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writingwenches · 4 months ago

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Beginnings

synopsis: we meet our peasant girl!OC, Lyn, as she travels to a market to sell her wares were she runs into a supposed prince, who is a bit of a brat lol. (it is alluded to that the OC is plus size and mixed race, but I did write this quick so its missing lots of info bits).

authors note: this is basically an info dump LOL the opening chapter of an oc/au House of the Dragon Aemond/Peasant!OC fic. Very Princess and the Pauper. The main idea behind it being – wanting to introduce more woman living at court in the Red Keep. Targaryen!cest is not my thing, and I think there's a lot to be said about the lack of woman at court and the fact that Targaryen daughters are expected to marry their brothers #oops.

additional lore: More about Lyn, the Lannisters, and Helaena/other characters.

word count: ~3k

warnings: barely edited, ableism, classism, body image issues, misogyny, general medieval sentiments, very AU/fast and loose when it comes to ASOIAF lore (such as I know the Septas teach girls to read, but its more fun for a cute crush to do it)

The road was well built and raised from the dank, mudded ground. The sound of horse hooves pounding ebbed in and out of focus as they hurried by. The Sister Septas never wanted to give the impression of favoritism, so they made sure to never allow the girls in their charge to ride along, if they were old enough to walk, they could carry themselves to the market, it was one of the many harsh lessons the sisters blessed her with other the years, made up of weeks of seven days, each guided by one of the seven gods.

The Day of the Mother was spent serving those in need and Lyn had worn the village paths well. Lyn was no stranger to hard work. Her frame was sturdy and healthy. Her back was wide, good for hauling bales of hey and baskets of stone. Her legs were powerful, easily carrying her the tens of miles to those in need of her services. And, adorning her face since birth, was a black mark of raised flesh below her right eye. Many say it's an omen of her mother’s sins, and a reason to be left to the charity of the Sisters. Whatever it was, it made Lyn easily requested for hired labors.

Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar.

The Day of the Crone was for lectures, often on the immorality of allowing one self to be in need or unwanted. For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting.

The Faith recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls. There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch.

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer.

Lyn was not sure how many baskets she was carrying, she had threaded her arms through as many as she was able and began the miles long trek to Haronfall Port for the market. Though she was not yet allowed to keep her own coin, it was good practice for her future life of trading and bartering amongst the peasants of the realm.

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants.

Lyn owed everything to the Faith and the Septas, even when she received her lashings. She always deserved them. Six lashes for each offense, as was the law of the land, one for every god of the Seven, counting out The Stranger. It was bad luck to strike a seventh time, unless wishing them death. And the Septas were never that cruel.

Lyn had received lashing her six lashing for talking back, and being a layabout, for asking too many questions, for being too ambitious, for pride, for stealing bread, for not finishing supper, for lying to protect another, for being too loud, quiet, and simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The same was true for all the girls. Sets of six lashings for each failure on the long list of their life, unless there were seven failures, then eight sets of lashings would be administered. For good luck.

Lyn was forced to the side of the road by passing carts, hounds barking from the back of the cart as they passed the strange shape of her basket cocoon. The mud is thick and pliable, every footstep loudly sucked from the dank swamp like floor. The hundreds of other feet that had trodded the ground began the kneading. Lyn feels like she is swimming along the the edges of the road.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner.

Lynora was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lynora, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more.

On the Day of the Smith, the girls were instructed to work on their personal projects. Lyn was a skilled basket maker, she harvested, dried and weaved the fibers all on her own. If only the world had been in want for more basket weavers. The Septas assured her there was never a need for an extra weavers apprentice.

“Lyn!” a voice called, her face blurred out by the rising sun. “Have you been to the market yet today?” It was Mads, her fellow ward of the Maidenhouse.

“No, it is too early,” Lyn answered the obvious question, “How did you–“

“Listen, Lord Ryver sent a raven,” Mads continued, finally coming into speaking distance.

“But, the Septas hate when he does that–“

“Lord Ryver is playing host to none other than the prince,” Mads could not keep the secret any longer. “I have seen him myself, silver hair and all.”

Lyn did not bother reacting, as Ryver was a known talltale-teller. “And I am secretly Lady Frey,” she laughed, “The prince is not in Haronfall.”

“It is fated that you say Frey, because you shall never guess–“

“The septa told us nought a week ago of the King’s birthday tourney, don’t you think his son would be there…in the Crownlands, with his father.”

“Waltel Frey has seen his dragon!”

Lynora stopped at this. “And we are now believing Waltel Frey?”

“I have to go fetch Wren! She can not miss this,” Mads was the one walking now, back down the road towards the Maidenhouse to spread false whispers the Septas were sure to retaliate for.

Lyn stepped aside when she heard the call, a two horse cart clomped past with banners of indigo, emblazoned with a proud, white bird. A matching figure sat on the cart, in the place of honor. A woman in a white dress, adorned with dyed feathers and pearls.

It was a strange feeling, knowing someones name, there was an old power Lyn felt creeping from the roots below the swampy road. Lady Hanna Mallister, filled to bursting with another pup for her lord husband. It was sickening the way her belly jiggled as the horse mindlessly aimed for the most uneven path before them. The lady had traveled a week from Seaguard for the monthly market, and Lyn had watched her grow every month with child, enough for Lyn to wonder how many babes were inside her belly this time.

There was a parodical to bow in the presence, but there was nothing behind the lady’s eyes to notice. Lyn studied her as she passed, searching for something in response, something that could say why this woman would spend half of her life on the road, when so pregnant.

If there was something to be said about unwanted girls, is that they were unwanted by all. Lyn was glad she would remain unwanted, there was nothing expected of her, so no one would ever be disappointed.

Sometimes as the Lady Hanna Mallister passed, she would take a passing place down at Lyn. Lyn imagined she was looked at the mark on her face. Many people would say a quiet prayer when they say her, especially those swollen with child. A prayer that their girl doesn’t end up so disfigured and disgusting. Lady Hanna did not seem to say a prayer when she gazed down on her face, the lady did not seem to do anything.

Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly, actually she enjoyed it. Girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. She knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. All she could promise was ugly children in return. No man wants that. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like.

By the time she reached Haronfall, long after the Lady of Seaguard she imagined, Lyn had almost forgotten about the tale of the silver haired prince. The other girls of the Maidenhouse fell into step with one another, each of the group responsible for their own wares. Name sharpened knives, Name jarred herbal jams, Name made rope, Lyn wove baskets, and the girls would peddle their wares every monthly market, bartering with connections, always on the lookout for open positions or wanted work. They were not going to live in the Maidenhouse forever, and the older they got, their chances of a comfortable life dwindled.

His father had thrown yet another grand week in his own honor, tourneys and a great hunt in the Kingswood. Aemond had been forced to sit through enough for one lifetime, even if he was barely a man grown. He could not help but find a quick reason to excuse himself from the festivities, especially with the task of traveling halfway across the kingdom.

Helaena had been born so closely to his father, the king, that her own name day celebrations were always greatly overshadowed. He could not help but jump at the opportunity to fetch her a gift in the Riverlands…or the Vale…or potentially the North. Flying above the lands on Vhagar, he had noticed a distinct lack of boundaries, like the ones on the Maesters maps.

Aemond had been stuck in the cold swamplands for nearly a day, and could understand why his studied of geography skimmed over the shores of The Bite, there was simply nothing there. He was glad at the lack of fanfare at his arrival, the Lord of the keep was away, celebrating the King’s name day, and all that was left was his two sons, one near his own age, and the other barely aged out of childhood.

His fist connected with bone. Blood leaked from holes in the boy’s face. Aemond had wrapped himself on the boy, to pin him to the first and wailed into his face. Aemond could hear the other boy shouting and grabbing his shoulders, Aemond did not yield. He was going to prove himself the victor even if it killed the boy.

Aemond could feel hands wrapping around his face, his reflexes reacting as if they were clearly going to remove his eye patch.

“My prince!” Ryver shouted, as if he were about to warn of a fire.

Aemond pulled his punch as Ryver’s alarmed expression bringing him back into focus to the world around them. The bustling sounds of the town.

“The maidens,” River said, gently shaking Aemond’s shoulders at his confusion. “They are arriving!”

Walton Frey, the boy Aemond had been beating with his bare fists, smiled as blood splattered out of his mouth.

The young boy, River’s kid brother, barely old enough to be out from his mother’s skirts, offered him a skin of water.

“What?” Aemond could not find any other word to describe his confusion. He knew of Maidenpoole and House Mooton, but they were on the other side of The Vale. The young prince racked his brain for the towns and houses of the area, unable to find an explanation.

He simply needed to follow the pointed finger of Lord Ryver, as the Frey boy cleared the blood from his face with half the skin of water.

He heard their song first, the same tune he had heard carried by the Septas in King’s Landing when he went light candles with his mother, the queen. He had never heard the tune carried to lightly, with punctuations of laughter, and the crisp voices of youth.

There were about a dozen of them.

“The old bats let them come to our markets,” Ryver offered the prince his hand, to finally move Aemond off the Frey boy. “Truely, it is the only thing the market has to offer, if you ask me,” Ryver laughed, ushering the prince to the edge of the weakly fenced in training yard. “The Maiden’s of the Maidenhouse,” Ryver sighed, melting into the fence.

Pesants. The lot of them. Girls dressed in grey wool that made Aemond’s skin itch. They were each different, wearing the same dress, lacking the graceful symmetry of courtly woman. The ladies of court had their places at the sides of their husbands and fathers, offering a gentle voice and soft hand to hold. Women were there to make men better, otherwise, Otto had told him, men would regress into beasts, doing nothing but fighting and burning the realm to the ground. The ladies of court were raised with the knowledge of how to quell thoughts of violence with a simple kind glance. Not that Aemond had ever experienced it himself, but his grandsire had assured him during their many conversations about…urges.

“Ladies!” Waltel Frey called out with a wave of his sore arm.

Aemond scoffed, it was an insult to the world to call these creatures ladies.

They approached in an uneven form, whoever veered down the path at their beckoning of a Frey. One limping girl was even carrying her own shoes amongst her wares, and Aemond could see mud past her ankles.

“Lord Frey, do you not have two castles to sleep in, and yet you still choose to be here?” The first girl asked as she reached the fence, knocking on the helmet Ryver’s kid insisted on wearing, Aemond assumed even to bed.

Aemond did not bother hiding his disgust at the pathetic display of peasantry that appeared before him. During his rides through King’s Landing, the prince had seen more organized gaggles of geese. The cream atop the cake approached, wearing armor of baskets, and a face smeared with mud.

She dropped the baskets at the fence line, releasing a long, labored breath. “So,” she spoke, clearly minded.

Aemond wondered how heavy baskets could possibly be.

“Is this your prince, Lord Ryver?” The grey clothed girl looked him directly in this eye, no sense of pretense or reverence.

Ryver wrapped himself around the nearest fencepost to Aemond, with a wolfish grin, ready to pled his case to the nonbelievers. He had said these girls were raised by the Faith, but Aemond knew of piety, and these girls were a poor example of what a pious woman could be.

“Are we to believe that he is the only one-eyed, silver haired, man in all the world?” a sceptic asked.

“How many could there possibly be?” Ryver argued.

“Yes, but,” a smaller girl interrupted, “he looks like he lost his eye, rather than–?”

There was a bubbling in Aemond’s chest, as the peasantry spoke about him as if he weren’t even there. He could feel the dragon fire bellowing in his chest, daring them to speak ill of him, ready to burn their pathetic village to the ground.

“Wouldn’t he had been born that way? They are forced to marry their bothers, after all? Resulting in…such things?”

Aemond’s mouth was open, without him realizing. The rage at the memory of his defeat at the hands of his nephew vanished and was replaced with the vision of a cyclops babe, writhing in its crib.

Ryver eyed him with suspicion.

Aemond could not help but laugh.

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond one eye #writing #aemond targaryen x oc #game of thrones #hotd oc #original characters #eddie writes #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fluff

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mollyencrypted · 2 years ago

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#i don't like these movies but this speech fucks

The Re-Animator trilogy is a weird combination of 'genuinely good setting update' and 'absolutely the fuck not'.

Bride of Re-Animator (1990) dir. by Brian Yuzna

#raising the dead for fun and profit #lovecraftiana

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yearningaces · 8 months ago

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THAT MAKES TWO LETS GO!

Tw: vauge mentions of death, murder, abortion, semi-emotional neglect(none of these things towards the reader of course)

I've been calling them the Hallewell.

They're a timeless species with very few still living and long lifespans, not thousands of years but a heafty hundreds they can live up to

Hallewell have humanoid forms either during the day or when they choose to retain them, but it's easier to do so when the sun is out or when they're emotionally calm

When they don't appear humanoid though it's a creature of nightmares, each different from the last depending on when and where they're born but the kicker is this

The moment a Hallewell is born, it will take the traits that terrifies one individual closest to them with a 'foul heart'.

Hallewell are born as a sort of boogyman for adults. Those who have been warped and twisted by either greed or envy or lust or hatred. Kids have low level boogymen to scare them, the Hallewell is a creature of nightmare that will hunt those similar to the foul hearted human it first is imprinted on.

If the Hallewell is born nearest to a human with corporate greed that's taken over their heart, knowingly sending workers into dangerous conditions with hardly any pay so that human can profit? The Hallewell will first hunt and kill that human when they're old enough. From then on they will chase down similar hearted humans, those who have fallen to greed. It will be their entire life's mission they will never stop until killed(which is near impossible, think Dullahan levels of difficult to kill) or they pass away peacefully of old age.

And for a fun fact, a Hallewell cannot make another Hallewell. They just happen in a way that no one understands because they're so rare and really undocumented. They might care for their birth families but easily outlive them and move along

NOW, they do have one weakness, and it's their 'heart'. Their moral compass and reason for being more than a hunting dead hearted being.

This person is one individual chosen by fate, in a sort of soulmate way, that the Hallewell would drop its life's duty for. This one individual can never be harmed without their Hallewell loosing it's grip on any semblance of kindness and goin mad to either stop that harm, by blatant torture and murder, or to avenge them.

If it comes to avenging their 'heart' they will go mad. That's their heart, their guiding force on how to be humane and ethical and good beyond their life purpose of hunting foul hearted humans. A Hallewell's heart being killed will lead to the most horrific event of a fully transformed Hallewell tearing apart anything and everything in sight. Only when they reach their hearts body will they stop, carry them away somewhere isolated, lay with that corpse and not move until they eventually die as well. Only moving at this point to lash out and kill anything that has risked getting to close.

If they have no body to protect until death, they won't stop their rampage until killed. Either by another Hallewell who is the only true force that could stop another of its kind at this point, or by some natural miracle.

Before meeting their 'heart', a Hallewell does good by killing off humans that make others suffer, yes. But they're horrible individuals. Not outright malicious for no reason, and often having a soft spot for creatures of innocence, willing to lend a hand in passing. But that's about it. If you're not a Hallewell's heart, they couldn't care less what happens to you. They will be harsh and cold and rude and damn well cutthroat

The only exception and hardly by anything is their own children.

If a Hallewell has children outside of their heart (which could only happen by accident and only before meeting their heart cause they are loyal to the last breath mind you)

They'll care for the parent financially and physically but will have an emotional detachment. If the parent raises the kid, great. Go along have a nice life I'll send a heafty sum of money on the dot each month that should support both of you but never reach out if you don't have to. (Not a good thing, but as I said-)

If the parent refuses to raise a kid, fine. They will but again they'll be emotionally detached. In some ways they would care by keeping the kid safe and secure, but wouldn't form a bond with them. They'd defend them if they felt it necessary but it wouldn't be out of love, moreso just duty.

If it's a female Hallewell that gets pregnant there's almost no other option than an abortion. She won't go through with a child unless the father pleads for the child and swears to leave her in peace afterwards (will still offer financial support they're not deadbeats just so heavily detached from everyone that isn't their fated 'heart')

That's where my specific character comes in

Consider this medieval times, distant little town of Newhaven

Declan is a Hallewell who preys on humans across the lands who focus on greed of power, towns who's Lord overexerts his power over people to make himself feel good, husbands or wives who abuse their family to feel stronger, those sort. Power hungry. He's a few hundred years old, an older Hallewell, has some unspoken history he keeps tabs on but for the most part travels alone. Settling town by town in humanoid form and traveling by night in the form of a beastly creature as tall as the trees and walking on all four clawed paws.

Consider a griffin but instead of an eagle head and a body split between bird and lion it's a true blend.

Feline features yet instead of fur there's soft under feathers and a more coarse layer of dark brown feathers covering them. Heavy wings with a slightly lighter color under them as well as under his stomach and chest. His head looks more akin to a soft beaked hawk, but wider, more broad, covered entirely in those fur like feathers (trico from the last guardian sort of face, but more filled out and completely covered in feathers) elongated ears, sharp large fangs, horns that tip backwards slightly and a lion looking tail but instead of hair at the end it's feathers more dense and long like on his wings. He's a big fuckin monster that does great at appearing human.

Cause in his human form he's a big burly scruffy looking dude with dark brown hair that's slightly greying at the temple and some stubble on his face that could grow into a full beard if he'd stop trimming it. He's just a big fucking dude that looks like a powerhouse (not bodybuilder but heavyweight lifter sort of build. More fat covering that muscle.)but actually is a big fucking monster hidden in that form

And as these stories go, of course, you are his 'heart'

So you decide how he acts, you're his moral compass. If you don't care about something, he won't care. If you want someone dead and gone it's already done, if you want someone kept safe give him a moment to realize he has to aid someone OTHER than you but he will with gusto. He makes up for his hatred of everything else by absolute devotion to his heart

Would 100% kneel at your feet no matter your stature in the middle of town without giving a shit cause in his eyes you're all that matters, anyone else be damned and if they don't mind their business he'll simply be rid of them

So have fun with that

#Declan the hallewell #letters of yearning #x reader #gender neutral reader #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #monster romance #i love him your honor

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let-us-cultivate-our-garden · 2 years ago

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I’ve seen people state that Dana Terrace has a tendency to emasculate the characters she doesn’t like, especially villains . Like often making them be defeated incredibly easily or making them do things that go against their established characters. From what you’ve seen do you think this is true?

Honestly, I think you can make the case that she does this to characters she DOES like as well; not the emasculation part, but the out-of-character moments. The most recent offender is The Collector who was previously established as enjoying watching Belos abuse and murder grimwalkers and is looking forward to the Day of Unity, but in For the Future, none of these malicious traits are present, and he seemingly does a 180 in his characterization. They're just a Lonely Kid with superpowers instead of the chaotic god child who apparently delights in misery.

It's one thing to present a character one way and gradually reveal the layers underneath but such a drastic change with seemingly no explanation is not character development, it's a retcon.

The show also has a problem with setting up how some characters change: Darius was initially presented as being contemptuous of Hunter but warms up to him once he stands up to him. Considering his history with the previous Golden Guard, shouldn't Darius know what Hunter goes through instead of assuming Hunter is spoiled? Darius' rebellion against Belos is also muddled; he becomes a fully-fledged CATs member because he cares about people and is suspicious of the Day of Unity. Except, I don't believe we're ever shown why this is the case. Darius is a Coven Head and it's his job to get more recruits and was trained by the previous Golden Guard. Logically, he should be a firm believer, but instead he uses his status to climb the ranks to act as a mole. This is a great starting point but we're missing what triggered this in the first place. The only hint is that the death of his mentor is what started his rebellion against Belos. But this isn't really expanded upon and it raises more questions. How did he find out that it was Belos who killed his mentor? How much did the Golden Guard tell him? If the death of the previous GG is what made him turn on Belos, then why does he treat Hunter poorly? If you're going to have a character act as a mole, then at least explain what their motives are and how they were developed.

This shows how fundamentally flawed the world-building in The Owl House is; characters only follow Belos when it's convenient to the plot. So in the end, you have characters who oppose Belos because they're on Team Good Guy (Darius, Raine, Eberwolf), the ones who support him because they've always been Evil (Kiki and Terra) and the rest of the isles who either celebrate him at a parade or denounce Eda's potential execution because two teenagers said so.

Anyway, onto the villains...

Odalia is essentially a war profiteer who doesn't care that her entire species is about to be wiped out by the DOU, even though logically she should. She cares about her company and a company can't profit if the majority of your customers are dead. She is tyrannical, cruel, and greedy and it's fun to watch her be reduced to a mere servant. I don't mind this development for Odalia, however, it does point to the trend of taking powerful enemies and reducing them to a shadow of themselves for comedic purposes.

Kikimora was presented as a terrifying enforcer of the Emperor's laws but she got progressively more pathetic to the point where she had to impersonate a teenager and serve as the right hand to Boscha, a character we haven't seen properly since Season 1. She is presented as power-hungry, pathologically ambitious, and has an intense desire to earn Belos' favor, but when he turns against her, she helps King find the Collector, effectively helping defeat Belos. But recently, she is back to her Season 2 shenanigans by taking over Hexside and the question is why exactly? We saw her world crumble before her and she reverts back to her previous traits instead of actual characterization. A common interpretation is that she is just THAT obsessed with power that nothing can break it, which isn't...realistic. FtF doesn't show why Kiki does this, she just does. Perhaps because of the psychological damage of Belos betraying her she decides to continue with what she's always done, except that this isn't telegraphed clearly. Instead, she just comes off as a mini-boss before the final showdown.

That leaves Belos as the only real credible threat and while he is terrifying on a personal level, we never see him at his full power; for apparently being the most powerful "witch" in the isles, his magic doesn't really stand out from what was seen before. And in King's Tide, he was just playing with Luz. He is ultimately brought down by his own hubris and misplaced trust, and an over-powered god child. Belos' defeat is thematically appropriate so it's not as egregious as Kiki's but it does fall into the category of "Easily Defeated." Obviously, we'll have to wait for the finale to see if that trend continues.

Belos' defeat by the Collector seemed to set them up as the new threat in town, that Belos, for all of his power, was ultimately nothing and the mysterious Collector is a force to contend with. But no, the Collector is largely kept in check by King. So Belos' defeat doesn't do anything for either character; we don't get any reaction from Belos about his centuries-long plan blowing up in his face and the Collector isn't even bad, just misguided. As for the misunderstanding between King and the Collector and their "new game"? I don't think the Collector will actually do anything that will have lasting damage, not while Belos still breathes.

And that's a common problem the villains in this show have, any attempt at interiority or psychological depth is explicitly rejected by the show (remember Kiki and her family, how she was worried about being disowned? Psyche! She'll drop everything for even a smidge of more power!) and the lesson seems to be "these characters have always been Evil and nothing will change that."

It can be fun watching villains go from intimidating to pathetic, but if that's all you do with them then it becomes boring fast, at least for me. Ultimately, I think the biggest problem with the villains is that you're supposed to take them at face value: Belos, Kiki, Odalia, are Evil for petty reasons and will do anything for power. Not all villains need to be nuanced with complex characterization but if all of your villains are just Evil all the time and the text explicitly does not want you sympathizing with them or even showing a different side to them, then that's just a wasted opportunity to flesh out your world with interesting characters.

#the owl house #toh critical #toh criticism #emperor belos #philip wittebane #kikimora #darius deamonne #odalia blight #toh collector #asks #long post

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stardustizuku · 1 year ago

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Part 2: PART 5 changed everything.

So, why is Part 5 important to the discussion? Simple.

I’ve read enough Isekai stories, and Saintess stories to realize the parallels. I’m not saying it was conscious, since Kazuki-sensei has said that it was not her explicit intend to reference Isekai, but rather to create a realistic story with the basis of Isekai around it. But, to me, it is actually one that I’ve seen before.

It’s actually quite common for the “adopted princess” narratives to flood Isekai and reincarnation stories:

The Saintess, adopted by a nobleman after finding out about her powers, slowly rising through the ranks to save the world.

Oftentimes these narratives either make the parents abusive, or dead, to justify why the Saintess would be so willing to leave. But on not-so-rare occasions, the parents are written as simply, being okay with it. Or in particularly bad stories, it never gets addressed.

While the commoner origins of said Saintess is mentioned, that “commoner’s logic” that is so relevant to Myne’s characters, get completely brushed off in these stories. It’s either torture porn meant to highlight how tortured the poor Saintess was before this, or cheap tactic to make her appear more good hearted because she cares for the “commoners”. Some newer Villainess novels have even poked fun at this, calling out the seemingly self serving attitude these plot-point have.

In truth, these stories start, either in Part 3, Part 4 or Part 5. We skip over most of their commoner days, jumping straight into either the “Adopted Child” narrative, the “Royal Academy” or “Saintess” narratives.

However, by starting in Part 1, Ascendance of a Bookworm confronts these unpleasant and hard questions with the ruthlessness they deserve. For one, the extreme poverty she was raised in caused he money and profit driven self to be created.

The adoption wasn’t something she would have chosen. Given the option of death or being adopted, Myne would have chosen death. But since it involved her family’s lives, she had no other choice than to give up her freedom in exchange for their safety.

In her case, it wasn’t something she willingly jumped into, or something magical to be adopted by the “Duke of North” but it was a tragic affair. She was ripped from her family, she was forced to act and learn things she didn’t want to. Simply put, this was far from the magic outcome other Isekai stories form.

By the time we jump into Part 3, while the sense of wonder is still there, it’s painted with these undertones of sadness. It also doesn’t help that most of the fairy-tale like “Adopted Child” narrative that often forms in these stories, is more than absent in here.

The whole “I’m a Saintess so I was adopted by the Duke” would be tooth rotting fluff in other isekai novels, where the protagonist has to gain the affection of her adoptive father by being the cutest little thing ever.

…In her case, is one traumatic even after the other.

Rozemyne keeps getting swarmed with work and lessons, having to fight for her life to get ingredients for her medicine, having a half-brother who’s little more than useless, and the entire thing with Hasse…It again reiterates: The adoption, emotionally speaking, was never an upgrade.

While Sylvester considers her valuable and cares for her to some degree - there’s a clear divide between them. Sylvester puts this divide simply because he’s an archduke, and Rozemyne, well, for being Rozemyne. Sylvester never sees Rozemyne as her child, or treats her with doting kindness. To him, she’s a powerful ally, nothing more.

(Despite what people may think, Rozemyne’s closeness to someone is determined by an entirely different system, and Sylvester is counted as more of an ally than family. She put Charlotte on a higher scale than him. She very much does not see him as a Father and would sooner call Kardestadt that)

And even then, Part 3 is not really the focus of the story. The actual story begins to kick in during Part 4, when they go to the Royal Academy and Rozemyne starts to interact with the other Duchies. Again, it’s very common to have Royal Academies in isekai novels. And it’s also very common to jump to them, out of the nowhere. I appreciate how Ascendance of a Bookworm planted the seeds of Royal Academy since as early as Part 2, because I sweAR TO GOD, the NEXT isekai that drops the stupid “magic school” out of the NOWHERE in the middle of my childcare novel is getting PUNTED.

The Royal Academy actually starts to introduce us to the story setting we’ll spend the most time with. Part 1, 2 & 3 form about just half of the entire story. The other half is spent on the Royal Academy and dealing with, well, Royalty and other duchies. And it’s when we first get introduced to how absurdly powerful and abnormal Rozemyne truly is. Because back home she got constantly compared to Ferdinand, very rarely could we see just how different she was to her peers. We sorta could peer at it with Wilfred, but because he was such a bad example of what a Noble should be in Part 3 - it couldn’t even be called a comparison.

And while I was pleasantly surprised to see a subversion of my expectations on all these volumes, I was so focused on these things that I failed to notice what this all meant, until I had the full picture in Part 5.

Part 5 is, well, it’s interesting. It’s interesting because it’s the first time Rozemyne has to walk on her own two feet without Ferdinand there to hold her hand. Yeah, sure, Sylvester is there, Bonifatus is too and Kardestadt, but it quickly becomes apparent that they’re not nearly equipped enough to properly guide Rozemyne. Not only because at that point in time they’re too busy to give her an education, but because she has a better control in many of these issues than they do.

She has more mana, she interacts better with other duchy’s nobles, she gives insight and solutions on many of their issues, is able to directly face the consequences of her actions, and controls their duchy’s main exports and trends. This is not to say that Sylvester isn’t doing a great job as an archduke, since he’s been shielding her all this time and trying his best to contain her - it’s just that without Ferdinand there, Rozemyne simply grew too big for the duchy. Ferdinand was the only one capable of keeping up with her, her ideas, and her projects. Without him, Rozemyne became too much of a central piece in Ehrenfest.

And that’s when it hit me.

Up until now, we weren’t watching the story of Rozemyne. I couldn’t describe it as anything more than the prologue, or setting the stage for the actual real conflict that is about to unfold in Part 5. And each and every part beforehand was a way to properly give the tools to Rozemyne to become this. The Avatar of Mestionora.

Part 1 develops her merchant and commoner’ side. Her ruthlessness when it comes to profits, her single minded obsessions, and developing the empathy and love above books that comes to define her.

Part 2 develops her as Saint. Her temple work, her learning about gods and goddesses, her prayers, and work in the orphanage. Since this is the narrative that helps her with magic it’s imperative she learns it.

Part 3 develops her as an Ehrenfest Noble. Her position on the social hierarchy, the expectations of her in regards to supporting Wilfred, and the duchy.

Part 4 develops her as a Yugerschmidt Noble. One with a schtappe, one who can wield mana, that of a prodigy.

And all these identities, all these values and lessons, culminate in Part 5. Where, with no one left who can properly prop her up, she has to start standing for herself. She can no longer rely on Ferdinand to tell her what’s right and what’s wrong, she has to make those decisions herself.

And this is why I say Part 5 is amazing. When I was talking about being unable to accurately interpret the politics of Ascendance of a Bookworm, this was the issue. I wasn’t reading the story of politics, but rather - I was reading the setting of the stage for the story about politics.

Before Part 5, it was all about laying the groundwork. How the temple works, how the nobles work, Myne’s logic, etc.

Part 1 Myne couldn’t form her own identity, or properly have an opinion on things, because she didn’t understand how the world works. Likewise, us the audience, couldn’t fully understand the message or the politics being pushed forwards because we lacked the context. We were relegated to, much like Myne, listening to what Ferdinand said was right or wrong.

Now, however, with Rozemyne having her own identity, she no longer has this issue. She has learned, she’s watched. She has formed her three core values that rule her world.

These are:

Family

Meritocracy

Capitalism

These are things she’ll rarely budge in. You cannot threaten her family. He who does not work, shall not eat. And when the opportunity arises, take it and profit as much as you can.

I actually had not realized this for a while. I kept having this nagging feeling that I was missing something, but it finally clicked in Volume 4 Part 5, with.

PREV << MASTERLIST >> NEXT

#ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou #essay #analysis #short essay #character analysis #AoB essay

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mollyencrypted · 2 years ago

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Barbie is absolutely a better casting choice for West than Jeffrey Combs, and I say this 100% unironically.

she deserves a little murder, actually.

#raising the dead for fun and profit

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otherworldlygate · 7 months ago

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Once again it's Regal appreciation hour by which I mean day by which I mean year by which I mean lifetime.

I was very much prepared to not write any fanfiction this year, but I cannot divorce myself from how awesome my favorite Symphonia blorbos are and so I am writing yet another stupid fanfic. I feel feral about these characters in general but Raine gets quite a lot of attention (because she's wonderful, obviously) so I don't want to focus on her too much. Regal, on the other hand, has been underappreciated in the ToS fandom since the game's release day, so I must advocate for him.

I've been RPing as him for the last year or so, and together my RP partner and I have written about 320,000 words of a story. I'm having a blast, and a big part of that is because Regal is, despite the flaws in the storytelling of ToS as a whole surrounding him (and how all of the Tethe'alla characters kind of fall flat), a rather well-conceived and implemented character. Yeah, his clothes are dumb (I'm happy to retcon that outfit with zero regrets) and the game blows through his story at such a breakneck pace he doesn't get the space or the arc he deserves (he should have taken his shackles off as part of his 'sacrifice' to fight the angels), but he is a genuinely fascinating character who feels, just like many of the others do, as if he belongs very specifically in the world he was created for.

I know a lot of people like to write him as this sad sack of shit just absolutely lost in the grief sauce (see the part about how he didn't get the arc he deserved), but I think that's a mistake. See, the biggest bump in the road for Regal was his lack of understanding of what was happening and why. When you think about it, he was faced with having to kill Alicia seemingly out of nowhere. Like one day he's just minding his business and the next Alicia is gone and very quickly after that she's a monster trying to kill him AND HE HAS NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON. He has no answers. All he knows is that he killed her, and his autistic* brain latches onto that detail because it's all he has.

You have to think, too, about the fact that the game gives him nobody. His parents are dead. George, the only person even remotely close to Regal--someone he's known his *whole life*--betrayed him. (George didn't mean for things to go Like That and he's sorry he did it, but HE STILL DID IT.) Regal doesn't have friends and the extra material makes it clear that he was literally raised, specifically by his father, to be a workaholic. Do you think anyone came to see him in prison? He fought in a coliseum for his life for YEARS. He was on friendly terms with some of the other inmates but the guy had eight years to just sit there and get stuck in the loop of knowing he killed the one person he'd let himself get even remotely close to.

Which is something else people always downplay for some reason. The shit with Alicia isn't just "guy is sad because he killed his girlfriend." It's very much, "guy was born and bred to take on the family legacy" except in this case the family legacy is a company, an island, a noble bloodline, and also the absolutely insane idea that work and profit is all that matters. Everyone else is out to get you. Keep the workers dissatisfied but keep them hooked just enough that they'll never leave. Take no time for fun or friends or merriment. Everything in your life is a business transaction. Don't ever forget it. It's us vs. them. You're alone and you have to make this your entire life or it'll all fall to pieces and it will be your fault.

The drama cd in particular really honed in on that way of being raised and it makes his entire character make complete sense. At a relatively young age his father died and he ended up on top (though it's stated he had to work as a CEO before he was elected via a board to the position of President). Having no other guidelines other than what he was taught--and what George himself adhered to--Regal followed that path...until he ended up miserable, because, despite the way he was raised, he's a goddamn empath**.

After literal YEARS of occasionally running into Alicia and talking to her, he starts forming a connection to her--which is important because he's never allowed himself to do this before. And at one point he realizes he doesn't even know her name...which comes as a surprise to him...and brings with it shame. After this, he starts living for himself. He listens to his employees--something his father never did. He starts enacting rules to protect his employees, particularly from things that would hurt them in the field, because part of what was making him so miserable was wrestling with the empathy of their terrible working conditions on top of just hearing his father's manta repeating itself in his head all the time.

I cannot stress enough how important this is. Alicia, despite being a love interest and someone he was interested in seriously dating and perhaps someday marrying (the details of their relationship are never known but it's almost more tragic if they were just starting to be serious), WAS STILL HIS EMPLOYEE.

He was supposed to protect his employees. He was doing so much to ensure his employees would be safe. And then he killed Alicia.

Alicia, the one person he allowed himself to get close to.

Now, consider the fact that he was raised as a tool and not a beloved son; he was not allowed to have friends and not allowed to make merry. He was under his father's thumb until his father's untimely death--a death, by the way, that only surprised him with its suddenness; he did not grieve that man!! Regal, as a 25-year-old man, had ZERO coping mechanisms. All he had was the truth he was raised under and the fact that he went against that truth AND WAS NOW BEING PUNISHED FOR IT. How can someone like this think of anything except that they are the reason George was put in a position where he had to get rid of Alicia? That the only reason Alicia was experimented on and turned into a monster was because of her connection to Regal?

IT MAKES ME FEEL SO FERAL!!!

The events of the game open his eyes to the ACTUAL truth, to what actually happened AND WHY IT HAPPENED TO ALICIA. In the end he learns he had NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. If he had not befriended and started falling for Alicia, she still would have died--it's just, if she hadn't had a more direct connection to Regal, who knows where she might have met her end. Alone, forgotten? At least someone knew her as she was; at least someone can tell Presea the kind of person her sister was.

The ToS fandom has always loved joking about how Regal's just into punishment as a kink or whatever (and I'll never forgive the shitty non-canon-in-my-heart sequel for leaning so hard into that angle, fuck you fuck you fuck you) but let's be serious about it for a hot second. Yes, I think learning this information puts him on a better path, but you can't erase 8 years of self-loathing and fear instantly. Did you guys really think this man would just forget about the darkest years of his life and start frolicking in fields of flowers?

The trauma he's endured goes so much deeper than "I killed the person I loved," and boiling it down to that really does the character a disservice. The "born for a specific purpose, not allowed to exist outside of that purpose" bit is also given to Colette and Zelos, but while their role is being a sacrifice whose only use is dying or procreating to continue the line to have more sacrifices (absolutely also traumatizing btw), Regal's situation feels a lot more like indoctrinated religion and, very specifically (and no I am not kidding), religious trauma. Again, he endured that very controlled lifestyle complete with a mantra from birth into his early 20s, and the MOMENT he broke away from it too far, his life came crashing down around him in a very painful and traumatizing way.

Now, you might think the religious trauma parallel is unfounded, if not also the indoctrinated religion aspect of it, it could just as easily be a parallel for an abusive and controlling relationship, right down to the betrayal from someone who is supposed to have your best interests at heart the moment you step outside of that control to the feelings of shame and self-loathing and "you did this to yourself."

So whenever I see people joking about what a sad sack of shit he is or whatever, I'm just astounded, especially if it's coming from someone who loves literally any other character in the game. Like, you'll definitely have your blorbos, and I totally understand if Regal just ain't it for you, but I find it really disconcerting that someone might find (for example) Yuan's trauma deeply meaningful but see Regal's as stupid or silly.

I'm pretty sure I started this post to talk about how easy it is for me to RP as Regal because he's just such a great character to sink into and write about, particularly because I like to imagine that, starting in the post-game, he deeply regrets some of the choices he's made in his life, and, rather than lean into the things that have already transpired, he seeks to do what he can to better the world around him with the resources and power that he has.

It's like the ultimate fuck-you to the way his father raised him. He's not wasting the skills he's developed, but he's also not using them to hurt people or for personal or Lezareno profit.

I think most of us love writing about characters who have to work through their trauma, but there's an extra layer here that I particularly enjoy with Regal. With Raine I'm all about her inability to trust easily and her struggle to feel truly comfortable around other people, but with Regal I think it's maybe specifically related to the fact that he has had a lot handed to him that he didn't necessarily want, and his self-sacrificing nature lends itself to him feeling obligated to take it. I fully believe Regal would be happier and better off stepping away from Lezareno and from his family's toxic ass legacy*** (or at least not working it full-time as the acting President) but I can't ignore the fact that...these things are all he has and all he knows. So writing about him attempting to get back into the swing of things, maybe struggling to find time for himself, falling into workaholic patterns by mistake, learning to set boundaries between his private life and his job...all while not being fully satisfied and finding more fulfillment in charity work and other pursuits, just makes him feel like a very well-rounded character. Like...it's believable that he would continue to work a job he didn't particularly love specifically because not only does he not know anything else, but he knows with this position of power he can make a lot of things happen that would be impossible if he just twiddled his thumbs on the sidelines--like financial assistance going to Palmacosta, or his duties as a nobleman to try to get better laws passed in Tethe'alla, etc.

This was a pretty clumsily-written post and for that I am truly sorry. I've just been absolutely insane lately thinking about Regal and I had to get some of why I think he's such a wonderful character out into the world.

*this is just my headcanon but a lot about Regal screams autism to me.

**this is canon as far as I'm concerned. I wrote him this way far before I ever heard the drama cd, and the drama cd just solidified it for me tenfold.

***there's a scene in the hotel with Lloyd I think where Regal says his family's legacy on Altamira started when Tethe'alla flipped over to being a flourishing world last, which means they were in a position of power great enough to build an empire on Altamira already at that time (800+ years ago). I don't want to get into how awful this probably was or how evil the family was because I think you can all imagine that for yourselves. Also, nobody ever mentions the fact that Regal is the last of his family line, but it's a very convenient built-in control tactic to guilt someone into doing as they're told or risk bringing shame to a family that's been going strong and unbroken for over 1,000 years.

#regal bryant #tales of symphonia meta #tales of symphonia

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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟑)

Synopsis: You are a French girl that had the opportunity to teach in Manchester, and you had been lucky enough to be granted a bed at the Bennett’s place. As Europe is on the brink of war, you start to worry for your family back at home, and you are surprisingly consoled by the one man of the house you would never have thought capable of landing you an ear. It’s not that you like Tom, is it?

Previous Part - Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, smut, swearing, minor talk of death Thank you @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan !

“Can you not shut up that fucking bird, Manc’?!”

Tom turned at the voice, giving the man his biggest grin as he sat on his bunk, his new acquisition on his lap.

“What, you can sleep through shell dropping but you can’t bear to hear a bird? That’s rich, mate.”

James gave him a cold stare and went back to his nap, ignoring his taunt as best as he could, knowing Tom as the troublemaker.

“What are you going to do with this anyway, Tom?” Norman asked, looking at the yellow canary in the cage, the question making Tom smile.

“Make money of course, for you and me. Why don’t have fun while on chase with a German ship that we can’t find?”

Norman looked suspicious. “You’re gonna sell it?”

“Of course not, Norman,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna make the lads put bets on it. We’re all gonna profit from that little Vera of ours.”

And profit he did. And then hell broke loose.

One minute he was fighting Henry and refusing to shake Vic’s hand, and the next he was thrust against the wall and knocked unconscious by the force of the blast the Exeter had suffered.

When he woke up, it was dark, smoke surrounding him, Henry had lost his arm, and Vic was dead.

“Don’t you move, you bastard,” said Tom, crouching near the ginger.

Henry was a grunting mess, his arm bleeding out.

But Tom took care of it until they got him out of the loading room and up on the deck, where Tom realised how lucky he was. Smoke was making his head dizzy and soot stuck to his skin, but at least he was breathing, as was Vera. He had felt his way to her in the smoke, finding an egg in her cage, and money from the bets still in his pockets. It had make him cry, the beauty of it, among the horrors.

During the ceremony he had prayed, uttering the few words he knew in order to pay his respect, and he had realised how much his dad had been right. All of these men were dead, and they didn’t even know why.

On their journey home, their mission accomplished, Tom had ventured to the infirmary below deck, grabbing the occasional smoke the lads were allowed to have. Near the porthole laid Henry, arm tightly bandaged and looking at the waves outside.

When Tom approached him and laid the bag of money on his bed, pouting. “I know it won’t go far… But you need it more than me, so…” he said, looking everywhere but at the ginger.

There was a heavy silence before the latter spoke. “Thank you for seeing me right, after what happened.”

Tom had always been uncomfortable with thanks, so he brushed it off before he continued. “Graf Spee sunk.”

“What, did we hit her?”

“Nah. Captain scuttled his own ship so we couldn't take her,” Tom explained, “Shot himself. You know I don’t know if that counts as one for us, with being an own goal and that, but-”

“Oh God, shut your noise would you?” Henry cut him, an exasperated expression appearing on his face. It made Tom scoff, but his cocky smile soon disappeared afterwards.

“Don’t tell anybody I’ve done this…”

Henry searched his face for a while, surprised. Half of the men that had bet on Vera were dead now. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you grief about keeping the money.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t doing this for the lads, I’m doing this for Vic,” Tom replied softly, his heart clenching at the thought of his fallen shipmate. “And this is the sort of soppy thing one of my friends would have done. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Henry raised his eyes to him, Tom’s side and unconcealed smile not going unnoticed. “She sounds like a good lass. Special friend of yours?”

Tom only lowered his eyes with a smile on his lips, staying silent. It was answer enough.

“Well, if she puts up with a guy such as you, Bennett, she must be something.”

“Yeah… She is,” answered Tom, trying to not think too hard about you back in Manchester, the one that accompanied his thoughts since he had gotten on this cursed ship. Tom’s gaze reported back on the bag of pounds. “That doesn’t make us mates,” he concluded.

Henry shook his head, both of the men losing their sheepish smiles. “No,” he agreed. “Thanks for the money.”

Tom’s mischievous gaze came back. “And maybe you could put it toward a hook.”

Henry repressed a bitter smile and Tom left, feeling a little bit lighter.

It was just you and Douglas in the house now.

Lois had joined ENSA for the time being, and Tom was… away at sea, the wireless the only tool giving you news about the HMS Exeter, the cruiser you knew Tom was on.

The fact that you had stayed around was a good thing, allowing you to take care of Douglas, since Lois had been the one doing most of the chores since their mother had died and giving him a hand. Additionally, it allowed both of you to escape solitude, keeping each other’s company in your shared anguish.

This is why you felt guilty when you announced that you had found a flat that you could rent, your pay being stable enough to finally have a place of your own. You considered that you had taken advantage of the Bennett's hospitality long enough, and even though it saddened you a bit, you could at last give them the space they needed as a family.

Only, out of the three only one remained in that family home and despite your announcement, you chose to delay your departure. He was putting up a brave face but deep down you knew he was as worried as you, maybe even more. Each morning, he was looking for any scrap of information he could find in the papers about the Royal Navy's achievements or failures, his fingers quivering over the table in anguish.

You would divert your gaze, waiting with dread for the day he would find that something had happened, the blue of his eyes reminding you so much of his son’s that you could not bring yourself to look at them for too long.

Once you had come home to find the radio smashed on the floor, and shortly after you learned that the Exeter had been hit. The only thing that had prevented your nerves from cracking at that very moment was the expression on Douglas’s face as you prepared dinner, his inner panic written all over his features. You ate in silence that evening, unable to bring up the subject, only keeping each other’s company.

The day after Tom’s departure to Liverpool, you had tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing in making him understand that you could not dive into what that moment shared between you meant, that wonderful kiss. He had seemed to understand back then, stepping away with that stern look of his and comforting you in the idea that it was only a whim flirty and nonchalant Tom had, a way for him to say goodbye.

If you had been honest with yourself, you would have acknowledged that the hollowed feeling in your chest had not been due only to the guilt of treating him that way, but something else entirely. Because as months passed, you came to realise that what you felt was regret and the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, it had not been only a whim. You missed his smile, his presence, his scent and thinking about him being hurt made your heart sink in your chest often. You had no idea if he felt the same. Much could change in six months. Nothing in your life in Manchester was the same without him.

You were a fool to believe that your feelings for him would pass over time and that you would be hurting less, but war was raging all around and you had Lois as well as your family to worry about, both far away.

You had received the long-awaited letter from them, your father writing to you that they were fine but that they had been advised to get as far as the Maginot Line as possible, the French dreading a German attack at any moment. Your family would go west but you did not know exactly where, and your father had specially instructed you not to come back, that you were better in England.

He was right, of course, but it didn’t prevent you from wanting to go to them at once.

So weeks passed and you finally made up your mind to move away from the Bennetts, and to busy yourself into work. But it didn’t last.

“You’re alright, dad?” Tom said, raising Vera’s cage as his father approached with his bike. “Bought you a canary.”

Tom was finally back in Manchester, having ditched Devonport where the Exeter had finally docked and bought a ticket home. Douglas was happy to see his son again and his smile had only faltered when Tom announced his desire to desert. Ensued an argument in which Douglas tried to explain that he would not be able to help him, and that he would have to go back, regardless of his newly found beliefs. Tom had once again felt let down and unsupported, hurt even. He did not understand why his own father would not help him.

“Maybe he thinks you aren’t a very good shot,” joked Lois with a cup of hot cocoa between her hands as they prepared for bed, Tom having found the use of his own bed again with you gone.

“Haha,” Tom fakely laughed, laying over the covers with a cigarette in hand. “Is that one of your ENSA jokes?”

Lois was trying to comfort her brother as best she could, seeing how much Tom was sad about their father’s obtuseness and incomprehension. If she had a say in it, she would make Tom stay, she had seen how it was like, out there. She needed her brother too.

“So, when did Y/N move out?” Tom asked, the room feeling empty without your stuff filling it.

Lois sipped her beverage before answering. “A couple of months ago. You haven’t seen her?”

“Nah,” Tom replied, taking a puff out of his cigarette as if it didn’t bother him. “I wouldn’t know where to find her anyway.”

“She is not far,” Lois shrugged. “She got closer to that Adam bloke’s place…”

“What bloke?” asked Tom, his eyes fully on his sister now.

“A guy she is seeing. I wasn’t around when she moved out so I don’t know much but yeah, she had him help her move.”

Tom tried to let nothing appear as he felt his heart race in his chest, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Glad to see she is settling in Manchester fine on her own, then,” he said flatly, crushing his fag on the ashtray a little too violently before turning around and bringing the covers over him.

“She comes to visit us sometimes, asks about you often. She’ll be thrilled that you’re home, can’t wait to see her face when she sees you.”

“Yeah… can’t wait.”

Lois stared at his back facing her and took the hint, supposing that Tom wanted to end the conversation and go to sleep. She frowned at his sudden silence but she knew her brother cared more for you than he let on and chose to not dwell on it. But in Tom’s mind it was all angst and feeling of abandon again, even if his heart had swelled a little at the mention of you asking about him often.

He might not be able to wait until another one of your visits to his family.

You hardly heard the knock on the door over the kettle’s noise filling your flat. You had been alone in it for two days in a row, concentrating on your task. You didn’t expect any visitors.

When you opened the door to find Tom standing there, your jaw dropped and your heart stopped for a bit.

He let a moment pass in which he only observed your eyes roaming his form in disbelief. “It's not polite to stare, you know.”

You found your senses again at his voice, and joy filled you. “Tom!”

You hesitated for the briefest of time but could not resist rushing into his arms, relief flowing through you as he hugged you back, his scent overwhelming your senses at once. In his arms, feeling him again, you felt the tension you both left with come back slowly.

“Can I come in?” he asked with his usual playful tone as you pulled back to look at him.

“Sure, of course,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in and softly closed the door behind him.

“It’s cosy,” he remarked, looking around. “At least you’re closer to the school, eh?”

You barely nodded to acknowledge the fact that you had heard him, rather walking to face him with blinking eyes. He had come back, and you were definitely unprepared for the many feelings going through you right now. “When did you come back?”

“Five days ago. I’m sorry, I know it’s early but Lois told me you’ve moved out and I needed to be away from the house for a while. So I figure I could come over.”

You had no idea what to do, just content that he was there, and the many words you had wanted to say for months were simply not coming out of your mouth. He was anxiously looking around the room again, as if looking for something. You remembered the kettle. “Um, do you want a cup of tea?”

His blue eyes snapped back up at you and he nodded. You rushed over the sink to prepare the beverage, feeling Tom’s gaze at the back of your neck. When you came back to him, he was already seated on the couch, glancing at the letter on the table. You put the hot cups next to it.

“Is it from your folks?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the paper.

“Yes. The only one I got from them in months,” you stated, the torn edges of the letter indicating how many times you had read it over and over again.

“What are they saying?”

You wanted to talk about anything else but this. “They’re fine. They left our home, gone to the West. My father won’t tell me where.” He is afraid I'll come, you wanted to say.

Tom was about to answer but you cut him, eager to change the subject. You were already observing him, looking for any signs of his trials on his skin.

“Are you okay? I heard the Exeter was…”

“I got lucky. I got out of there with a bloody headache and a sore back. T'was much worse for the other lads.”

“I’m sorry…” you said, watching how Tom’s eyes had become darker, filled with bad memories. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me and Vera are two lucky birds, literally.”

You frowned. “Vera?”

“A canary. I would have brought her to you but I think dad had taken a liking to her,” he joked, and his smile had an effect on you that you didn't expect. It was the first time you saw his smile in months outside of your dreams, and you were glad to see that despite what he had been through, it didn’t change this side of him, his smug attitude, his light. The side that made your heart flutter.

You chuckle a bit, imagining Douglas playing with a bird, but you were soon lost in the study of his features, as if trying to imprint them properly into your mind this time.

He was staring back at you like he was doing the same, and you grew uneasy under his gaze. He had not touched his cup of tea, and was no longer smiling, and you realised that neither of you had talked for a solid minute.

You cleared your throat. “So um… Are you going back?” you asked, clutching onto your hot mug to keep your fingers from nervously drumming the ceramic, its warmth mirroring the temperature of your cheeks.

Tom looked away in exasperation, a glare of disappointment in his eyes, “I just might. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to go back, I’m done.”

“You’re deserting?”

He didn’t answer, rather picking up a cigarette from his pocket and lightening up between his lips. He took a moment to draw the first puff before biting his lips and rubbing his eyes. He looked tired.

“Good,” you continued, watching the muscle of his hands tense. “I don’t want you to go back either.”

His gaze shot up at you as you grabbed your cup to take another sip. His eyes softened for a moment. “Well it’s apparently not that simple, me dad won’t even help me with his pacifist group. He won’t help his own son.”

“Tom, I was with him when you and Lois were gone. I saw how he was. He doesn’t want you to go back, believe me,” you stated, thinking back at the smashed radio in the kitchen.

“Then he isn’t showing it.”

He angrily took a puff out of his cigarette, and you almost reached for his hand resting on his lap to make him understand that you told the truth, but you stopped yourself. You had no idea where you and Tom were at.

“Tom, I think we need to... talk,” you said shakily, glancing at him through your eyelashes, the decision you took two days ago looming over your head and dreading the moment you would share it with Tom.

“Don’t bother Y/N,” he said, taking his last puff of smoke. “I know, and it’s fine, I understand.”

You didn’t. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re seeing someone. Lois told me.”

He put up a brave face but you could see the bitterness behind his eyes, and how he bit the inside of his mouth in hidden irritation..

“Oh… you mean Adam? It wasn’t… I mean,” you stammered, trying to find your words, “We went out a couple of times but that’s it. I don’t even know why I talked to Lois about it, it was months ago.”

You saw how his expression shifted and how his eyes widened a little. Maybe it hasn’t been a whim at all.

“Really?” he said, his blue eyes suddenly brighter. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

You bit your lips, you could feel your cheek burn under his inquisitive gaze. “No I don’t, but Tom I-”

“No wait. Let me talk first,” he interrupted, and you closed your mouth, bracing yourself for his next words.

“I know I appear as an insensitive bloke sometimes, that I don’t really care and that I will always go for trouble, because it is what I do. But I care, and… when that bloody boat I was on got hit, when the lads were lying dead, I just…”

He visibly swallowed and you waited expectantly. You were sure his shoulders were broader, and you cursed yourself to notice that in that particular moment.

“I just thought that kissing you has been the best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he blurted out and you felt your heart beat faster. “I wasn’t even sure I would make it, but during that moment, all that I could think about was that if I died, I would have tried at least. With you I mean. I know you don’t feel the same but what I’m trying to say is-”

The end of his sentence was stopped by your mouth on his, words dying on his tongue as you took hold of his shoulders tightly and felt his fingers timidly tangle in your hair. It was long and sweet, and everything you could ask for.

When you pulled apart, breath shortened, he still had his eyes closed when he whispered after a beat, enjoying his fingers tracing down the back of your neck. “Y/N… Can you do that again?”

You looked down at his lips as he slightly opened his eyes. “I…” you stammered, very tempted, but you weren’t processing anything other than his touch on your skin, how you longed for more but did not want to cross that bridge. But it seems that your common sense was not in charge any more.

“Christ, you look beautiful,” Tom said, looking at your flushed cheeks and reddened lips, searching for your words and he kissed you again, unable to wait a moment longer.

You melted in his embrace as he now cupped your jaw and kissed you fervently, his tongue doing God’s work. It was exhilarating, and you soon felt your whole body tense up.

“Y/N…” he called again, his husky voice vibrating against your cheek as he traced his thumb over your chin.

“Yes?” you whispered back.

“I’ve been on a boat filled with only men for the last six months, stuck with my thoughts, miles away from you, and now you somehow managed to straddle me in the last ten seconds,” he pointed out, and you instantly realised that you had climbed on him during your kiss, making you hyper aware if your two bodies flushed against each other. You felt his hands trail down to your waist. “I have very little restraint and it feels like you're testing me right now.”

When his hands settled on your hips, it made you sink ever more unto him and you briefly felt his growing hardness between your legs, making you gasp. He on the other hand, groaned.

“I didn’t know you had any restraint at all,” you teased, trying to control your own arousal that was dangerously spiralling, still not sure if you should cross that line with him.

“I can’t believe you're saying that while you're on my lap,” he groaned, his nose brushing your skin as he talked inside of your neck while you tried your hardest not to move. But the way he made your chest heave did not help and he felt it, how much you were already mellow for him.

“Tom, we should…” you breathed out but he began tracing his tongue on your neck slowly, making you hold on to his shoulders more strongly and you could now clearly feel him below you, meeting your own heat. You closed your eyes in pleasure.

“Y/N, please I need you,” he pleaded, mouth grazing just over your collarbone before looking up at you. The way his pretty eyes glowed had your last semblance of resistance snap.

“Me too.”

And you kissed him again, sinking down on him completely and making both of you groan in pleasure, what you had meant to tell him flying out of the window. He was hard already and you found yourself completely at his mercy, the way he was touching you making your whole body tense and your insides throb. He tasted so good.

Then he bucked his hips up slightly and you could not repress a moan, making him swallow it with hunger.

“Did you think of me as much as I thought of you?” he spoke, pulling you closer so that he could feel your wetness against him. "You certainly feel like it...”

You repressed the need to answer him that yes, you had dreamt of him this way, guilt looming over you all of these months for rejecting him the day before he left and not having said proper goodbyes drowning among the many thoughts of his tongue on your skin.

“Tom, the bed…” you breathed as his hands languidly roamed to your chest and his mouth nibbled your jaw.

“I don’t think I can wait that long, love.”

He toppled you over, setting you down on the couch below him as he took his shirt off in one swift movement before sinking down back to you. You sighed when you felt him part your legs so he could rest between them, his hand travelling from your thigh to your waist and then to your blouse where he eagerly unbuttoned it.

It gave you the opportunity to look at him, truly look at him. He was more muscular than when he left, and you could see remnants of light burns on his side. The way he moved over you and how his pale skin glowed in the light was enticing.

“Nothing under there... Interesting.” he noticed with a smirk as he uncovered your breasts, pulling you out of your reveries.

“I didn’t have time to properly dress,” you blushed.

It made him smirk more. “Lucky me.”

The coldness of your bare skin quickly faltered under his warm touch, and you clutched onto his shoulders and neck to meet his lips again, wrapping your legs around his hips in the process.

“Tell me you’re not going to work today,” he panted as he forced himself to pull away from your lips.

“No…” you replied, a brief anguish taking hold of you, but it was replaced by a heated feeling when he thrust his hips a little further to your form.

“Good. I’m not letting you go this time.”

As his mouth lashed on yours, you managed to straighten up on the couch a little so that you could finally get completely rid of your layers. Tom pulled away slightly as you did the same with lust in his eyes as he observed you, barely keeping his hands to himself. When you were entirely bare before him, he sunk into you again to kiss you, not wasting a second, and you felt his fingers dangerously lower to the spot between your thighs, coming to play with your embarrassing wetness.

“I thought you could not wait,” you moaned under him biting your lips to prevent another gasp from escaping your mouth, inches away from his as you shamefully longed for the bulge in his pants.

“You want me to stop, chérie?” he asked, tongue playful as he stroked a particularly sensitive spot on you, making you arch your back, the nickname he gave you not helping the heat in your belly.

“… No!” you managed, holding him for dear life. “It’s just, you don’t have to…”

“I want to, Y/N. Hell, I want to do so many things to you.”

His tongue traced your skin again but he stopped to look at you, finding you exquisite as you panted under him, desperately trying to control yourself. But it was no use, his thumb was now the only digit over your bud as he now slid two others inside you, turning your whole body aflame. His gaze was intense on your face, observing each of your reactions to his touch as he searched for that sweet spot inside of you, the one that would make you scream his name and if he kept on, you would come undone here and now. As your breath hitched in your throat, his thrusts became slower, leaving you aching for more.

“Tom, Tom I-” you didn’t know it would be that difficult to talk, you were a mess and the way his free hand was caressing the side of your face as he trailed wet kisses on your neck was torture. “I need more.”

He hummed in satisfaction and you felt his hands between your legs stop, rather stroking the inside of your thigh. You let out a shaky sigh at the loss of his touch. “Oh, do you now?” he murmured over your collarbone before meeting your eyes again. “Care to repeat my name, love?”

“Tom, quit the cocky attitude and just-” you said, voice firmer than you thought it would be and gaze burning.

He did not lose his sly smile, his pupils so dilated with lust it almost hid the blue of his eyes. “Just what? Say it. With your words.”

You let out a muffled moan of desperation as you lower your hands onto his abdomen, feeling his muscle tense under your fingers, inches away from where you really wanted them to be.

“Take me Tom, please...” you manage, looking straight into his eyes and lowering your hands.

He instantly lets out a deep groan, music to your ears. “Fuck, you have no idea how often I dreamt of you saying that.”

But you were faster and less patient than him, your hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with eagerness, setting his erection free and you swallowed. You had seen the look of it under his pants, but you had not expected that. He noticed how you licked your lips the moment after and he could not resist the urge to taste them again, hungrily sucking your bottom one. His girth came to rest on your entrance and your body tensed up in anticipation.

“You’re alright?” he asked, sensing your slight spasm as he passed over your sensitiveness, watching your hooded eyes. You wish he hadn’t stopped kissing you.

You nodded, whimpering slightly, shifting so you could meet him properly and his lips parted in reaction, his head inches from your heat.

When he finally plunged into you you could not repress the moan that escaped your lips, and he groaned loudly, stopping his motion instantly as you felt your inside muscles clench in reaction around him. You took a moment to adjust to his size, sensing his length twitching against your walls.

“Fuck-,” he cursed against your mouth and you waited for him to settle, surprising you when he finally rolled his hips onto you, a grin of satisfaction on his lips as he saw you close your eyes in pleasure and whimper under him. His pacing was irresistible and you thought that you were literally in heaven for a second.

It felt so right. You moaned his name and he moaned yours and in those moments when you would let one of yours hands rest against his cheeks as he kissed you passionately, he would come to take it, interlacing his fingers with yours as he kept his pace inside of you and trying your best to meet the rocking of his hips against your core. The way he did not let go of your lips as he did so left you a whimpering mess, every single one of your sounds swallowed by him as his own were breathed out on your skin the rare moments he pulled apart for air. When the tension of your body became too overwhelming for you to handle and you had to leave his cheek in order to squeeze the side of the couch, his hand went to your breasts, palming and stroking it softly before playing with your hardened nipples. You repressed a deep moan at the painful pleasure.

“Let it all out, Y/N. I want to hear everything you feel, every one of those sweet sounds you make for me. I want you to give me everything.”

His voice was too much to handle, his words making your whole body shiver as you indulged him, moaning loudly when he pounded into you in one particularly hard motion, eliciting a low grunt from him as well. His head went to bury itself into your neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair. You were so close.

“Oh my god, Tom please-” you pleaded, not really knowing what you were saying any more, because only him existed. “I-”

His thrusts became sloppy, more frantic and the next moment you were pushed over the edge, convulsing, crying out his name as you felt your body go limp. You felt him come right after you, his teeth lightly digging into your flesh near the pulse point of your neck and making you see stars.

You took a moment to enjoy the feeling before softly pulling his hair in order to raise his head and drag him into a lazy and wet kiss again, capturing his jaw between your hands. He responded so well, not even taking care in sliding out of you, the slightest movements of your hips making him twitch inside of you and Tom hiss against your lips.

“Yes, I did. I did think of you Tom,” you finally replied, his question appearing to be so far away in time now.

His lusty eyes went soft for a moment, and you stroked the side of his jaw with your fingers. You were the first one to move, granting him space to slide out of you and lay down next to you, his sweaty body coming to rest against you. He brushed your hair off of your face. “What did you want to tell me? Before?”

You escaped his gaze, immediately uncomfortable. He took hold of your chin gently, making you look back at him, his brows slightly knitted in worry.

“Hey,” he tried, his voice as soft as his touch. “What is it? Tell me.”

“It’s not important right now,” you whispered.

It was indeed the worst of times to bring up the subject, because for now you only wanted to enjoy the feeling of Tom’s arms around your naked body, making you feel safe.

He let a moment pass, watching how your fingers traced the skin of his chest. “Are you gonna tell me to fuck off again?” he asked and you could feel the anguish in his voice, the one he hid behind his smugness.

It was too much for you, the ill feeling in your guts coming back, so you lifted yourself up in a sitting position, grabbing your blouse to cover your body. Tom rose beside you at once, his broad hand on your back, preventing you from shuddering.

“No, it’s not like that… Tom, I like you. I really do,�� you admitted, feeling his eyes watching you. “I am sorry I took so long to realise it, but now I feel it’s too late. That we, I wasted that opportunity. All of that because we have choices to make, choices that go beyond our desires.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, looking confused. “It’s not too late and you didn’t waste anything Y/N. I made my choices and I chose you, don’t push me away for that.”

“I know Tom, I know all that, but this is what scares me. What if it’s out of our hands? You might leave again, get seriously hurt this time and I won’t be able to handle it if we keep this on, I know I couldn't.”

“Then I won’t go. Or if I do, I’ll do whatever is necessary to come back, I promise,” he assured, turning himself to you fully and forcing you to meet your now watery eyes with his blue ones. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.”

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips, but then he noticed the way your eyes showed guilt, and the sorry way you looked at him. You could only witness silently as he slowly came to realise what you had dreaded to tell him. “Tom…”

“… you’re not staying, are ya?” he deadpanned, eyes wide, “That’s what you mean. That you won’t be there.”

You bit your bottom lips, giving him a sorry look as you shook your head. He let out a long sigh, taking his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. That blissful moment you shared had not lasted long.

“I have to go,” you tried to explain. “I can’t stay here while I worry sick about my family. When I’m not even sure I still have one. Not knowing is killing me, like it did when you were away.”

“You’re not at work because you quitted,” he continued, speaking between his hands as he put the pieces together. “Because you already made up your mind.”

You watched him, heart clenching as you braced yourself. “I leave in three days.”

Your words made him stand up from his seat abruptly, grab his pants and shirt and started to aggressively dress himself. You watched him, helpless at his obvious irritation.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked, pacing, disbelief in his voice. “You’re telling me that you’re going back to France, where people die every day, Y/N, where you could die?” his tone was now clearly pissed, and you found the anxious feeling that had accompanied you all of these months come back in waves. “You don’t even know where they are, where you’re going!”

“I’ll … Figure it out. I have to,” you replied, desperation in your eyes. “Tom, you have to understand, they are running and I can’t even help them from here. I had one letter from them in months. One.”

“Don’t go Y/N,” he stated, coming back to you on the couch staring at you, imploring. “You’re safer here, believe me when I tell you that your family wouldn’t want you to go to them. You have no idea how it’s like.”

“Neither do you, Tom,” you spoke slightly louder. “I know you’ve seen death, but at least you know where your family is. I don’t and the more I wait, the more I am likely to become alone in the world, shut out completely from them,” you said, tears finally filling your eyes.

“You won’t be alone. You’re not alone, even now. You have me, you bloody have me Y/N. Going is a shitty idea, you just, can’t run into this like that. I won’t let you.”

“You’re doing it Tom, you’re running into conflict, in the first row at that, because you have no choice. I don’t even know when I’ll see you again once you’re gone. Everything got worse. The whole world seems on fire.”

“Then don’t leave!” he shouted, taking your head in his hands. “I will come back, I promise. Just, stay here, stay safe, away from those fascists. Christ Y/N, this is stupid, even for you.”

You brushed the insult away, knowing anger was the cause of it, his desire to protect you. “You would do the same Tom. You would do anything for the one you love, I know you would. You must understand that I need to do the same. I need to be with them. To try at least.”

Silence grew thicker between you, a tear finally trailing down your cheek, and Tom wanted to wipe it away, but his movements were frozen, the idea of you leaving causing an icy feeling in his body.

Of course he would do the same, but he didn’t want you to be like him. He wanted you safe.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, a final plea. “You won’t be able to come back. You know that.”

To make it back to me.

You watched him, wishing you could only lose yourself in his eyes and never have to think about anything else. “I can’t,” you stated, voice trembling. “I just… I made up my mind. I just can’t.”

Tom’s expression fell, something passing through his eyes. He watched you for a moment, as if he was giving you a chance but you didn’t speak.

He nodded in resignation, clenched his jaw before looking away from you and stood up, grabbing his vest without a word. The next moment he was out, closing the door on the now empty room, leaving you alone with your anguish.

You told yourself that it had to be done.

But it had been the hardest thing you’d ever done.

A/N: At least the ending avoided the cold shower. Part 4

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