you said it was time to let old things go.You’re not taking your own advice. This is how the Sith broke you. You don’t have to break yourself. You’re free. You won.” Luke told him.

“I’m tired. I think I need to go to sleep. I had better try to get to the bathroom, first. Rey already has to take care of me like I’m a baby. I don’t want to piss the bed like one.”

Ben managed to totter into the bathroom.

Rey wanted to hover over him, but she knew he was humiliated that she was seeing him like this, at all.

She waited.

He made his way slowly back to the bed and lay down.

“I’m going to go, now Ben.To my old room. I’ll be back when you wake up to see how you are.” Luke told him.

He put his hand on Ben’s forehead.

“Sleep, now. And have good dreams.”

Ben fell asleep.

Rey walked back to the door with her Master.

“Will he die in his sleep, Master Luke?”

“No. Sleep will heal him. We’ll let him sleep as long as he wants to. I think I’ll go say hello to my droids. Let them know that they’ll be coming with me, when I go home. I could use the company. And you have Ben, now.”

“They’re your droids, Master Luke.”

Master Luke opened the door and walked out into the courtyard, and beyond.

She watched him, retreating into the setting suns, heading for the old shed.

He wanted to help Ben, but also?

He was glad to be home, in spite of himself.

Rey understood.

***

She went back to the bedroom.

Rey got undressed and got into bed with Ben.

She pulled up all the covers, so he would be warm.

He woke up, for a moment.

“I haven’t slept in a bed since I left that freighter. And I haven’t slept in my bed, here, for what seems like an age. I think I might sleep for a long time.”

“As long as you need to, Ben. I’ll be here.”

Rey stayed awake until he was asleep, and for a hour afterward, making sure he was just asleep.

But then she fell asleep, too.

***

Ben slept all through the way through another day, until the morning after that day.

Rey kept checking on him, and so did Master Luke, but he moved around in his sleep, and he snored, and once he got up and drank some water, so she knew he was just sleeping.

That morning he walked stiffly into the kitchen, dressed in a baggy cream tunic and brown trousers.

He had a cloth belt wrapped many times around the waist so that the clothes, although they were the right lengths for him, didn’t fall off him.

“Ben, those are my father’s clothes.”

“I know. They were still here, when I came here. I wear them, all the time. The desert preserves things.”

He had bathed, and dressed but he hadn’t shaved.

“I’m growing a goatee. To distinguish Ben Solo from Kylo Ren.”

“Everyone knows that Ben Solo killed Kylo Ren. Nobody’s going to come after you, Ben. You’re a free man. You earned it.” Master Luke told him.

There was a weird sense of calm, and dignity about Ben that she’d never seen in him, before.

He thanked her politely when she gave him the serving bowl of stew with the serving spoon.

Rey had gone out and bought the most fine, expensive loaf of rich, black, seeded bread that she could find, and put it on the table.

Ben snatched up the heel, and turned it over in his hands, and then he put it under his nose and sniffed it.

“I don’t remember the last time I had bread that wasn’t stale. Or mouldy.”

He ate the slice of bread, slowly.

Rey wanted to cry.

There were tears in Master Luke’s eyes.

But she didn’t want Ben to become hysterical.

So she carried on eating her cereal and blue milk.

“Have another piece. With your stew.” She encouraged him.

“Chewie used to make this for me. When I was a kid, and I’d get sick. It’s a Wookie recipe.”

“I know. He taught me how to make it.” Master Luke told Ben.

After he ate, Ben got up and walked out onto the hot sand, barefoot.

Rey supposed he was used to it, by now.

But he came back.

“I have to get used to boots again. I still have mine.”

***

Ben didn’t like to stay inside, too long.

He got restless.

And when he slept at night, it was like he was dead.

After a week, Luke was right, he was much better and he had gained some weight.

Before Master Luke went home, he brought Obi-Wan, to talk to Ben while Luke was giving him a final once-over.

Their Master returned and brought Obi-Wan with him.

He spoke with Ben while Luke was examining him.

“Were you seeking a vision, Ben? Or were you trying to be a vision?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I was trying to be a vision. I wanted to spread the word about the New Path. And the Force United. And to warn people not to go back to the old ways. I wanted to use my body to show them. So I made all the old wounds and scars reappear.”

“You’re on the right path, Ben. But you must not use suffering to make your point. Yours or that of others.” Obi-Wan told him.

Ben nodded.

Master Luke pronounced him much better.

He took Artoo and Threepio and went home.

After that, Rey and Ben were on their own.

Ben quickly started getting his body to do what he wanted, again.

He took long walks in the desert.

After two weeks, he was running, in nothing but a pair of shorts, running over the burning sand, barefoot and mostly naked.

But he stopped being antsy when he was in the house.

***

Rey had to go buy some food, and Ben wanted to drive her speeder to Anchorhead.

When they got to the store where she bought the bread, and the old baker saw Ben, he came out from behind the counter.

“I can’t believe it! Young man, what’s your name”

“Ben Skywalker.”

“Was your grandaddy Anakin Skywalker? Son of Shmi Skywalker and Kylo Skywalker, who died a warrior on Arkanis, and that started all the trouble his family got into?”

“That’s me.”

“I knew your granddaddy, then. We were both slaves, here. The Jedi took him away to become one of them. But he wanted to be a pilot. Me, I got sold to a baker. Now I’m a free man and this is my shop. But Ani used to come here to visit his mother. You look so much like him. Is he still living?”

“No. But he became a pilot. And a Jedi. He died a Jedi, at the end of Clone Wars and became one with the Force.”

“I suppose that’s what he wanted. But it still makes me glad I became a baker. Did you go to that Jedi Temple? Out on Yavin-4?”

“I did. But it wasn’t for me. Too may rules. So I left, and stuck with what I love. The stars.”

“So, you’re a starpilot too? Good for you, son. Ani would have liked that.”

“I’m sure he does.”

***

Time passed them by.

Ben continued to fight his way back from the brink of death.

He fought so hard, and regained his physique and his strength so quickly that Rey began to suspect he was healing himself, using the Force

Ben had always been strong in the Force, but he had become both more accomplished and more powerful than before. There was a new light in Ben's dark, ancient eyes, and a new kind of power animated him.

The Force was with Ben, but in a form Rey had never encountered.

But, neither she nor Ben were thinking on that, or the New Path of the Force United that they were, arguably supposed to be making a way for.

No, the weightiest problem at the Skywalker farm was much less cosmic.

Most people did not know that Rey and Kylo Ren had been star-crossed lovers.

And no one knew that it wasn’t just one last kiss that Ben Solo bestowed upon Rey before he died.

That was the elephant in the bedroom.

“Rey?’

She was asleep.

“What, Ben? Have you been awake all night?”

“I can’t sleep. What if I killed it?”

“Killed what?”

“My cock.”

“I’m sure you’d be fine with another woman.”

Ben hadn’t heard that.

“How could I just let it go, like that? Fuck, I haven’t even jerked off for six months! I don’t even remember the last time I got hard. I killed it. I lost my mind, destroyed my body, and killed my cock. And I’m ugly again, and I disgust you.”

“Ben, you are not ugly. You have never been ugly. That’s all in your mind. Go to sleep.”

“Then why are you so cold, all the sudden?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. You were like a human skeleton.”

“I’m fine, now.”

“Go to sleep, Ben.”

Ben swore.

He got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

He jerked the bathroom door open, angrily so that the knob smacked into the hole it had already made in the wall.

“Fuck it! I'm going to go into the bathroom and try to get it up for somebody I know who cares about how upset I am, and wants to try to make me a man, again! Me!”

But then?

He had a better idea.

And he got back into bed with Rey.

“Wait! I know what this is about. You think the last time we fucked, it killed me. That you killed me. Now, you're afraid if you touch me again, I’ll just die. Right?”

“Ben, I…you did die.”

“I was going to die anyway. I figured I might as well die hard.”

Rey couldn’t help laughing.

A little.

“Besides, how many times have you tried to kill me? As many times as I told you I was going to fuck you whether you liked it, or not. Funny how it always seems to turn me on when you try to kill me. And when I act like I’m going to fuck you whether you like it or not? You always like it. The first fight we ever had? I wish I knew that you almost cutting my face off with a lightsaber was foreplay. If I had? Instead of offering to show you the ways of the force, I would have told you that if you came with me, I was going to tie you to a table, again, and slide my tongue up your sweet Rebel cunt.”

In several years of very dirty talk, and horrible arguments and insults, that was both the dirtiest and the most horribly insulting thing Ben ever said to her.

She slapped him in the face, and he laughed.

“Don’t you dare, Ben Solo!”

“What? Don’t try that high and mighty shit on me. I’m the guy who fucks you. I know what you like. And you know, you never asked me what truths I brought back from the other side.”

He pulled the covers off the bed, and grabbed Rey by the ankles and pushed her legs open.

“Never gave a minute's thought to the Force United. Or the new path. But I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. I’m not gonna ask you if you want me to teach it to you. Because I know what you want from me.”

Ben put Rey’s legs around his shoulders.

“I’m just going to slide my tongue up your sweet Rebel cunt. I know you like that.”

If Ben's intent was to inflame them both?

It worked.

He rose to the occasion, and Rey felt anything but cold.

She was still in the throes of the orgasm he gave her as he was sitting up at the bottom of the bed, saying:

“Hard as beaker fucking steel. It worked!”

Yes.

It had.

“Ben, you horrible bastard, I’ve wanted you so much for so long!” she told him.

“Yeah. I know.” he told her.

***

All around the Skywalker farm you could hear the sound of a woman, screaming

And a man’s savage, guttural voice.

“Do you feel it now? Do you feel the raw power of the Dark Side?”

The woman’s screams grew louder and the man uttered a deep, dark, Satanic laugh.

He pinned her to the bed with his big, powerful body, and she locked her arms and legs around him screaming every time he thrust into her.

Faster.

Deeper.

Harder.

“Can you feel my power? The power of the Force United? Is this the way you want to get fucked, little scavenger? Fast and dirty and hard?”

More screams ripped from the woman’s throat.

“Yes! Yes! I feel your power. Your power! More!” the woman sobbed.

“My power? Who’s power? Say it! Fucking say it!” the man ordered, snarling through gritted teeth.

“Ben Solo! Oh, gods, gods, Ben fucking Solo!”

The woman screamed for joy, the man gave voice to another guttural laugh, and it resolved into a roar like the sound an angry Wookie makes before he tears your arms out and beats you to death with them.

Then, it was quiet, again.

***

Rather prudishly, Rey pulled the covers up to her neck.

In contrast, Ben lay on top of them, naked, his arms behind his head, his eyes closed, a happy, untroubled smile on his face.

“That was worth fucking waiting. You are one hot little piece of ass, Little Rebel Girl. You had better come out from under those covers. I’m not done with you.”

“Can’t I go back to sleep, now?”

“Why?’

“Ben, you don’t understand. You were born without shame. I’m embarrassed. People don’t…I…I mean, I enjoy making love as much as, well, any woman, but…you have no idea what I am on about, do you?”

He turned on the light.

“Rey, I understand your ‘Who? Poor little me?’ act is what’s kept you alive through all these years, and it keeps people out of your hair. But don’t play it on me. I know better. I’m also the guy who fights with you. At your side and as your opponent, remember? So you can mince around Tattoine, acting like you are the little scavenger, a little war widow, just getting by, spending her life in elegiac genteel exile. Living with the memory of her lost love. But we both know it’s bantha shit.”

“Oh, really? And how would you know, Ben?”

“Rey, you slapped my face in a room full of smoking corpses and pools of blood and told me to quit fucking talking and kiss you. Then you wanted me to fuck you, on Snoke’s throne. You hardly gave me time to get rid of the mess and drape the curtains over the throne! I mean, there I was, on my knees, with one foot resting on a dead man, and you’re pulling my hair and calling me a Sith bastard and telling me you’re going to come in my mouth, so I had better lick it up. Then, when I got up? You would have thought I poured honey all over my cock the way you went after it. You broke the zipper on my pants, getting it out. I had to hold your nose so you’d open your mouth so I could pull my cock out, because I thought if I came in your mouth before I fucked you, you’d cut me in half. I mean, I could hardly believe my luck. I felt like the luckiest man in the Galaxy. Who knew you were the kind of girl who loved to give head and liked it doggie style on the throne of the Supreme Leader? I thought I might have been in love with you before that day. After? I was done. You had me. For the first time in my life, I was crazy in love.”

Rey bit her lip, to keep in a laugh, a scream of outrage, or both.

“I was carried away in the moment.” she sniffed

“This went on for longer than a moment. Hell, the first time I told you I could take what I wanted, you looked at me like, oh, Daddy, let’s fight first, and I might kill you later, but take me now, I’m all yours.”

“So what if I was immediately attracted to you? A lot of women have been!”

“Not when they were strapped to a table, killer. Rey, I was your enemy. I was the bad guy you were fighting against. I gave the orders that almost wiped out the whole Rebel fleet! And even after that, you came here to meet me every chance you got! And we never talked, here. We talked when we were light-years away from each other. When we were together all we did was fuck. I was the Supreme Leader, I could do what I wanted. Go where I wanted. Nobody questioned me. I killed three generals who asked me what my business was with the Rebel girl. Those bloodless Imperial fucks stopped asking me stupid questions about my Little Rebel Girl after that. You were training to be a Jedi. You were the big hero of the Resistance. And you risked all that to come to Tattoine and fuck me out in the desert. When you had two guys, right there, who would have dragged their balls over hot coals just to get a shot at you. How long did the moment last? Two or three years? That’s a long karking moment, isn’t it?”

“It’s because I love you, Ben.”

“I love you too, Rey. But you are not a poor, meek, winsome little scavenger. You are a hot-blooded Force warrior. A two-tone, blood-glutted, cock-hungry hellcat who likes fast ships, bad men, high adventure, a damn good fight, and a real hot fuck. Be who you are, Rebel Girl. Some other guys might get turned off by that, but I’m Kylo Ren, remember? I love it when you’re bad. Hell, I killed myself at Exegol, satisfying our mutual battle lust. But I figured, what a way to go!”

“That’s why I was never going to touch another man, ever again. I killed you, Ben.”

“I came, and then I went.”

Ben laughed.

“It’s not funny! You gave me life and I took it back from you!”

“You didn’t kill me, Rey. Sheev Palpatine killed me. I knew I was going to die in that cave. I knew it before I brought you back. But I thought, hell, if I have to die, I might as well do it after a great victory in battle and a great fuck with the Valkryie I love. My Little Rebel Girl. And it’s not going to happen again, because I am now the most powerful Force sensitive being in the galaxy. Well, next to you. So do me a favor, and drop the act. It turns me off, and you’re insulting yourself.”

“Ben Solo, you are such a bad man!”

“Through and through. Did you think Kylo was the bad guy and Ben was the good guy? The best you can say about me is that I’m the good bad guy. Rey, my father was a ruthless pirate. My grandfather was Darth Vader. I’m bad right down to my bones.”

“You wont tell anyone else about me, will you, Ben?”

“They already know. They’re just too terrified to argue with you. Damn, I have to piss.”

He got up and went to the bathroom.

Rey shifted around a little.

Thinking about what he had said.

Ben came back to bed.

He got under the covers, kissed her, and rolled over on his back and shut out the light.

Rey was a little disappointed, until Ben hauled her on top of him.

“OK, Rebel Girl! Your turn to be on top!”

***

The one thing that people all the way to Anchorhead would tell you about Ben Skywalker was that he had to be related to Ani Skywalker, because he looked just like him.

His hair and beard were black, and hsi etse were dark, but other than that, he was Ani all over again.

He wore the same kind of desert pilot’s clothes; in fact, Ben and his wife were poor; he might have been wearing Anakin’s clothes that he found at the old Skywalker moisture farm.

Young Skywalker and his wife, who was a nameless scavenger from Jakku before he gave her his had come right from the wars.

Ben had lived out on the old place for years, but during the wars, he was always coming and going.

When he came to the cantina in the village without his wife?

Once he had a few pitchers of beer, he'd show you all his scars.

Take his pants down and everything, and the foolish boy didn’t wear underwear.

He had moods, but those scars meant he came by those moods, honestly.

He said he was a pilot, but all he seemed to be doing was getting his old wreck of a ship fixed up.

You might see him, running through the desert, barefoot, bareheaded, and slathered with sun protection, wearing only a pair of regulation Imperial exercise undershorts.

When he got to the village, he’d stop by the cantina for lunch.

“Training. I eat too much, and I drink too much, so I have to train like a goddamn Sith just to keep from turning into a big day tub of guts. That, and the Little Rebel Girl I married? She’s horny as an Askajian whore with a Twi'lek mother. She was a real killer, in the wars. If I ever quit banging her two, three times a day? She’d burn down the planet. But she keeps me in shape. Best exercise there is. Doing push-ups with girls. Before I met Rey? Hell, I had two or three women a week, just to keep me happy. Hell of a woman, my Little Rebel Girl. Better run home before she thinks I’ve got a girl on the side.”

Then he’d drink another pitcher of blue milk, finish his four sandwiches, and run home.

But what Ben was most famous for in the village was fighting a full grown Wookiee, and winning.

He made a lot of money doing it, too.

Ben Skywalker was the local character before the war was over, but taht wa sto be expected.

He was a Skywalker, after all; they were all characters.

In short?

Nobody suspected a damn thing.

***

After having lived by her wits from the time she was 14, and then becoming a Jedi, a warrior and the savior of the Galaxy?

The last thing Rey thought would make her happy was being a wife and keeping a house.

But somehow, just now?

It did.

At first Ben's moods were a problem, but when she discovered there were four of them, it became manageable.

Brooding Mystic, Wild Man, Happy-Go-Lucky Pirate, and Sexual Death Star.

Sometimes all in the same day.

And she had to admit, the fact that Sexual Death Star was a regular daily mood made it easier.

Ben naturally had a lot of stamina, and he was well endowed, but Rey always thought he had made sure to become a good lover to make it up to a woman for his moodiness.

But Ben knew himself, he had stocked his home with all wooden plates, bowls, and cups, and a stoneware pitcher that she he said he had thrown at a stone wall before buying.

So he got mad, sometimes and threw things and yelled?

It didn’t bother her.

Ben was always hungry, so he was always cooking, and there was always enough to eat.

They stayed in bed for days, sometimes, making love, and being goofy and just being together.

And she had not just a room, but a whole farm.

She and Ben had cleaned it up, and fixed everything, and even the old rusting farm machinery looked like art.

Ben worked on the Falcon, his ship now and there was a lot of work to do, because Rey had let it sit for a year.

Ben talked about getting in touch with “Uncle Chewie” he was thinking about getting back to work, with Rey as his scavenger.

He had a scheme in his heart, and that was a good sign.

But neither of them were ready to leave.

They went to the market in the old speeder, and brought fresh bread, and sometimes, when the moon was bright they had lightsaber duels out in the desert, and then they’d make love like lions, under the stars.

The stars that still belonged to them.

It was a beautiful little life, with just the two of them, but one day, the west wind from out behind Tattoine’s twin suns blew Chewbacca in to Mos Eisley, and there was a radio message from him.

He was coming out to the Skywalker Farm, and when he got there, they should be on the Falcon and ready to go.

Rey knew, then that everything was about to change.

#reylo week 2020 #destiny #resurrection #soulmates #post tros #Ben solo lives #ben solo redemption

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