#she IS still wearing the burned battlefield clothes she died in

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

if yaz hadnt said anything and just let her walk away at the end of 11x1, how long do you think it would have taken 13 to find a new outfit?

[tiesthatbind-tf]

With a pen in one hand, taking us and burned on kerosene Headed for a fire would find us something to believe Wallowing round with dirty hands on wires Singing songs in discord choirs Screaming in braille, no temptress prize Could ever yield anything so real

The original fire has died and gone, But the riot inside moves on! The original fire has died and long gone, But the riot inside moves on!

Ah Celtic knots my beloved and my bane but god damnit Hot Rod was going to proudly wear a part of his culture or bust. Also, he’s apparently challenging Soundwave to Best Dressed across the battlefield. 

(His ‘spoiler’ functions as a hoverboard!)

Full story below. 

There’s not much that Hanley Riordan remembers of his early childhood though given what he does, he pressumes it was for the best.

Coming from a lower middle-class household in Dublin, he was a ‘difficult child’ as his parents would put it; rambunctious, hyperactive, prone to outbursts, fidgety and having next to no sense of self-preservation.

He did poorly at school, lagging behind considerably when it came to reading and often struggling to finish the homework allocated to him due to being easily distracted, to the point where everything from detention to outright abuse was used to try and ‘correct’ his behaviour.

None of it worked however, and no one attempted to understand and help him deal with his issues, which eventually led to his father walking out on them when he was nine after blaming his mother for him being the way he was.

In turn, she blamed him for ruining the family and he internalized that guilt, which only compounded when she left one day on an errand and simply never returned, leaving him to the mercy of kind neighbours who fed him after he had been left alone for a day and half, but who had to surrender him to the authorities since neither were equipped to raise him.

He went into the system, moving from one foster home to another where he suffered either similar abuse from those trying to ‘set him straight’ or apathy from those who were just there to collect the monthly check and after a while, he decided that he wasn’t going to be anyone’s problem anymore and ran off before the system could assign him to another home.

At fifteen, he hitched a ride to Belfast with a bag of clothes and a hundred dollars pilfered from his most recent foster home’s last government check. He figured that the authorities wouldn’t put the effort into chasing down some punk kid that far and that the city’s booming economy could afford work for a school dropout who was never even assigned a work class.

He wasn’t quite wrong, yet wasn’t quite right either.

Work wasn’t hard to find; there wasn’t a shortage of unscrupulous employers who didn’t think twice about hiring a minor to carry out manual tasks for a pittance of what fully-employed staff were paid. Keeping said work however, was a different story as the same issues which plagued him at school haunted him still, whether it was distractions, his ‘twitchiness’ or him impulsively telling a boss to take a running fuck at a rolling donut after being screamed at to abide by arbitrary workplace rules.

He bounced from one job to another during the day, moonlighting at local pubs as a dishwasher and eventually as a bouncer once the owner of the property got wind of his talent for fistcuffs which was honed on the streets.

Despite his near-perpetual restlessness, his recklessness, the fact that he couldn’t read beyond a second-grade level and that he was late to work at least three times a week, he found friends among the street youth and took on the role of big brother to the younger children, even landing up with a benevolent boss, Liam Gallagher,  who paid him fairly and made allowances for his ‘quirks’ at the smithery the man ran.

When the Clampdown began however, violence erupted in the streets as  Sedgewick Princeton (Sentinel Prime) sought to increase control over UK’s cities to flush out dissidents who were decrying the institutionalized poverty and inequality driven by the working class stratification.

Belfast, as an industrial and commercial centre Sedgewick was dead set on “keeping in line”, quickly became a battleground between his security forces and the local populace spearheaded by workers’ unions and activists.

Hanley found himself in the thick of the conflict, establishing a street patrol group called the Hounds of Ulster with the youths he befriended to alert those in Castle district to security raids and sweeps, buying them time to hide or escape.

Liam led a sect of the workers physically involved in the protests, promising to bring Hanley into the inner circle and extolling the young man’s bravery to anyone who would hear about it.

When news came out on the grapevine that a massive meeting would be held with all union heads and activists in attendance to plan out their biggest rebellion against Sedgewick’s forces, Hanley was finally invited by Liam to attend the gathering as the leader of the Hounds who would officially be utilized not just in Castle district, but across all of Belfast as their scouts and first responders.

Hanley’s excitement turned to confusion and then suspicion as Liam brushed off his inquiry about a new scar they had on their left temple and brought him to an underground route which ended up in the bowels of a facility located in the heart of the Victoria district, which was Sedgewick’s stronghold.

Liam didn’t take well to his refusal to go any further, and the two were involved in a vicious struggle which would have ended up with him knocked out cold and dragged feet-first into the facility, which was dedicated to Mnemosurgery, had it not been for the timely intervention of Omar Parvez (Orion Pax).

Omar escaped Liam’s pursuit with Hanley in tow and brought him to a bunker where he met Morgan Trayton (Megatron) and the rest of the rebels fighting against Sedgewick’s rising dictatorship.

Here he found out about the true extent of the conflict beyond Ireland’s coast, and when he demanded answers as to what happened to Liam, Megatron explained that the man was likely compromised due to Shadowplay when told about the new scar.

While desperate for a way to get back the Liam he knew, the two rebel leaders told him about a rising concern——that there was no telling who else had infiltrated the protesters’ movement and that something dire was on the horizon.

Utilizing the Hounds of Ulster as ground support for Jace Zayden’s (Jazz) spy work, it was revealed that the gathering was a trap for the Union leaders and activists and their supporters, as Castle district was where the rebellion movement was strongest.

A bomb had been planted underneath the warehouse they were meant to gather at, linked to other explosives planted at locations known to be frequented by protesters and activists via the gas line underneath the district.

It was also revealed that the factories in the area, now run by compromised individuals, were churning out highly-lethal weapons of war for Sedgewick’s use.

With time running out, Omar instructed his team headed by Preston Wan (Prowl)  to discreetly conduct evacuations of the citizens over the span of three days with the Hounds, as to not raise the alarm and escalate the situation, while he and Morgan went to the warehouse to try and save the heads of Belfast’s rebellion, who could not be contacted by normal means as they were underground for their own safety.

Hanley demanded to join them, desperate to get Liam to safety as well even if the man was compromised, even when Morgan warned him that there may not be enough of Liam left to save after the procedure, and Omar allowed it.

They arrived at the location just in time for the start of the meeting as Hanley volunteered to distract Liam while Omar and Morgan got the rest of them to safety. He attempted to force his way in, claiming Liam had invited him to attend the event and caused enough of a ruckus that Liam took him outside to talk.

The argument and threats that ensued were cut short by the sound of gunfire, as one of the activists who had also been compromised and were sent to the meeting as a plant was shot by Morgan when they attacked him.

Chaos ensued as the leaders ran for cover from traitors among them and Omar covered their escape as Morgan dispatched the attackers swiftly.

Hanley fought with Liam who radioed in reinforcements from Sedgewick’s forces, who began to swarm into the district upon the realization that the plan had fallen to pieces in  an attempt to round up and kill any rebels and activists they could find.

Preston in the meantime had successfully co-ordinated the evacuation of 85% of the district’s populace but requested for more time to retrieve the remaining people, which led to Morgan and Omar splitting up to take on the swarm of security forces to keep them from sections of the district which hadn’t been cleared.

In the heat of the fight, Hanley managed to get through to Liam by bringing up the first time they met and how Liam had mentioned that he was like the son the man never had the chance to have.

Liam, wracked with guilt over how many people he had either killed or lured to Sedgewick’s facility to be ‘rewritten’, told him of an act that could deal the biggest blow to Sedgewick’s efforts to take over the capital; by being a plant once more, this time for the rebels, and luring all of Sedgewick’s men and resources into the area before blowing it up.

Hanley retorted that there was no need to go there, but Liam handed the detonator he had been given to Hanley and told him to make the choice; they could keep the area and struggle to defend it until Sedgewick’s money and influence eventually wore them down and the whole place was turned into the man’s personal weapons production plant, or they could make the man hemorrhage enough to be finally driven off these shores.

He radioed in Sedgewick’s head of security as Hanley, unable to change his mind about going down in flames, ran off to find Omar and informed the rebel leader of the plan.

They managed to evacuate the remaining residents just as 5,000 of Sedgewick’s men stormed the district after Liam announced that he found where the rebel leaders and their team were hiding.

As Hanley, Morgan and Omar got to safety, Stefan Scavarro’s (Starscream) aerial report indicated that the swarm had realised the ruse when a check on Liam revealed that the detonator was nowhere to be seen, and they couldn’t get the information from the man as to its location.

Omar told Hanley that as the trigger had been entrusted to him, it was his choice to make, before that choice was taken completely out of his hands; This was his home.

Hanley pressed the detonator after deciding that they could rebuild, though only if Sedgewick’s forces were wholly repelled, though it didn’t make it any easier to see a blast the radius of 19km engulfing the district in flames, all of it at his hands.

With Sedgewick’s ground forces and land resources completely obliterated and Victoria district’s rebels (having heard of the chaos) taking the opportunity to launch maritime attacks on the man’s fleet, he was forced to retreat, giving Belfast a conclusive victory for the first time since the conflict began a year ago.

As the fires in Castle district raged on for days, Hanley, crippled by guilt over the decision he took and that Liam had died in it, confided in Omar who supported him and gave him space and time to grieve.

He was the first to volunteer to help clean up Castle district after the fires had given way to smoke and ashes.

However, upon hearing that Sedgewick was actively rebuilding forces to launch attacks in other areas, he wanted to stop the man from inflicting similar suffering on untold millions and asked to join Omar and Morgan’s fight against the man.

They agreed to bring him in and he passed on leadership of the Hounds of Ulster to his second in command, promising to never let Sedgewick set foot on these shores again.

It was in Omar’s company that he finally had answers to why the way he was (He had a combination of undiagnosed ADHD and Dyslexia, and he cried in secret at the revelation, relieved at the idea of not being lazy or an idiot, which he had internalized since childhood), and it was during this time that he finally found proper coping mechanisms, aided by Omar himself as well as Benjamin Bane (Bumblebee), Charlie Watson and Memo Gutierrez, who made him remember what it was like to be a big brother figure.

He latched on to Omar (whom he would refer to as ‘Aul Man’ on several occasions) as a mentor and was devastated by the man’s purported death at the hands of Sedgewick, though he refused to join Morgan after witnessing the man’s nonchalance to killing unarmed prisoners…. more so after Morgan taunted him about his distaste for it after having caused the death of 5,000  men.

News of Omar’s miraculous reappearance gave him faith that he wasn’t destined to lose every single father figure in his life, and he was instrumental in the plan to liberate the newly-minted Autobots from Megatron’s Decepticon forces.

To this day he’s got his reservations about whether he is or isn’t a blight on those who care about him, but that they’re supporting him more than he thought was ever possible is all he can really ask for, and despite his quick mouth, he’s loyal to Omar and his new ‘siblings’ to the death.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

cw: wizarding war, and the violence it ensues.

The year bled.

It bled great gouts of wizards, beacons of hope shining bright red at the tip of their wands. Led them to their deaths, in the battlefront that had taken their friends and family, yet remained unsatisfied.

The year took his Hagrid, took his Ron, the year flung a sword into Harry’s survival instincts and turned them inside out — backwards, all wrong. He lived and breathed for his days on the front, inhabited the outermost trench for longer than anyone was allowed, his wand glowing green more often than red.

Voldemort’s tooth — sharp, a snake’s poisonous incisive — hung on a thread, rested against Harry’s throat, had for the better part of the season. Yet the war raged on.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

“Will you be resting this fortnight?” Hermione had asked him when she’d served, a few days earlier. She was at a safe-house, now, replenishing her core, drawing energy from the underground streams that pulsed with golden magic so she would be ready to return to the fight. It was was everyone did, every couple of weeks, what their warlord had ordered.

Harry’d not been to a safe-house in three months. He’d not known anything but carnage in all those days, was beginning to suspect that the inexhaustible nature of his core didn’t extend to his body, definitely didn’t extend to his mind.

“Where are they getting this strength? These numbers?” Ron had asked, the night before a Death Eater had torn his head right off his neck.

They still did not know the answer. It happened everyday, at the strike of dawn: dozens of Death Eaters arrived at the front, and it didn’t matter that Harry sliced right through their ranks like a sword, there were dozens more the next morning. And they still did not know the answer.

It was not simple. Nothing was simple.

“They must have found a way to clone their soldiers. It can be done — they have Voldemort’s knowledge on soul-splitting.” Kingsley had written, in the letter Harry had received two days earlier. “Soon enough they will press at their advantage. I trust you will know what to do. Do not fail me.”

There was no “soon enough”. The advantage was already being pressed, every waking second, on multiple fronts. Harry spent his days blocking them with his magic, with his body, and his nights fighting against their secret weapon, they one they seemed to reserve for him only — the mind games.

“They impersonate us?” Arthur had asked, when he’d brought health potions the previous week.

“They show up as you, or Molly, Gin, R-Ron. I’m not sure what they want, they seem to be trying to extract information, but not on our lines, not on our manpower. I don’t know what I have that they want.”

“Don’t trust anyone.”

The days cut him, and the nights suffocated him. He got approached by group after group of imposters, wearing a different face every night. People Harry loved and hadn't seen in months. Those ones didn't hurt as much. Not like it hurt when it was people he had loved and lost.

Arthur had told him not to trust anyone. Some nights, he didn’t even trust himself.

He was going mad, sending away whoever it was that wore Cedric’s body, that showed up in his mother’s face, that slipped into Sirius’ limbs like they would into a coat. People he trusted, people he loved, and whose memory would forever be tainted by this, in his mind.

The night Draco Malfoy showed up, Harry thought it was another mind trick. Then, he realized that it broke the pattern. He’d never trusted, never loved, never even tolerated Draco Malfoy.

But there he was. He showed up, nose bleeding, broken arm cradled against his chest, miserable, everything Harry raged against. His tears shone bright silver over his cheekbones, down his jaw, carrying magical energy, draining him.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I don’t know where else to go.”

Harry didn’t trust him, he shouldn’t help him. But he did. He mended the fractured bones, cut his own palm with a knife and gave him some of his magical energy, poured it right into his gaping mouth. Saved his life.

Malfoy stayed.

Something like guilt, if he was still capable of that, draped itself across Harry’s shoulders as he fed him their food, let him drink from their goblets, gave him their healing potions.

He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself.

Malfoy talked, at least, which was useful.

“Portraits.” He coughed, shivery from the core-loss. “They all have hundreds of them, their magical energy split. Not their souls, that’s not sustainable, it’s their magical energy. And they take them out, give them life. There’s an energy source, and an ancient spell, a rune ... I wasn’t told, but I saw, she performed it in front of me. Please, I’ll tell you. I ran. I need your help.”

Harry didn’t need to ask who she was.

“I can fight. I can help. Please. Please, they killed my mother.”

And there were the tears again, but crystal clear, no longer carrying Malfoy’s power. Harry had successfully stopped the drainage.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please. Write to your general, I’ll say anything, I hate her.”

There had been a time in which Malfoy’s desperation would have made him feel at an advantage, would have made him laugh, prod at the wound. But that time was long gone, desperation was the only thing he knew now, as well, and there was no winning. It was a winless fight. Malfoy was too human, too scared, not an instrument of war.

“No. We don’t know he’s telling the truth, I forbid you from sheltering him.” Kingsley’s letter said.

There’d been a time when things had been simpler.

But the war raged, the weeks blended into each other, and the pain, renewed as it was every single day, numbed him.

Harry was human. Harry was scared. Harry was an instrument of war.

He sheltered him anyway.

“One wrong move, and you’re out. You have one chance.”

Malfoy nodded, weeping right there in the trench, in his blood-stained clothes. Harry couldn’t afford to distrust him, was too busy staying alive.

And Malfoy did not fail him. In the morning light, dozens of Death Eaters Harry had killed a million times marched into the battlefield, and Malfoy fought next to him. Harry’d not had anyone watch his back in months, and it made for a nice change.

At night, they fended off the imposters, and Harry fed him his own magical energy, watched him grow stronger with it. His core was inexhaustible, he knew. He didn’t have to send Malfoy away to regain strength, he gave it to him, every single night.

It was forbidden, but it was also the only thing that seemed right in the vortex of destruction he’d been living in.

“She keeps an artifact at the Manor. It looks like a prophecy, is kept under lock and key inside her chambers. I saw it, she made me clean it once. I think it’s the source of all this. I think if you destroy it, this will be over.” Malfoy said, three weeks after they’d been fighting side by side. He looked stronger, energized, and if Harry closed his eyes, he could feel his own magic inside Draco’s corestream, like an extension of himself.

“How?”

He felt Draco prodding back, felt him extending his energy so it circled back to Harry, so it flowed freely between them.

“There’s no time to look. Burn down the manor.”

The discovery that they could access each other’s magic should have been monumental, yet felt like nothing at all. They’d known, they’d experienced it every night for weeks. An intimacy unlike any other, between enemies, between allies.

“I thought I forbid you from taking him in.” Kingsley’s letter said, when Harry proposed the idea. It didn’t feel like a reprimand. It felt like a father, telling a child off for keeping a stray kitten. “I have sent reinforcements to the front, come to headquarters. Both of you. We’re burning the house this week.”

The plan was to march off to Malfoy Manor the morning after they arrived at headquarters. Instead, they slept for three days straight.

They were in different rooms, but Harry only had to close his eyes to trace his energy back to Draco, and it soothed him.

They’d been enemies. They were human, they were scared. Now, they were allies. Now, they were one, more than they were two.

“I think we can read each other’s minds.” Malfoy said when they woke up, except he wasn’t anywhere in the room. The voice had come from Harry’s head.

“So it seems.”

They found each other in the kitchen, had breakfast, made vague conversation, not a single word spoken out loud.

“Is the war ending?”

“Once they stop multiplying like crazy, we can beat them, and stop fighting. Live our lives, maybe. But I don’t think the war will ever end, Draco.”

He wanted to explain that he felt like he would carry it forever, but he didn’t have to. In the space between thinking it and wanting to communicate it, he already had.

“I know.”

For the first time in months, when Harry searched inside himself, he didn’t feel empty. There was energy, magic, there was someone else with him, in the space that had existed between his anger and his grief.

“Also, I can do wandless now," Draco added.

“Yeah, that’s on me.”

“Do you think this means we are …?”

“Yeah.”

They showered.

After, they apparated to Malfoy Manor, didn’t even have to touch to do it together, the crack of the spell going off in unison, turning heads once they arrived. The entire Order was there, and, in front of them, the house aflame.

The Manor bled. It bled tendrils of black magic that dissipated into thin air, screamed, called to the tooth hanging at Harry’s neck. He wrapped his fingers around it and held it tight — his trophy, his burden.

All that was left of the enemy army were twenty wizards that scuttled out of the blazing house like fleeing rats. She wasn’t amongst them. Somehow, Harry knew she’d died trying to protect her energy source. He knew that he would have, and soldiers weren't so different.

He and Draco took care of the survivors, both their powers pulled into a single explosion of green.

“Wow.” Hermione said, standing next to Harry.

“We think it’s over.”

“You two are …”

“Yeah.”

“Permanently.”

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s forbidden.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The year had bled, had been an open wound. Then it had been cleaned and stitched, messily, but closed. It ached. It bore the name of the friend Harry had loved the most, his other half. It would never go away, it would scar.

But it was healing.

Harry reached out with his magic, and felt Draco meet him halfway.

-

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt "forbidden"

[houndsofcerberus]

Lament of a Father

Technoblade was a lot of things. In whispers passed along as he walked through the market he was a monster. In quiet reverence after turning the tides of a war he was a hero. In loud jeering after the tides of war had been changed he was a villain. In stories passed between families of a man on trade routes at midnight he was a benevolent spirit, a god even. He held many titles but the one he cherished, the one he would wear like a badge of honour until the day he died? Well he had only worn that one for a year, maybe less. He would never speak of it to anyone, never share that vulnerability to anyone. Except of course for the one who had tenderly taken the title from him. He was eternally grateful and indebted to Philza for what he had done, but chat occasionally disdained him for stopping them.

Tommy, despite looking so much like his dad, despite sharing his blond hair, his sapphire blue eyes full of life and curiosity, was well aware of the fact he was not his biological child. The only biological child his dad had ever had was his older brother Wilbur. Though it was easy to assume the opposite. Wilbur had taken after his mother, who had long since passed, her presence only existing by the picture pinned up on the fridge. She had been gone long before Tommy’s arrival, though his dad often spoke of how it was because of her invisible influence on him that made him take Tommy in. The story Tommy had only ever known was that his parents had left him behind. His brother, jealous of the time and the care his dad seemed to pour into Tommy but give him sparingly, had once told Tommy his parents didn’t want him. Had left him to die in the woods. He had never asked his dad because as far as Tommy was concerned they had. It didn’t matter to him how they had left him, it mattered that they left him at all. It mattered every time he heard the other kids whisper about how Tommy was a bastard child. Unloved. Unwanted. Out of place.

Tommy had been content never meeting his biological parents. That would be fine by him. Philza had been adequate. He had a roof, a home, a bed, food. Despite his brother’s occasional jealousy or the common squabbles between the two he was happy to have his brother. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, his parents must have been terrible people to leave him behind like they did.

Tommy stared from behind Wilbur at the stranger in their door whom their dad had been welcoming warmly. Tommy frowned, trying to look past the improvised mask made out of a hoglin skull, wondering if the slight tusks coming from the mans mouth were also not his own. He noted the long pink hair, the way he smelled strongly of blood despite the fact that there was none to be seen on this stranger. Tommy could see a crossbow on his back, a weapon his own dad didn’t wield but he’d seen occasionally used, shown off in weapon shows in town. People around here didn’t use crossbows. He also took note of both the axe and the sword on the man as well. The axe was not the woodcutter’s axe outside, but a battle axe. A mean looking thing, but the soft glow of it was mesmerizing and what little of the blade he could see was sharp, definitely for fighting. The sword was sheathed at the man’s hip, but the hilt he could see under the man’s red cape was ornate, a beautiful gold glinting in the light along with the rest of the man’s jewelry. There was a ruby at the bottom, looking like fire in the candlelight. Tommy froze as he looked back up at the man’s face, making eye contact. He frowned and stuck his tongue out indignantly.

“What’re you lookin at?” He snapped.

Technoblade had to suppress a soft chuckle at that. He was so small, hidden behind his brother, but he said it with such fire in his belly that Techno was half convinced that had he heard it on the battlefield he might have looked away. He looked back at Phil, who smiled fondly.

“Long time no see mate, we should talk,” he said softly.

“We should,” Techno replied, eyes flicking back to Tommy. In that moment though he wasn’t a young man, nor a child. He was an infant, held so tenderly in Techno’s arms.

He remembered the day as if it were yesterday. He had remembered it since it happened, he relived it over and over. Tommy’s mother had died. He wished he had known her longer. They hadn’t been married when Tommy came along, and she had been the opposite of Techno. She hadn’t lived long after Tommy was born. As was Techno’s luck seemed to be. She had known it and she had held the tiny golden haired baby who had her eyes and his father’s smile. So rarely given but a treat to be savoured. The tiny child had squealed and grinned at her once his crying had stopped, his eyes fixed on her until his father gently lifted him from her arms after they had gone limp. Techno had promised many things. But above all he promised that no matter the price their child would live the best life he could live. 

Technoblade had spent a little under a year with the title of father. He had cherished every second. He hadn’t believed he wanted to be a father, not until he was. He didn’t believe attachments were a good idea, but he would never regret this. Never. He had named the small child Theseus, he wanted his child bearing the name of a warrior. Of a man who had carried hardship and walked tall yet still. He wanted Theseus to be strong, he wanted the name to fit the man he knew his son would one day be.

He had spent the entire year carefully taking care of the child, despite the voices in his head screaming to rid himself of the danger. The danger someone would use this tiny bundle of giggles and straw blond hair and watery blue eyes against him. They insisted this helpless baby would be his demise. They chanted for blood but Technoblade would not concede. At least for that year. He would hold the child, speak softly of great heroes, of gods and of monsters. He would fall asleep, arms around this tiny life that had been left for him to care for, protecting him. He still believed wholeheartedly it was the best year of his life. The year he had replaced his old titles, the title of monster, of god, of hero, of villain. He would maintain for the rest of his life that father was the only title he would ever want.

“Please Philza,” came the strangled sob as Techno held out the bundled up child. “Please.”The rain had soaked through Techno’s clothing long ago, his hair soaking, though when Philza took the child into his arms he noted that there wasn’t a drop on the sleeping baby.

“Techno, are you sure? This is the greatest gift you could receive, are you positive you want to give it up?” Phil said sadly, looking up at Technoblade, soaked in rain. His crimson eyes were bloodshot and Phil knew his old companion well enough to know he had grown fond of the child he held. Fond enough to weather the storm.

“No. I’m not sure. I don’t want to give him up, if we lived in a perfect world I would never. I would hold him until the world burned around us. But you know damn well why I can’t.” Techno said, looking away, eyes landing on a framed image of Philza, his long gone wife, and his child. Theseus would be safe here. Theseus would be loved. It didn’t matter that Technoblade felt his heart was being ripped from his chest. He had come so close. He wouldn’t risk it again.

“Mate...” Philza said, face falling. “You can’t help it, you know you wouldn’t dare,” he said softly.

“I wouldn’t. They would. They tried. I am not putting him in danger by simply being alive in my presence. Please, please I am begging you. Take him. Take care of him like I can’t. He deserves better than to grow up to fear his own father.” Techno begged, holding back the tears that were stinging his eyes. 

“...okay...” Phil agreed, relenting. He offered the bundle back to Techno, offering a moment to say goodbye. Techno took the chance eagerly, holding the child close.

“I love you, more than you could ever understand. You are my heart and soul Theseus. Be a good man,” Techno whispered, the tears he’d been choking back betraying him and falling down his face. “I will always love you.” He added solemnly, taking another look at his sleeping son. So peaceful, so blissfully unaware. He handed Theseus back to Phil. “He gets nightmares, often. He doesn’t sleep well still, but this-“ Techno pulled out a stuffed animal, a simple plush toy his son adored, a stuffed cow, floppy and well loved, handing it to the other. “Warm milk and Henry help him sleep, he prefers to be held though, it makes him feel safe. He doesn’t like to be alone,” Techno rambled. Phil nodded, taking note of everything said until Techno reluctantly took his departure.

Tommy and Wilbur sat outside, pretending to play as they kept an eye on the window, watching the strange man inside talk to their dad. They were sat at the table, their expressions confusing for Tommy. Smiling but...not happy. Their dad had made the two of them tea after shooing the kids outside to play. The grass rippled around Tommy in the breeze as he ripped some of it up and let it fly away in the wind.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Tommy asked, staring at the back of the stranger’s head.

“Dunno. Maybe they’re finally taking you somewhere they’ll teach you to have manners,” Wilbur joked, tossing a dandelion he’d picked at Tommy.

“Shut up, if anything you’re the one who doesn’t behave,” Tommy replied easily, rolling his eyes and tossing the flower right back at Wilbur. Things hadn’t always been so easy between them. Tommy had been treated like he was precious cargo by their dad. Neither knew why, Wilbur didn’t care why. His dad was paying attention to Tommy not him. He didn’t like it. As they got older it got easier but there had once been a time where their ‘fights’ hadn’t been in jest. Where they actually meant it when they said they hated one another. Tommy could still tell Wilbur didn’t like that their dad clearly had a favourite but he no longer blamed Tommy. His relationship with his dad had soured mildly though their dad hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Phil I can’t tell him.”

“He deserves to know. I never told him anything, he’ll start looking one day and if he finds out that I never told him who you were when you were right here? When he could’ve asked questions? He’ll not only never forgive me, he’ll never forgive you.” Phil said. “He’s a stubborn little shit, he got that from you.”

“Phil he’s better off with whatever story he’s come up with in his head. He may not want the answers to the questions he has.” Techno said softly. “No child deserves to know their own father tried to kill them.” 

“Techno that wasn’t you and you know it. You’ve gotten a handle on chat now, you’re not the stupid kid who runs headfirst into battle without thought anymore. If what I’ve heard is right he’d be proud. You’ve won multiple tournaments, that’s something he’d find interesting.” Phil said.

“Phil please. You and I both know this won’t last. I’m not a person who stays out of trouble for long.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Don’t I always?”

Technoblade’s name had become well known by the siblings after that conversation. Phil hadn’t yet introduced them until years later when Techno showed up for one of Tommy’s birthdays, giving Phil a book and telling him to wait to give it to Tommy. Then came the Pogtopia vs Manberg war. Techno had played a major part in the war though his efforts were wasted once the president of Manberg dropped dead in front of them. Since that day Lmanberg had rebuilt the damage caused by both Wilbur and Techno. Phil had come back. But Techno’s reputation for being ruthless and dangerous hadnt faded. Nor had the knowledge he was a private person. Which is why when he found a certain young man in his house he had been shocked.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Tommy froze, looking up at Techno from where he was still climbing the ladder, head poking out from the hole he thought he’d hidden decently. Tommy tried to scurry back down but Techno caught him by the back of his shirt and easily lifted him off the ladder and set him on the ground.

“Why are you in my house?” He asked again.

“Well...someones clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed!” Tommy said. “You’ve got to fix that temper big man, or else nobody will want to hang out with you,”

“I don’t want anyone to hang out with me. That’s the entire point. Get out.”

“God this place is ugly. You really should hire a decorator. I know someone who could help y’know, I could call them. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping you out. A charity case if you would. She’s great really.” Tommy rambled.

“Theseus.” Techno said firmly. For some reason this was what made Tommy shut up. It sent a chill down his spine and he felt like someone had poured ice water down his back. “Why are you living under my house?” Tommy couldn’t respond. He didn’t know why but the nickname Theseus that Technoblade had given Tommy made him falter every time without fail. Tommy attributed it to the speech Techno had made all that time ago, yelling for him to die like the hero he wished to be. Since then Techno had almost exclusively used that name in their few interactions. Sometimes it would be sternly, fewer times it was affectionate, though the name gained positive meaning the longer Tommy stayed with Technoblade. Techno spent time training Tommy, and soon even just spending time with him. Technoblade taught Tommy how to make his own weapons and how to make them near perfect after realizing how woefully terrible Tommy’s current weapon was, especially for his fighting style. 

Tommy had always been mesmerized by the way Techno fought. It was like he was dancing, every movement was muscle memory, every step rehearsed, measured. The way he locked his eyes onto his target but seemed to be oh so aware when eyes were on him. Watching Techno and Philza fight was a real treat. It was like watching a performance. Technoblade had clearly learned from Tommy’s dad, and Tommy wanted to hear the stories of their old adventures, though neither would give up the goods. Phil’s movements were airy, near effortless. Though he lacked the power Techno threw into every swing, and Techno lacked a lot of the effortless grace that Phil seemed to have a birthright to.

Tommy sat, transfixed as he watched his dad’s wings flare out, though unable to carry him now due to the large chunks burned away he still used them, catching himself as Techno shoved him back. Phil had a grin on his face as they sparred, though Techno’s face was as it always seemed to be, stony and unchanging. Tommy could’ve sworn that he saw the smallest glint of excitement in those wine red eyes. Techno had a tendency for nonstop movement, and redirecting his momentum. Techno had said, quite hypocritically, that it was a stupid move however. It took a lot more energy to redirect and change momentum and still have enough power for your hit. Though it seemed that Techno wasn’t lacking in power as the sparks flew between Phil and Techno’s swords, illuminating their faces briefly before being extinguished in the snow. Phil was considered better by many, but for whatever reason Tommy found Phil all too predictable. He liked the unbridled power and erratic movements that Techno made, the way he seemed to keep his eyes fixed on you as you sparred, attention unwavering and unyielding. It was intimidating and Tommy had never wanted to be on the other side of the sword when Techno really meant it.

He had never wanted it. Never wanted this. Lmanberg was crashing around him, exploding constantly, the crater going deeper as the noise of the explosions mixed in with the screaming of the withers. Tommy couldn’t take a breath without the acrid smoke stinging his lungs, couldn’t move without the raging fire below the platform he stood on warming his skin to a near unbearable extent. But somehow nothing hurt him more than the look of pure sorrow and rage in Techno’s eyes as he stood behind the crossbow, firework loaded, ready to kill Tommy. Ready to end him where he stood. Tommy cowered behind it, his voice ever steady despite the tears cleaning trails of soot off his face betraying him.

“Do it.” He said. “Prove me right.”

Techno took a breath and for a moment Tommy thought he was going to actually pull the trigger. He flinched as he heard the click of the trigger, and then the explosion of the firework. But he was fine. He opened his eyes and saw Technoblade reload his crossbow before putting it away. He pulled out his trident and looked up, holding his free hand out as the first raindrops fell.

“We part as we did the first time. I’ll miss you Theseus.” Techno said softly, pulling his arm back before launching into the air with his trident. Though Tommy swore he heard something he couldn’t decipher it over the loud roar of the withers, the pattering of rain, and the ever insistent booming of the explosives digging ever deeper. Tommy stood, rain soaking his hair and washing his face of the soot and ash of the country he once built with his brother. He once took back with his uncle. The country he had staked everything on from the beginning. It was gone. For good now. There was no rebuilding. Tommy exchanged a look with Tubbo, the two of them locking eyes. Neither said a word but they both knew, they both understood that it was over. Dream had won, and Technoblade and Phil had helped. Tommy was surrounded by people but he had never felt more alone in that moment. Not even in exile. And he couldn’t tell you why. Though maybe it had something to do with the red fur trimmed cape he still had hanging up at home and the axe that had once been a gift and was now stolen property in his enderchest.

Techno had stopped paying attention to any and all news regarding Tommy. He told Phil it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know. But they both knew he was lying through his teeth. He cared. A great deal. But that was the problem now wasn’t it? He had his son. He had an optimal time to tell him. And he was going to. Until Tommy charged into the community house. And Techno had watched in that moment as Tommy chose the corrupt government that had just prior ordered his execution and had imprisoned Phil. Tommy chose them over Techno, who had once more thought about retrieving the title of father. The title he missed every day of his life since he handed it to Phil.

“Tommy is dead.”

Techno’s blood ran cold. There was no way. No way. Phil turned and stared at Techno. Phil loved Tommy, he had. But they had grown estranged. Techno however? He had been attached to Tommy since the day he showed up under his house. Techno had grown close and lost Tommy but he still cared. He still loved his son. Techno didn’t love many things or people, but his son was one of those things.

Phil relaxed slightly as Techno joked, but he didn’t miss the way Techno rushed through the meeting, the way he bolted out of the room into the ever winding maze outside. Phil said his goodbyes before darting after Techno, going through the halls. He found him leaning against a wall, looking queasy. Phil didn’t even get to Techno before he heard him retch and a splatter. Phil saw him turn and wipe his mouth, face ashen and colourless, he was shaking violently and Phil could see how distant he was. Chat. Again.

“You good mate? Come back to me Techno. We can figure this out. Just breathe,” Phil said. “You’ll be o-“

“Do not finish that sentence.” Techno snapped, glaring at Phil. “He’s dead. I am not going to be okay.” Phil had seen Techno angry many times. But he’d never seen this look. The look of a man with nothing left to lose. It wasn’t even like he was looking at Technoblade anymore, not in the way he knew his beloved friend. It was more like staring a wild boar in the face. A very angry, very hungry wild boar. Phil stepped back, knowing very well he could find his throat ripped from his neck if he chose to move forward.

Techno took many long hours to calm, and by the time he had he was empty. It was like everything had been drained from him. Every ounce of Techno had been ripped out and all that Phil had left was the shell. His heart broke because he knew exactly how it had felt. He knew what it was like. After he lost Wilbur Phil had disappeared into the woods for days, he remembered killing anything that moved, hitting the trees until his knuckles bruised and bled just to feel something other than the all consuming sorrow and despair. Anything to stave off the feeling of emptiness. And it was like that until Techno set off. He said he was going to go train. Except he didn’t come back for what felt like years. Tommy had come to visit. As had Wilbur, newly revived from the dead. And Phil had nearly lost it, so relieved to see his son even if his son wasn’t thrilled to see him. It didn’t matter. Wilbur could tell him a million times that Phil no longer mattered, that he wasn’t family, and Phil would still just be relieved that he was okay. That he was alive.

He saw the way Tommy looked at them. Saw the jealousy in his eyes. He had tried so hard to stop him from feeling that when he was a kid but things were different. Things had changed. They didn’t talk much, they weren’t family like they had been. And Phil wanted Tommy to know he had family. But it wasn’t his story to tell. Not yet.

Techno had come back oh so very briefly, a week maximum. They celebrated his birthday, and Techno received a letter summoning him to the prison. Phil was apprehensive and when Techno didn’t come home that night, or the next day, or the day after that Phil started to worry. He had read the will. He knew the plan. But he didn’t like it. Too many things could go wrong. The next time Tommy visited Phil was a wreck. Tommy did his best to comfort Phil but honestly Tommy was worried too. He knew Techno could handle himself. He knew what Techno was capable of but he also knew what Dream and Sam were capable of. 

Phil however was worried about several things. He had faith Techno would be fine, he always was, but… there was a nagging in the back of his brain. He needed to tell Tommy. No matter what he needed to tell him. If Techno died in the prison Tommy should know, and if he got out as planned then Tommy should get to be allowed to know his father. He shouldn’t know before it’s too late, especially when it might already be too late. 

“Tommy?”

“Yeah Phil?” Tommy replied, picking up the two mugs he had, each with tea in them. He set one down in front of Phil at the table and sat nearby, looking at him. Phil looked like a fucking wreck. There were deep circles under his eyes, he looked exhausted and he seemed older in that moment than Tommy could ever remember him looking before.

“I need to tell you something. The truth.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it right now, you can tell me later,”

“No. I have to tell you.” Phil said adamantly. He knew if he didn’t say it now he never would. And Tommy might never get to know Techno as his dad instead of a friend or mentor. He wanted Tommy to have a dad. He owed it to him after he had suddenly stopped being one. “I knew your parents. Your mother and father, they were friends of mine. Your mom is… she’s not around…” Phil said quickly. He kept going before Tommy could react. “Your father. He’s a friend. He’s still alive.”

“…what?” Tommy asked, voice quiet. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you? I spent years wondering what the fuck was wrong with me or my parents that they dropped me in the middle of nowhere, why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” Tommy asked, rage and pain clear in his voice. Years of self loathing, of wondering why he wasn’t good enough, why he was abandoned. Why he didn’t get to have a family. Why he didn’t get to know his father at the very least.

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, I wish I could’ve told you but I couldn’t Tommy,” Phil answered.

“There’s a lot that you don’t understand! I’ve been wondering every day of my life why I wasn’t good enough! Why I couldn’t be happy, why I didn’t deserve to have my own family! You had the answers and you just didn’t give them to me!” Tommy yelled, standing up and banging his fist on the table. “Who? How many times have I met my father and you didn’t say a word? How many interactions did I have where you didn’t tell me I could’ve asked him questions? How many times was he right there?” Phil looked down and sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t wanna say it.

“Tommy….” Phil sighed softly, looking at Tommy. He was right to be pissed. Phil knew that. But he wished he wasn’t. 

“Tell me! For once in your fucking life be honest Phil! You’ve been lying to me for years, you owe me this! You owe me this cause I died and you didn’t bother to care!” Tommy screamed, tears running down his face. “Owe up to it for once in your life.” 

“It’s Technoblade.” Phil choked out. He swore, Tommy almost lunged for his neck to choke him. In that moment he looked so much like his dad. He was so angry. He’d never seen Tommy this angry before, not even on doomsday. Phil would’ve let him strangle him, he’d deserve it. But Tommy didn’t. He slammed his fist into the wall.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled. It was so loud and Phil could hear his voice almost giving out. “He was right here! This whole fucking time! What the fuck is wrong with both of you? You had months, months to tell me!” He screamed, his voice quavering. “You’re both full of shit!” He screamed, turning around and storming out. The door slammed and Phil flinched, hearing the pictures on the wall rattle. He didn’t think it would go this badly. Granted he didn’t know how it would go when he said it. Phil sighed and put his head in his hands. He fucked up. He was gonna regret this.

Techno regretted going into that prison. By the time he got out thanks to the stasis chamber and an ender pearl. He felt himself teleport and stumbled as he found himself in the syndicate’s meeting room. He felt someone grab him and he flinched away.

“Calm down mate, it’s alright, it’s me,” Phil’s voice said softly. Techno looked around confusedly, breathing quickly and seeing it was in fact the syndicate room, not Pandora’s Vault. Phil pulled him along and had him sit down at one of the chairs. “You alright?” Phil asked, stepping back and looking at Techno. He looked like shit. He was thinner, he was pale and shaky. He looked like he didn’t know which way was up. “What the fuck happened in there mate?” 

“It sucked. The syndicate has a responsibility to take it down, it’s as corrupt as anything could be.” Techno sighed.

“I can see that mate.”

“They don’t really feed you in there… Tommy was in there wasn’t he?” Techno asked. Phil paled.

“Yeah… he was.” Phil said, sighing. “Listen I…I have to tell you something Techno. It’s about Tommy.” 

“Is he okay? Did something happen to him?” Technoblade asked immediately, looking terrified.

“No, no he’s fine. I fucked up though mate. I’m sorry, I told him. I didn’t know whether things would go as planned or not, he deserved to know while you were still alive.” Phil said quickly, not looking at Techno. He heard the other sigh.

“….I suppose we owed it to him. Better sooner than later.” Techno sighed, shaking his head. “How’d he take it?” He asked, looking at Phil and leaning back in the chair with a groan.

“Bad. He was….angry. Angry we didn’t say anything earlier. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so pissed.” Phil replied, sitting on the table. He left out just how much like his father he had looked for that moment. Tommy looked like his mother but he certainly had some of his father in him. Techno’s face had fallen more. Phil hadn’t seen Techno cry in ages, but he looked close. Tears in his eyes that he was too proud to let fall. Techno shook his head as if it would shoo them away and stood.

“He’s not wrong to be angry.” Techno said softly. Phil nodded and walked with him up the staircase to the igloo concealing the entrance. “I was going to tell him. Why didn’t I? I should’ve told him. Things were good. He deserved to have my honesty,” Techno muttered under his breath. Phil opened his mouth to respond before closing it. He had a feeling Techno’s words weren’t for him. 

They arrived to their conjoined cabins in silence, and Techno told Phil that they would convene the syndicate later on, and that he was tired. Phil knew it was a lie but he didn’t push, he knew Techno would appreciate him leaving him be more than he would prying. Techno spent a few days in his cabin alone, trying very hard not to be angry with Phil. But who was left if not Phil? He couldn’t be angry at Tommy. Tommy was in the right. Theseus had every right to be pissed, to want nothing to do with him. So the only person left to blame was Technoblade. He spend hours muttering to himself, talking back and forth with chat. Chat seemed to be divided. Half believed it was the better thing to do, to keep it secret, the other said that he should’ve told Tommy ages ago. They weren’t wrong. He had a chance. In Pogtopia he had a chance. Before doomsday, before the community house he had a chance. Tommy had been through hell and back, and Technoblade could’ve prevented it, but he didn’t. His own son died because he had stayed silent. Techno slammed his fist into the wall before letting out a soul shattering scream of frustration. How could he have been so stupid?

Tommy stood outside the houses, staring between the turtle shell helmet in his hands and the cozy inviting cabin he’d once called home. At one point it had been entirely alone, nothing but Carl in his stable outside but now it was busy. The house stood facing Phil’s own cabin, a small pond below the bridges connecting them, beacons shining nearby, Ranboo’s house not so far, a large herd of cows in a pen, polar bears inside and outside the house, a dog kennel and several dogs lounging in and out of it. It was nothing like the desolate and lonely house Tommy had last seen it as. He took a breath and shook his head. Clearly Technoblade was fine. He had Ranboo, Phil, his animals. He wouldn’t be alone. It was a bittersweet thought. On one hand he didn’t want Technoblade to be left entirely alone. He was angry but…Techno had been kind to him. Given him gifts, a home, hidden him. But on the other hand…it felt like Tommy was being abandoned, replaced. Ranboo had taken his spot as Tubbo’s best friend. Hell they were married and raising a child. Now Ranboo was living happily alongside Technoblade and Phil. Tommy wasn’t a fan of the pattern he was seeing. But unfortunately Ranboo was disgustingly pleasant. He considered turning back, maybe even just tossing the shell onto the porch by the door and making a run for it before anybody saw him, but in his moment of hesitation the decision was made for him. Techno closed the door behind him and turned, freezing, bow slung over his shoulder.

“…you weren’t supposed to see me here.” Tommy said hesitantly when he realized Techno wouldn’t say anything first.

“Your helmet,” Techno said, pointing at the turtle shell clenched in Tommy’s hands. 

“Yeah. I was going to return it to you.” Tommy said, shrugging awkwardly.

“…why?”

“You know why. Don’t act stupid.” Tommy said glaring at Techno. “You can’t expect me to not be upset after finding out you abandoned me and lied to me my whole life. I know you’re not good with people but you can’t be that stupid.”

“I’m sorry, I know, I was just… you should keep the helmet Theseus-“

“Don’t call me that. Don’t use that stupid fucking nickname!” Tommy yelled.

“…I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make up for it, but I promise you I didn’t want it to go the way it did.” Techno said, sighing.

“You’d take it back? Fat load of good that does now.”

“No. I’d do the same. Not this part. Not keeping it a secret.”

“Thanks. Makes me feel so much better to know you still don’t want me.” Tommy said sarcastically. 

“What? Of course I wanted you.” Techno said, frowning and walking down the steps to stand in front of Tommy.

“Then why did you get rid of me so easily? Why didn’t you want me to know you?” Tommy asked, rage boiling in his chest.

“Giving you to someone else was the hardest thing I ever did. I spent a year as your dad, your first word was papa, you were my heart and soul.” Techno said softly. “I had to give you to someone else. I had to give you a better home Tommy.”

“Why couldn’t you have kept me?” Tommy asked, the venomous tone in his voice dying down slightly.

“Come, I’ll tell you everything. It’s too cold out here and you don’t have a coat,” Techno said, walking back up the stairs. Tommy was going to refuse, but his legs moved automatically, and he followed Techno inside. Techno gestured for him to sit at the table and filled the kettle with water, setting it on the wood stove and pulling out cups. “Usual?” Techno asked, looking over his shoulder. Tommy nodded and watched Techno pull out the sugar and milk. The tea was done quickly and Techno set Tommy’s cup in front of him, sitting across the table from him. “How much do you want to know?” Techno asked after taking a breath. 

“Everything. I want you to be honest with me.” Tommy replied curtly.

“Alright. I suppose I should start with your name. Theseus is your actual name, Tommy was a nickname. Your mom called you Tommy, so it stuck.” Techno admitted.

“It…wasn’t just a stupid nickname?”

“No.”

“You have terrible taste in names big man.” Tommy said, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah, you may be right on that,” Techno replied, laughing. 

“My mother…what happened?” Tommy asked.

“She died a few hours after you were born. There were some issues, we knew she wasn’t gonna make it weeks before, so she decided that she would just hold you until she went. And she did just that.” Techno sighed. Tommy couldn’t figure out the look on Techno’s face. He seemed to be both sad and happy at the same time. It was odd, he hadn’t seen Techno look like this before. 

“Did you love her?”

“Absolutely. The only person I ever loved more is you.” Techno replied easily. “We didn’t get married, but it didn’t matter much to us.”

“What was she like?” 

“She was…like you actually. Everything I could only hope to become. She was kind, happy, she was always smiling. She saw the good in everything and everyone, and she stood up for what she believed in regardless of the cost. You look just like her, you have her hair and her eyes. You’re more her than me, that’s a good thing.” Techno said, smiling fondly on the memories of her. He saw so much of her in Tommy and he was unbelievably grateful for it.

“So…why did you give me up then? If you were so happy to have me or whatever?” Tommy asked, not looking at Techno. He heard him sigh deeply and almost retracted the question but decided not to. He had a right to know.

“You know about chat? The voices I hear?” Tommy nodded in response. “Well… sometimes chat is too hard for me to handle. Sometimes they take over. Sometimes they win. And one night they almost did.” Techno reached out and held Tommy’s jaw loosely, thumb running over the scar there. “They almost won and I almost lost you. You deserved a dad who didn’t try to kill you. You deserved a stable family, I didn’t want you to grow up not feeling safe cause I couldn’t control myself. So I gave you to Phil.” Techno pulled away and sighed, leaning back in his seat.

“Did you ever wish you hadn’t?” 

“That’s…hard. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish it wasn’t what had been best at that time. I wish I hadn’t needed to do it, but I don’t regret it. I would’ve loved to have been your father for as long as I lived. But I wasn’t about to risk your life for my happiness.” Techno explained.

Tommy had wanted to stay angry. Some pet of him still was, deep down. He still wanted to hit and scream and throw a tantrum, but the other part, the larger, more rational part, the part of him that had been through everything including death and war, felt the anger wash away. He hadn’t been abandoned. He was wanted. He was loved. He was cared for. It had been out of necessity, not because Techno just didn’t want him. Tommy couldn’t remember the scar, or getting it. Some part of him was scared but he remembered doomsday. Techno had a clear chance to kill him. To end it there. But he didn’t. He knew Techno wouldn’t hurt him, even if he was pissed. 

“…I died.” Tommy said quietly. He heard Techno draw in a sharp breath.

“I know.”

“Did…did you care?”

“It destroyed me. I almost killed Philza. There’s a grave site on a mountain a few hours from here. I carved the headstone and planted the flowers. I cared.” Techno said quietly. Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and with it came a river of tears. Sixteen years of anger, frustration, misery, loneliness, isolation, all of it, came rushing out as he nearly choked on his sobs. He wiped at his eyes quickly, trying to stop himself but he couldn’t. He kept sobbing and the tears kept coming. He felt arms wrap around him and let them pull him onto the ground. He leaned into someone, sitting on their lap. It took a few moments for him to realize it was Techno.

Tommy turned and buried his face into his shoulder, sobbing freely into it, soaking Techno’s shirt with tears. He felt Techno gently rubbing his back and quietly mumbling as he kept crying, encouraging him to let it out. It felt like forever before he stopped, head pounding, eyes burning and exhausted. He drew in a deep shaky breath, sitting up again and laughing pitifully.

“This is your fault,” he said lightly, not actually angry.

“I’ll try to stop messing up,” Techno replied, laughing and smiling. He gently brushed the hair in Tommy’s eyes behind his ear and smiled at him. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I was going to but I just…didn’t.” Techno added, sighing.

“It’s okay…well it’s not but… I forgive you,” Tommy said. He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind if later you were my dad again,” he added tentatively. Techno’s face lit up.

“You mean it?” He asked.

“Yeah…we can try again.” Tommy said, nodding.

“I’ll do better,” Techno said sincerely. He paused and thought. “Can I call you Theseus?” He added.

“Yeah…I’m okay with that. Only you though. It’s a dumb name,” Tommy replied, smiling. Techno laughed and nodded.

“Fair enough. Thank you for giving me another chance kid,” Techno said softly, holding Tommy close to his chest.

“Thank you for wanting to give it a shot,” Tommy answered, letting himself lean into Techno and relax for what felt like the first time in ages. It felt like home.

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/32077654

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Every Jedi lineage has its own dance and Ahsoka, for one, is excited when Anakin finally begins teaching her theirs. However, before they can get really started, they run into a slight problem.Or That time Ahsoka learned Dooku is her great-great-grandmaster. AN: Based on that post about Jedi linages having dances that I can’t find anymore thanks Tumblr. 

Ahsoka wanted to impress her Master. She wanted to prove to Anakin that it hadn’t been a mistake to take her on despite the more than untraditional claiming. She had to make him proud and show that she wasn’t a childish youngling anymore and could be useful on the battlefield.

Ahsoka also desperately wanted to jump up in excitement because they finally had found some time to spare and Anakin was going to teach her their lineage’s dance. It wasn’t the first sign that Ahsoka was his Padawan, but it seemed like the one that was the most binding. She had gotten her proper beads and even been sent to the quartermaster to get clothing more suited for the war front. Ahsoka hoped her Master hadn’t noticed she had picked her new tunics to match the colors he seemed to prefer to wear. She wouldn’t mind it per se, plenty of Padawans did it after all, but it was just a little embarrassing if he said something about it. Anakin already called her “my Padawan” or, after she’d done something particularly reckless, “my very young Padawan” plenty of times. They were a team and would stick together until Ahsoka was a formidable Knight of her own, but being taught something that was particular to their lineage somehow reassured Ahsoka that she had found her place more than anything else.

“Ready?” Anakin asked.

They had assembled in the bigger training hall of the flagship and carefully put their outer robes to the side together with their lightsabers. A few clones were training, but Ahsoka could already see them beginning to work out less and less to observe them. She had to give it her best. Like most younglings, Ahsoka had adored the celebrations when various lineages would show off their dance, dreaming of when she would learn hers. The elaborate choreographies were stunning, the backflips that were in pretty much every dance at least once had always made her screech in delight.

Not that Ahsoka would do so now.

She was fourteen. And a Padawan.

She didn’t giggle or watch in awe.

“Born ready, Master,” Ahsoka replied cheekily.

Anakin grinned, looking carefree and oddly young this way. Ahsoka was glad about it. She would have disliked it if an old and stuffy Master had picked her.

“Good. It’s been a while since I actually danced, so forgive me if it doesn’t look as fluid.”

Anakin shook his right arm, the one Count Dooku had cut off as if to underline the point. Ahsoka was sure that he must be joking. She had seen him go toe-to-toe against Master Kenobi during training and his prosthetic had hardly seemed to bother him. She had been a little put out by it at first, Jedi with such grave injuries didn’t get send on active combat missions or delicate negotiations anymore, but Anakin had definitely shown that it wasn’t holding him back.

Anakin took a deep breath and bowed in front of her, it was the first position which most of the dances Ahsoka had already learned at the temple shared. Then he took a step forward, raising up his right arm at the same time. The longer she watched, the more mesmerized did Ahsoka become. There were plenty of moves, each one representing one Jedi, and they all fit together perfectly. It reminded her of the gentle waves of the sea or shifting sands of the desert, but none of those images perfectly translated to the fluidity with which Anakin moved. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him even for a second, but she could tell that the clones too had all halted in their movements to observe him. It was beautiful and even though there was no music, Ahsoka felt like she could hear the banging of drums or the gentle play of a harp. More than anything she wanted to join right in, learn to copy all his moves.

With ease, Anakin rose from the ground, arched his back as he spun. Out of that flip, he stepped forward with one leg, slowly pulling the other with him. He raised his arms up-

And stopped with curse Ahsoka wouldn’t dare even whisper where any Master could possibly overhear.

“Is everything alright?” Ahsoka asked quickly.

Anakin’s expression had darkened, he was frowning and clutching his prosthetic arm with the other hand as it shook slightly. Had it malfunctioned and hurt him? Ahsoka jumped up from her position on the ground to walk over to her Master, worry trailing after her like a lost child.

“Yes, yes,” Anakin muttered. “I’m fine, I just forgot it. Obi-Wan and I haven’t fixed the sequence yet.”

“Fix it?” Ahsoka inquired. Lineage dances didn’t get fixed, that was the whole point. They got extended but never changed.

“Mhm,” Anakin hummed, pointedly not elaborating, and walked over to his bundle of robes to fish his comm unit out of them.

A moment later he was calling Obi-Wan. The whole situation was absolutely strange to Ahsoka, she didn't want to know what the clones were thinking.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice rang through the silent room as if he had been shouting. “Aren’t you supposed to be training with Ahsoka right now?”

“And aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Anakin retorted drily.

Ahsoka counted the hours and indeed. Obi-Wan wasn’t supposed to be awake, it was his nighttime rotation. They had scheduled the hours so that at least one Jedi was always up in case of an emergency. If none of them followed protocol, that particular system was rendered useless.

“I had more pressing manners to attend to." That, Ahsoka had already learned, was Obi-Wan speech for I was up reading through reports. "What can I do for you?”

Anakin rolled his eyes and send Ahsoka a look of fond exasperation, expressing quite clearly what he thought about Obi-Wan’s attitude. She snorted and was half in mind to tell him that he wasn’t doing much better than his Master.

“I’m teaching Ahsoka our dance,” Anakin said. “And we didn’t fix it. Dooku’s move is still in there.”

Silence followed. The name of the Sith Lord had cut through the air like a lightsaber, leaving behind a rough and burning wound.

“I- I had forgotten about that,” Obi-Wan picked up the conversation again.

He sounded tired and hurt, it made Ahsoka uncomfortable. Jedi Masters were supposed to know… well, not everything, nobody could, but the uncertainty in his voice was still unsettling.

“You’re in the main training hall, correct? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

And with that Obi-Wan ended the call and Anakin tossed his comm unit back into the clothing pile.

“Sorry, Snips,” he apologized. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Your first lesson is not turning out as I had planned.”

“That’s alright!” Ahsoka replied quickly. She had already figured out that not a lot of things about her apprenticeship were going to be going according to plan. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, what was that about? What do you mean with Dooku?”

Anakin blinked a couple of times as if he didn’t understand her question. For a moment Ahsoka wondered whether she had said something wrong or accidentally spoke complete gibberish, then Anakin’s face cleared up.

“Right, you don’t know. Look, Obi-Wan is your grandmaster. He was trained by Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who died ten years ago on Naboo. Qui-Gon’s Master in turn was Count Dooku, who was taught by Master Yoda. Dooku’s your great-great grandmaster.”

Anakin spit Dooku’s name like an insult, rightfully so in her opinion. Dooku was a cruel bastard, it was almost impossible to imagine that he had been a Jedi Master once upon a time. To think that she was of his lineage now, that he had fallen to the dark side when his own Padawan had been murdered by a Sith and had cut off Anakin’s arm-

“He’s no Master of mine,” Ahsoka said finally.

Dooku had betrayed everything the Jedi stood for. He didn’t deserve to be remembered as one of their own. The sooner they cut his sequence from the dance, the better.

“Can you teach me the moves after his until Obi-Wan arrives?” Ahsoka asked. “I still have to learn those.”

Anakin smiled, a little strained still, but cheer was slowly seeping back into it.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Let’s start with Master Qui-Gon’s move.”

He fell into a stance Ahsoka assumed was the one where Dooku’s usually ended and picked right up, transitioning into what must be Master Jinn's move, then Obi-Wan’s and finally his own. By the time Obi-Wan showed up in the training hall, Ahsoka could almost execute those last three in perfect synchronicity with her Master.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Don’t Let Go ~ Alfie Solomons

I’m in love with one man and one man alone. Mum and dad love Alfie too, but they still can’t take him away from me ;;;

How did she end up like this, she wondered? They were family...Even though her last name was not legally “Shelby”, she was still a part of the family since she was born. The parents were best friends, and when her parents died, Polly took her in. And then, they grew up together - Same home, same beds, same food, same clothes...Same everything.

And then, war came, and while true, she was younger than even John - Not by much, only about 3 years - But that didn’t seem to bother either of the Shelby siblings, and she was especially close with Arthur and Ada, mostly because they were the ones with the warmest hearts, and could understand her gentle one as well..

However, Tommy was the smartest of the family, and Polly taught her enough about Gypsy street-smarts, so the three of them together somehow became the true heads of the family, the true backbone that kept everyone straight and together.

When war came, she was barely 16, and yet, she joined them, dressing as a man and pretending to be a volunteer physician, healing and running around the battlefield, only to end up helping them dig up tunnels and plant explosions...

And taking a bullet for Tommy.

And nearly dying.

But at least, by the time they returned home, 4 years later, she was called an honorary Shelby and Polly officially adopted her.

She wasn’t Y/N L/N anymore, she was Y/N Shelby, and she was damn proud of that.

She helped with fixing races, rode around with her gorgeous black mare, going to the Garrison with her brothers to make sure they don’t end up drunk, in a ditch, she helped the strategy against the Lee family, got beaten up by Sabini, beat him up right back, got in that whorehouse of a Russian noble family, let the Duchess touch her while in her underwear, got beaten up by the priest, had to blow up a train with good people and many more...

But nothing was bringing her down, because she was a Shelby, and she was strong - Mentally, Physically, Emotionally - And she wanted to make sure the family was together, or at least trying to hang on, somehow.

She was the perfect woman - Never drank, never smoked, never cursed, never did drugs, never did drugs, never dated anyone... 

But when one day, Thomas took her on a meeting at Alfie’s place... Boy of boy, was that entertaining.

She always appreciated Thomas’s ambition, cunning and intelligence...But Alfie?  Alfie was something else. Something much above him, no much smarter, so much better at scheming...And at everything, really. And she was attracted by him like moths to the light.

Back and forth talks, interesting insights on life, learning words in foreign languages that she didn’t know, but he did, and likewise, teaching her foreign stuff, talking to him about books and many other things...

And it was weird, but it almost seemed like she didn’t want to leave that place any time soon, but Thomas needed her for business, so what could she do, really?

And she agreed...And agreed...And agreed...

Until one day, when all things went completely upside down and...Sure, she did her job, and she was supposed to return to Alfie’s to have a chat with him and Tommy... And she did...

As soon as she stepped inside the “Bakery”, she saw Ollie, whose eyes widened in shock seeing her in that state.

“Miss Shelby, what happened?! Let me call the physician-...I’ll go inform Alfie-...” Ollie stumbled over his words, only to have her grab his sleeve and pull him back. “Don’t tell them I’m here. With the way I look, better make it a surprise. Tommy’s here, right?” she asked, slamming the doors open, walking inside, the clicks of her small heeled boots resounding all over the place. “B-But Miss Shelby, we have to treat you - “ Y/N simply shot him a glare, before continuing in a straight line.  “Ain’t a Shelby anymore.” she muttered, and soon, she reached the middle of the wide business room, as Alfie was sitting at his desk and Tommy was pacing.  “Y/N...Finally, you’ve arrived. What happened to you?!” Thomas asked, rushing to her side, only for her to push him away. “You lied to me, Thomas. You lied to me. You promised I wouldn’t get hurt. That you were gonna make sure they wouldn’t touch me. That I was gonna come back perfectly unharmed, not even a strand of hair touched. Only business talks. How do you think that went?” the girl looked down, her hands deep in her bloodied, yet incredibly fancy and silhouette-fitting high-waisted pants.  “What exactly happened with the Sabini meeting, Y/N? And why are you covered in blood?!” he asked, frowning. “It’s fine, not ALL of it is MY blood, thanks for worrying, THOMAS!” but as she rasped out his name, she started coughing up some blood, and as her side started burning in pain, she lifted her already disheveled shirt, applying pressure with her hand where she got shot to keep herself from bleeding out. “Well...This one is.” she used her sleeve to wipe her face, completely non-chalant. “Y/N...Tell me what happened...Please...” Thomas’s voice went lower, almost as a soothing whisper, but it was quickly obliterated by Y/N’s exaggerated, yet pained laugh. “I got beaten up, raped and shot by Sabini and his men. That’s what happened, Thomas. No business talk, just abuse. You promised nothing will happen to me...But, oh, damn, remember that you told Lizzie the same too, and she, that fucker raped her at the Derby too, when you were too busy fucking around with two other women? Oh, wait...Is it because I’m a woman? Because, the way I see it, all women that you have in your life get abused somehow...By you. Grace died because of you. Ada left the city because of you. May got hurt because of you. Esme hates you...There’s also the Duchess, but she very much outsmarted you, so she’s safe and...Still a noble woman. And don’t even get me started on Polly...Poor woman...Having to endure living in the same world as you. For the amount of time you spend fucking women, one would think you’d be more considerate of them.” her beautiful eyes were sharp and hateful, throwing daggers at the man in front of her as she continued to pace around, her tongue speaking the poison that very much tainted her heart over the past many years of her life. “...Y/N. I know you’re in pain, and that I’ve hurt you. I know. You are right, I agree. I’m aware. But it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known, and-” as he continued, the girl calmly approached him, and as soon as she was right in front of him, she back-slapped him, thanking her classy mind for wearing lots of rings that day. As she laughed at the way the wounds showed up on one side of his face, she followed by slapping him on the other side, much harder than before. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas Shelby. Don’t speak to me. Don’t get close to me. I am not a Shelby anymore, so you can fuck off...Do you see who you’re doing business with, Alfie? A guy who can’t even protect his family! He got all of us arrested and almost hanged, made Ada go away, made Polly go insane, had Arthur beaten up, me as well, and guess what, Michael got shot and JOHN GOT KILLED! BECAUSE OF YOU, THOMAS! Grace died because of YOU! And your child got kidnapped and almost died BECAUSE! OF! YOU!” with each sentence, she punched him, hit him, kicked him, smashed him head with her knee, then on the wall, then ended by stomping her boot on his stomach...And walked away, as calmly as if never happened. “And...This is not my blood.”  “Well, lass, gotta say, yeah, you ain’t as much of an angel as I thought, eh. Or, maybe now more than ever, you’re the angel I thought you were.” Alfie watched from behind the desk, completely relaxed, analysing the show in front of him, and yet, his brain was running a thousand miles per second, thinking of millions of things. “D’you have a free spot here, Alfie? No guns and death and all that. Maybe...Someone to patch up your boys. I don’t know. Hell, I’ll even accept being your secretary or...Flower girl. Cook. Tea girl. I can walk Cyril...I don’t know, anything you want, just get me the hell out of this Shelby hell.” she turned around to look at him, using her other sleeve to clean her face, using the water from her tears. “Heard that, Thomas Shelby? Your sister’s deserted you, and for a good reason, eh. You can leave now, there’s other times to do business, right.” Alfie spoke, getting up and stepping towards her. “This isn’t over, Y/N. We’ll talk again. You’re a valuable part of the family, and you’re coming back, sooner than later.” Thomas went get get out of the building, only for the girl to quickly take out the gun from her jacket and cock it, pointing it at the man. “Fuck off and go to hell, Thomas.” she pulled the trigger... “Stop it, lass, don’t do it! You’re gonna regret it!” Alfie sprung out, holding one of his arms around her body, while his other hand went to her gun, making her shoot a wall instead of a living being, letting the man get out of there, still alive, somehow. “Damn it, Alfie! Why’d you do that! It’s 2 for 0, damn it! I’m fed up with taking bullets to save that guy, while all he does is sit comfortably behind his desk, damn it! I’m not a fucking rag doll that can be tossed in the trash!” she cried, trying to struggle out of his grasp, but the wounds were hurting her too much, so her strength gave out faster and she stood limp in his arms, trembling softly. “S’okay now, lass, yeah. I’ll bring ya to Cyril and we can...Uh...Drink that tea you like, right. Forget that guy, let’s get ya treated, right. Get that bullet out of ya. And sure, y’can be my physician, I know you were a great one in war, yeah.” the Jew gently took out the gun from her hand, throwing it to the ground for Ollie to take later, an he picked her up with much, bringing her to the medic’s room. “I need vodka, cigarettes, and if I’m brave enough some Tokyo...Snow...Whatever you call it.” she groaned as soon as she was place on the bed, as the gangster frowned in confusion at her. “I thought you didn’t do vices.” he sat on the opposite bed, watching her intently. “Woaw, I lied to you and everyone else in the world. I do drink and I do smoke and I did date before...Just...Not when people were seeing me. People think you’re an angel, they will hopefully leave you the hell alone. Difficult being a woman these days, as you can see. Everybody’s treating you like a piece of garbage. And bring me that vodka, I need to have the room spinning before I take out the bullet...And vodka’s the best disinfectant. The hospital stuff is washed up and diluted a lot of times.” she gave him a sarcastic half-smile, taking the cigarette he just lit up and puffed on it. “Only whiskey and rum, if you want, yeah. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around here, lass. Just do what you want, nobody’s gonna say a thing, right, and if they do, you know how to use a gun, so shoot their brains, eh, show them all who’s in charge.” he got up, bringing her what she requested, watching attentively as she let her head back, poofing smoke into the air. “Thanks, Alfie. Come back in an hour. I don’t need witnesses of my misery. You know better than everyone, Captain Solomons, that taking out a bullet gets messy.” she pointed the cigarette at him, smirking miserably at him, knowing very well that she wasn’t mentally ready for the procedure. “Well, lass, if you’re very sure, you don’t need help, right, then I’ll be waiting outside.” the Jew patted her head, leaving the room, letting behind only a graveyard silence, that for some reason, creeped the girl out big time. “...Let’s fuck shit up, then...” she muttered to herself, letting the ashes of the cigarette fall pitifully on the bed, as she took a deep breath and violently slammed her hand over the medical tools.

She’s always been a very careful and precise person, and whenever she did this on someone else, she would have people keep the victim down, so she could rummage through their bodies with relative ease, especially after they got shit faced drunk...And maybe with some anaesthesis... But this is the worst. Just like back then, during the war...

Letting a few tears of anticipation fall down her face, she cut a bit deeper into her body, to allow her fingers, previously washed with alcohol, she whimpered and squealed as she searched around for the bullet - It was no easy feat for, but it had to be done, no matter the searing pain -.

It felt like time stopped completely before the extraction of the stupid lead thing, she held it in her hand, watching its taunting gleam glaring back into her eyes, then watched with horror that stupid bottle of whiskey, and with her last strength, she snatched it and putting her pillow over her face to keep the shrieking from leaving the room, and gritting her teeth, she let the alcohol pour out from the bottle, wailing loudly, and yet, hoping nobody would hear her.

She was still sobbing in the pillow, the fire-like pain, electrifying the surging, diffuse pain throughout her whole torso, and she laid there, throwing away that pillow as soon as the door was opened again, and adjusting her head, she noticed Solomons walking in the room, a basket dangling from his arms.

“What’cha got there?” she asked in a weak, whisper-like voice, still trying to recover. “Goodies. Freshly baked cookies. At least something that smells nice in this pigstry, eh.” Alfie’s joking way of speaking seemed to take away her mind, but she smiled apologetically, lifting her hands briefly. “Sorry, too much blood on my hands. Literally and metaphorically speaking.” she explained, only to have Alfie take out one of the cookies and feeding her. “...This...Is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life. Did you make them? Because if you did, you’re like...A Cookie God. Have more?” she asked, managing, with a lot of difficulty, pain and his help, to get in a sitting position. “Well, I’ve never been called a God, right, but it ain’t that bad, yeah. Here you go, one more. I’ll ask a maid to draw a bath for you, yeah, I doubt you wanna stay all bloody the whole day, eh.” he helped her eat another cookie, and weirdly enough, despite all the blood on her face, her small smile was oddly charming. “...Y’know...If you ever want to retire from this gangster bullshit...You could settle down and...Just bake for a living...No, rather, a hobby. I’m sure you have enough money for a life time, so might as well just rest and take it easy. Move away from here...Maybe another country...Or another city, at least...And just...Y’know...Be happy. You could do that...And be rid of stupid Italians and Americans and all these jerks.” Y/N spoke, more or less not directly to him, but in a way, she was projecting her own hopes and dreams. “Margate.” Alfie muttered, sitting down in front of her. “Margate?” she furrowed her brows in confusion, leaning forward a bit. “Aye. By the seaside. The sand is really soft, they say, and the waves are nice, yeah. Very calm town.” he continued, which made her gasp softly in realisation. “You...You DID think about retirement! It means you’re really kinda fed up with this...This mess. I like where this is going.” she smiled softly at him, nodding in agreement. “I think you’re making the right choice, if it makes for anything.” “Y’know, lass, you’re not wrong. We do need a vacation, yeah, and a very long one at that, right. Now, how ‘bout we talk about what you need, right, for this medical thing.  You’re a sensible woman, yeah, so, I trust you more with the details and organising.” he pointed, and thus, they started chatting idly about the medical issues, and even more, about life in general - Books, the pictures, concerts, travelling and things...Leisure things, just simple things that she never had the privilege to talk about, and she had no idea she wanted, nor needed.

Many weeks passed and things were unusually calm for her, and for the first time in her life, she felt...Happy. She enjoyed being around Alfie, working with him without being involved in all the killing, and she absolutely loved baking things together, and he was so charismatic and charming, always giving witty remarks that amused her and made her laugh...

It was the perfect life she always dreamt of having, and he even asked if she wanted to go to a jazz pub with him, and...She got to dress up, and do her make up and do her hair, wear pretty, expensive jewellery, and a damn fine dress to show off her gorgeous silhouette, and high heels to match...And she walked next to him, her arm hooked to his, as they enjoyed the beautiful jazz music and each other’s presence.

It was a blissful dream, and she swore that if anyone dared wake her up, she was gonna kill them, and it won’t be quick, nor painless.

“Y’know, Alfie...You’re the best man I’ve ever met in my life. And that says a lot, considering how many men I had the misfortune of meeting...Including my family.” she raised her champagne glass slightly to clink with his. “Maybe you haven’t met the right men, dear, yeah, y’know, and men in Birmingham are fucking shit anyway. Camden’s better, yeah.” the man chuckled mirthfully, leaning back on his chair. “You...Mentioned Margate once. How are things going on with that?” Y/N asked, smiling at him softly. “Well, lass, y’know, yeah, things are...Things are fine. But, uh...You see...The doctor said I’m sick. They aren’t really sure yet what’s wrong with me, alright, but they said the results should be given pretty soon, yeah.” he admitted after a few seconds of consideration, which made the girl gasp in shock, moving her chair to look at him better taking his hands in hers and leaning forward. “What did they say about it? Did they take blood sampled? Wanna do blood work? Or...Biochemistry tests? Or something more complex?” Y/N bit her lip, looking concerned like never before. “Don’t worry, lass, even if I die, yeah, I’ll still make sure you get paid for your hard work, alright?” the man tried to brush it off, but the indignant look on her face made him chuckle. “I’m gonna kill you if you imply something like that again. I don’t need your money, I just want you to be healthy and alright, got it? Now come on, tell me, what do they suspect. Also, where is your doctor’s clinic, and when will your results arrive.” she pressed on, waiting for an answer. “Come on, don’t be so serious, yeah, enjoy the show, it’s not every night we get to have fun, right?” Alfie, again, tried to play it off as nothing important, but the look on her face made him sigh and nod, giving in. “They think’s cancer, right. I got a tumour, they’re checking if it’s...Uh...Cancer or not. right. Doctor’s around here in Camden, results come out sometime in a week or two, that enough?” he rolled his eyes, and yet, he was grateful for her worrying. “...I guess. If I knew, I would have done the lab work myself, but, you know...If anything, I can do the procedure myself... Or maybe I should hold your hand and make sure you’re not scared. They have to do general anaesthesia, cut you open and all that...It won’t be fun.” she looked down a bit, before smiling encouragingly at him. “Y/N. I’m a big boy now, right, I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me, yeah, you just...You be okay, and relax, and-...And before long, we’ll go to Margate together.”  he continued, trying to calm her down, without realising at first of the commitment, until he noticed the excited gleam in her eyes. “Alfie...? Are you...Are you sure...? Margate is the place you want to go to...Why would you...Me...?” she muttered, almost unsure of how to react. “Let’s go home, eh. I want to make you some nice tea, yeah, and some cookies. I have to tell ya something, and I’d rather it not be out.” 

Alfie squeezed her hands, helping her get up, and the walk home was filled with anticipation and a comfortable silence that wanted to rip out the answers out of his throat.

He let her dress in more comfortable clothes, and so he did, then went down to prepare some nice and warm tea, with the biscuits he baked that day, and went to her room.

“Do you like me, Alfie?” she asked in a shushed voice, not daring to raise her head to look at him. “What’s not to like, lass? You’re smart and witty, and for some reason, you find me funny, and look at ya, you’re gorgeous, right. So if I say, yeah, I want you to come to Margate with me, I mean it. You just have to agree, aye. Get away from this and rest. God knows we need this.” he had a sweet smile on his face - A smile that quickly faltered when he saw stray tears falling down her face, and he started worrying. “Why...In the world...Would someone as amazing as you...Like me? Alfie, you’re...You’re amazing, and me, I’m...I’m the worst. I can’t let go of the past, and I’ve got like...This...This devil inside me...This Shelby devil that keeps whispering in my ear, saying that I’ll never be happy, and that I’ll...I’ll kill again, and I’ll be dragged back to that slum and...And all that happiness will just shatter and...And I don’t deserve you.” she looked down, hoping her long her would hide her face, but next thing she knows, she got brought into a tight embrace, and he stroked her hair, his chin on top of her head, waiting for her to calm down, and yet, he could feel her trembling softly. “Don’t say things like that, yeah, that’s not true. You’re with me, not with them anymore, right, so, then, you’re going back. I won’t let them take you back, if you don’t want to, aye. No need to cry, right, I’ll protect you from anyone who dares try to take you away, eh, even if it’s Tommy Shelby himself, so no need to cry, yeah, Y/N?” he spoke, only to feel her cling even tighter to the back of his shirt. “I...I’ve...I’ve never felt like this before, Alfie. You make me feel so warm...And safe...And happy...I’ve been hold before, but all I felt was repulsion and fright...I was panicked and I wanted to run away...But this...This never happened. And I think I love you, Alfie. Don’t let go of me, please.” her voice was barely audible, but Alfie could feel the raw emotions, so he laid down with her on the bed, holding her dearly. “It will be fine, Y/N, okay. None of these worries will come to you again when in Margate. You and I will be happy, away from here, yeah, so, know that I love you, and let’s wait just a bit more, so we can get rid of this Changretta mess, and we’re leaving, eh.” 

And it was true - From that night on, they slept in the same room, holding each other dearly, reassured that the next day, things will still be as good as the previous night. One morning, however, Alfie woke up without her in his arms, and he panicked, thinking the worst - Poor Ollie thought he was going to get killed - But it was all fine, as she returned with the biggest grin on her face, jumping in Alfie’s arms, not allowing him the chance to say a word, only shocking him. And she held his hands and dragged him to his room, getting him to sit on the bed, and at first, she wanted to make tea, but then she shook her head and brought a bottle of the best whiskey, poured it in the glasses and had him drink.

“Damn it, lassie, don’t fucking scare me like that, yeah, like, at least tell me in advance if you’re gonna leave, okay, I thought those fuckers got ya for good. What the hell was the urgency?” he asked, drinking the glass in one go before looking at her. “I...Well...Haha, sorry ‘bout that, I’m just...I’m sure super happy. So, as you know, today the doctors had to mail you the test results, so, you know, I seem to have been a bit too eager to find out, so I since there were no trains, I walked all the way to your doctor, told him this and that, then got the first train back, and here I am. Oh, and, obviously, I’m super happy ‘cause like, I couldn’t keep myself - Sorry ‘bout that, by the way - So I ripped the envelope and looked at the results. And, uh, yeah, so, I’m happy ‘cause - Look ! - No cancer! You’re completely, 100% cancer free! And, like, the tumor completely benign, no invasiveness, no metastasis, so this is completely curable by surgical removal, and it won’t affect your life span, nor will it, in any way, alter your health. Et, voila, here we are! Go on, drink, cheer, be happy, I know I am!” she laughed gleefully, watching the shocked spark in Alfie’s eyes as he took out his glasses to read over the annoyingly complicated medical stuff, but he was a smart guy, and he understood everything there is to it. “You’re the best, shiksa. You say things are gonna turn out bad, but here, look, they aren’t, and hey won’t right, ‘cause clearly, there’s something up there, alright, that’s looking out for us, and it ain’t only me making sure you’re fine. I’m happy, Y/N, and in less than a month, aye, we’re fucking away from here. Just the two of us...And Ollie as a butler, if ya want. And we can get as many dogs as you want. We can do whatever we want, really.” he hugged her tightly, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

It all went sweet and soft at first, and it got hotter and hotter, with much more passion than before, and one thing led to another, and their first night of overflowing love gave hope for a better future, one that will ensure their happiness and that won’t involve them in this stupid gangster war anymore.

Just him, her and Cyril, maybe Ollie too, at the side...What better life to have than this?

But just one week before they had to leave, as they were still preparing for their grand exit, Y/N was walking towards the clinic room to check on the few patients she had left, only to notice the glint of guns, and she did a turn around, looking for Alfie, and yet, Ollie stopped her in her tracks as soon as she saw her, rushing to hide her from the people who were, apparently, having a meeting with Alfie.

“Ollie, it’s an emergency. Life or death, I promise. I NEED to speak to him. Who is he having a meeting with?” she asked, holding her clipboard close to her chest, looking left and right carefully. “With the Sabinis. Now, come on, Y/N, whatever it is, can wait. I’m sure you can wait a bit with Cyril. Please.” Ollie pleaded with her, but she only started writing rapidly on her clipboard, letting the first two pages filled with obvious, typewriter-written pages about standard medical procedures. “I’m sorry, Ollie, but this is bigger than even Sabini. Come with me and NEVER leave Alfie alone with those sharks, got it?” she gave him a sharp look before rushing to the usual place Alfie had business meetings, and as she completely ignored the villains, she slammed the clipboard on his desk, giving him a look. “Very important medical business thing, I need your signature after you read through these.” as he was so much taller than her, she only needed to bend a bit to talk into his ear, carefully flipping the first two pages, only to reveal big, messy writing.

ENEMIES WITH GUNS IN THE MEDICAL WARD POINTED TO THE BOYS DON’T TRUST THEM

Alfie gave her a look, knowing shit went bad, he nodded slightly, getting a pen and, as his signature, he wrote “TELL OLLIE”, and ushered her to leave.  And so she did, and Ollie went to alert the other guys so they could ambush the enemies in the medical ward, all while cursing herself and preparing guns, hidden in her long trench coat, then returned to stay by Alfie’s side, her hands placed on his shoulders reassuringly.

“Mr. Solomons, I see the little song bird likes flying around to every powerful gangster family. Wonder if she’ll go to the Changrettas when she’s done with you.” the Sabini leader smirked at her, and Alfie could feel her nails digging into his flesh, and not even the good way this time. “Listen, listen, Mr. Sabini,eh. You come here, begging me for fucking favours, right, and then, you dare fucking speak ill of my partner, yeah? So, where is the fucking time where you, like, do something to make me want to do that fucking favour of yours, if the only fucking thing you make me want to do is to fucking grant you the favour of putting you out of this miserable fucking life, right?” there was no clearer indicator that Alfie was angry than when he cursed like his beard was on fire, and true, YN found it very weird, considering how sweet and gentle he’s always been with her, but she could feel the protective aura he gave off, and she never felt safer than now. “Aye, aye, Alfie, don’t overreact, please, it was just a merely innocent joke! Lighten up, let’s discuss business. We teamed up with Luca Changretta, we can give you money and exposure. We can sell your rum and weapons all over Europe, especially France and Italy, and that means, in the long run, a ton of money. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, won’t you?” Sabini spoke, and from the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men taking out a gun from the back of his pants. “Mr. Sabini, I will have to ask you, as Mr. Solomons’s secretary, not to take out any weapons, otherwise our men will shoot all of you, with no discrimination.” Y/N threatened in a low voice, taking her hands from Alfie’s shoulders, and crossed her arms to her chest, ready to draw her weapons at any second. “It’s alright, Y/N, right, I don’t think Mr. Sabini is fucking stupid enough to dare a shoot out in my own fucking warehouse, eh.” Alfie warned the Italian gangster, snapping his fingers for Ollie to come by. “Vaffanculo...Che stronza! No, fine, fine, we’re all calm, all good, right? We can have a business deal and leave this place happy, both parts, right?” Sabini spoke, using his hands to gesture everyone to calm down. “Stick that deal up your ass.” Alfie cursed Sabini in perfect Italian, making Sabini straighten up, almost as if he got sobered by a hammer to his head, and without a second to wait, some of the lackeys drew their guns.

But they were too late, for Y/N already had both guns out and killed most of them, starting with Sabini himself, and Ollie’s boys helped up just enough to have the Red Sea at their feet.

Once all the enemies were laying dead on the cold, wet ground, Y/N sighed, throwing the guns to the ground, sighing and staring at the carnage with the eyes of a dead fish.

Alfie nodded to himself, pissed off at the mess that just had to happen, a week before they were going to sail to a better place, without either of them having to bloody their hands anymore, just like now.

“Well, Ollie’s got them all, so we’re good now. The sooner we finish the preparations, the better. Let’s hope Changretta the Bitch gets blown up...I should go check on Cyril, I’m sure he got scared by the gunshots.” Y/N sighed, patting him on the shoulder before turning on her heels to leave, and yet, Alfie motioned to Ollie to clear the mess, and then followed her back to their room, watching her cuddle with the beautiful dog. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Alfie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching to stroke her hair, only for Cyril to reach to get his head pet instead. “Aw, Cyril...You’re the cutest baby ever. And...I will be, Alfie. I will be. Soon...Once we leave, I will be. Until then, I’m happy spending my time with you and Cyril. It relaxes me...And it makes me happy. WE are happy.” she reached out her hand, holding his, intertwining their fingers together and leading him to lay on his side, with the dog between them, like they were a family. “Well, darling, it’s just a few days longer, and we’re out of here, right. And we’ll be a family, like you want, and by the shore, there’re no more gunshots, right, so, we can learn how to swim, and we can mess with this slobbery bastard, and I can teach you how to bake other things. I heard the waves and the salty air help you sleep better. Ain’t that just fucking perfect, eh?” Alfie gave her a sweet smile, and laid there, with her, relaxing. “Sounds amazing, Alfie. I can’t wait for Margate, then. Just you, and me, and Cyril...And maybe Ollie too, y’know, that guy makes the best tea, ain’t gonna lie.” she giggled, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Aye, it’s gonna be great. And, we can travel wherever you want, whenever you want. Any country, any city, any date. You pick, we go. Sounds good?” Alfie asked, smiling tenderly at her excitement, happy that she wasn’t stuck on the previous blood bath. “Yeah, it sounds perfect. As long as we’re together, everything is better.”

[cora-vizsla]

Hypnotic (Taking Over Me)- Chapter 3

Pairing: Eventual Jedi!OC x Sith!Obi Wan

Word Count: 3.7 K

Story Rating: E (18+)

Chapter Rating: I’m just gonna move these up to E now because I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Warning: Swearing. Threats of violence. Cannon typical violence. Calm kidnapping. There was only one bed. Almost naked cuddling. Dare I say fluff??

A/N: Please let me know if I missed any tags!

Zara was unable to fall back asleep. She could feel when Obi Wan finally succumbed to his own exhaustion and it set her on edge. She looked around quietly, keeping tabs on his signature across the building. There had been hope she could find her saber, but he must have stashed it away somewhere.

When she looked down to see her boots by the door, she decided she had no other choice. She couldn’t stay with her captor. There was a lack of clarity she wanted to rip out of her head even if it meant doing something risky. She told herself that Anakin wouldn’t sit around and wait at the mercy of anyone. It wasn’t her normal avenue of actions but hers obviously weren’t working. She shut her eyes and spoke like a mantra that Anakin would want her to fight. He would want her to escape.

Zara quickly pulled on her boots and grabbed a large jacket by the door. She could feel the chill coming through the door but knew that was the only time it was going to happen.

“I am a Jedi knight. I can do this. I can get back and warn the counsel. I can save Anakin.”

She winced when the cold hit her face and she realized then Obi Wan would feel the air change. She pulled the door shut and started running off in the direction she thought they had come from. There were still some footprints, but it was hard to follow. Snow had drifted over part of their journey, so she stopped to look around. Between the cold and running, her chest was heaving trying to pull in air.

“Zara! Zara you are going to die trying to run off like this!”

She whipped around to her captor having already caught up to her.

“I can’t stay here! I can’t let you manipulate me and hurt Anakin. I won’t!”

“You’re smarter than this!”

“Let me go! If you have one shred of decency in you, let me go!”

He stood up tall and shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the ground. He tossed something to Zara, and she caught it quickly, gasping when she realized it was her saber. She looked back up at him as he ignited his blood red blade.

“Fight me. If you can best me, I’ll deliver you back to the temple myself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you stay here and stop trying to get yourself killed.”

She looked down at her saber and considered what he was saying. She had yet to actually see him fight.

“Letting me go would be directly going against your Master.”

“It would.”

“Then why offer me this?”

“If I can’t best a new Jedi Knight then I don’t deserve to keep her captive.”

Resolution washed over her. She ignited her blade and a sick smile spread across the Siths face. She carefully pulled off her own jacket and set it down, not taking her eyes off her enemy. He spun his saber a few times easily and fluidly.

“Come on, darling, it’s cold out here. Time to get this over with so we can get back in the warmth of our home.”

Zara wanted to snarl but instead closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She let herself feel everything within the force. She trusted herself and her abilities. When she opened her eyes, she had a new look of determination. She no longer looked at him as Obi Wan, lost Jedi. He was Lord Veth and he needed to be defeated.

Veth was the first to move forward, quicker than she expected, and their sabers clashed together. He gave her a dangerous smile and broke away, quickly striking again with a fury she was not prepared for. She was able to block every swing, but it frustrated her she couldn’t turn it, so she was on the offensive. She could tell he was holding back and only pushing forward to keep her unbalanced. He felt her frustration and laughed when they locked their sabers together again.

“Darling, have I told you how stunning you look in my clothes?”

In frustration, Zara shot her arm out, using the force to push him back. He was able to keep himself on his feet as he immediately moved forward again. With a grin, Zara raised her hand again and a bright light emanated around her. Veth shielded his eyes, temporarily caught off balance.

“Little knight you surprise me.”

“Stars, do you ever shut up?”

“How rude, we were having such a good conversation. How long are you going to keep this up? I’m stronger than you are, sweetheart. You aren’t going to best me in battle.”

She knew he was right. Between fighting off the cold and trying to use the force so much she was getting exhausted. She stepped forward a few steps, hoping the blinding light would protect her movements just a bit. When she dropped her arm and ceased the blinding light, she quickly brought her saber down. Veth seemed to be expecting it when his arm shot up, using the force to wrap tightly around her throat.

“Now, now. That wasn’t very admirable. You are so much better than cheap tricks.”

He kept the force on her long enough that she dropped her saber and clawed at herself. He watched her struggle until tears welled in her eyes.

“Do you yield, darling?”

She shook her head and he sighed in annoyance. He let go, letting her crash to the ground with a thud. When she tried to move further than up to her knees, she realized that he was still using the force to keep her in place.

“I’m not killing you. Nice try though.”

He held his saber up to her chest and watched as the red danced off her face.

“Yield.”

“Why? You said you won’t kill me.”

“I can maim you. Maybe cut one of your legs off so you can’t run anymore. You only really need one hand. Hope you get my point.”

She glared up at him in defiance. He sighed and moved the blade forward, pressing it against her shoulder. Zara cried out from the burn and he shifted his weight, clearly annoyed.

“I’m not really into torture, dear. Please just yield so we can go inside.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He reached forward and touched her head, rendering her unconscious instantly. He caught her and pulled her limp body close to his. Once he made sure he had both sabers he started towards the cabin.

“You have so much to learn, little knight. Hopefully you can accomplish that without many more scars.”

---

Zaras eyes fluttered open to immediately seeing the fireplace. She took inventory of her body and other than the tingle of warming limbs, she seemed to be okay. There were blankets under her as padding on the hard floor and a pillow under her head. When she shifted, she realized that the blankets felt way too soft against her skin. She peeked under the blanket to see that she was wearing nothing but her breast band and underwear.

“Your clothes were wet. Not that you believe anything I say but nothing unfavorable happened to you. I may be a monster, but I am not that type.”

She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting leaning against the wall wearing fresh clothes and his hair was wet where it fell in front of his eyes. She sat up slowly making sure one of the blankets was wrapped around her still.

“I placed a bacta patch on your shoulder. It shouldn’t scar too badly.”

She nodded and continued to look at him.

“Surprised you didn’t put force binders on me.”

“Why? The force is the only reason why you didn’t die out there. I don’t think you understand how inhabitable this planet is.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He sighed and brushed his hair back, finally making eye contact with her.

“I’m disappointed that you would be that reckless. You easily could have died.”

“What does it even matter? You accomplished your goal either way. Anakin is at the mercy of your Master and I am out of the picture.”

“You.. Zara I have met many beings in my travels in my life. I have traveled to many planets and seen wars rage around me. Up until I saw you on the battlefield, I had only ever known of one person that cared so deeply for life. It.. got her killed and the galaxy is darker for it.”

“The one you were in love with?”

He nodded and pulled one knee up so he could rest his arm on it. Zara caught herself wanting to console him but kept still. Master Windu had told her multiple times that her compassion could be dangerous. She didn’t want him to be right, but she was trying to figure out how to console her Sith captor.

“S-Satine. Her name was Satine. I was a padawan still when I went to Mandalore to protect her.”

“She was a Mandalorian?”

“Yes, the leader actually. She needed help because she saw a brighter future for her people. A future free of war and loss. She saw peace when no one else could, myself included.”

“Is that why you fell?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“No. I told you, the Jedi did that to me. Though finding out she was gone did contribute to my anger.”

“I still don’t see how this connects to me.”

“The first thing I noticed about Satine was the fact that she cared so deeply. When faced with opposition she didn’t want to raise a weapon, she wanted to figure out how to stop everyone else from doing so. I followed you and Anakin on one of your first missions. It was the first opportunity that I could get to you without a Jedi Master sensing me the moment I landed.”

“That was nearly two cycles ago.”

“I know. I stood where I could keep the high ground in case you two noticed me. I expected you two to run in with absolutely no plan.”

“That’s what Anakin wanted to do.”

He nodded and she smiled softly at the memory.

“You though, darling, you had a plan. You had a plan to keep every one of your clone troopers safe. Clones. Quite literally made to be dispensable and replaceable. Yet you talked to them and listened to them. Your plan was good. Not strategic or quick, but it was the path of least resistance.”

Zara’s face fell and she sighed.

“I lost three troopers that day. The counsel let me know it was a success but all I felt was heartache. Life had been lost.”

“I saw that too. You don’t look like her nor do you act like her. Not really. You have the same heart though. I thought it was one of a kind but here you are, shining so brightly it’s sickening.”

Zara laughed and wrapped her covered arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees.

“Wont your Master find you weak for not killing me?”

“No. I told him I could turn you to the dark side.”

“I won’t.”

“I know that, sweetheart. I knew that from the beginning. I also knew that his greed and lust for power would see two incredibly young and strong force users under his control. He only needs Skywalker. He won’t pay as much attention to you. You’re just a bonus.”

“That’s.. devious.”

He chuckled and finally smiled fully.

“What else do you expect? I thought that’s all you saw in Sith.”

“You’re openly deceiving your Master.”

“The end goal of a Sith is to overpower their Master. We don’t work with them. We don’t trust them.”

“That sounds like a very lonely life, Obi Wan.”

He gave her a genuine smile. It was free of malice and ulterior motives. Zara couldn’t help but smile back at him, feeling a strange sense of peace flowing between the two.

“So is a life devoid of love and connections. We have two different types of master’s that lead us to the same cruel fate.”

Zara wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that she was happy being a Jedi and didn’t mind the compromises she had to endure because of it. There was a line she had recited a thousand times when faced with questions about her chosen life. At that moment she couldn’t seem to form it into words.

“Your silences speak volumes, Jedi.”

“So do your actions, Sith. Where does that leave us?”

“I suppose we can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Why rush it? Doesn’t seem like either of us are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“How right you are, little knight. A Jedi and a Sith climb into a ship.”

Zara laughed and grinned at her own joke.

“And somehow find a way to understand each other.”

“For now.”

“Right. For now.”

---

Zara wished she wasn’t comfortable. As she laid next to the fire wrapped in comfortable blankets, she felt warm which was something she had been missing for days. The two had fallen into a comfortable silence. When she heard Obi Wan sigh, she turned to look at him. He looked much less comfortable than when she had woken up.

“Are you okay?”

He startled and looked at her, nodding.

“I’m fine, darling. Don’t fret about me. It’s unbecoming of a Jedi Knight.”

She huffed out a sigh and looked at him closer. She noticed the small tremors in his hands.

“You’re cold.”

“You are so rather perceptive.”

“Is your room warm?”

“Not particularly.”

She looked at all the blankets she was wrapped up in and felt guilty.

“Why don’t.. why don’t you come over here?”

His head snapped up at her question and it made her stifle a laugh.

“I can see that you’re cold. Instead of being warm in your own home you’re making sure that I am.”

“What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death.”

“Veth.”

“Again, not that kind of monster. Can’t imagine freezing to death would be very comfortable.”

“Can’t imagine? Looks like you are right now.”

He chuckled and went to retort but Zara wasn’t having it.

“Obi Wan.”

He fell silent and looked at her.

“If you can’t look at it as an act of kindness, look at it as an act of self-preservation. You want me to make smart choices, right?”

“Self-preservation.”

“If you die, I’m stuck on the planet with no idea where your ship is. Sitting in the house with a frozen Sith doesn’t sound fun.”

He chuckled and got up, walking over to where she was curled up by the fire. He slipped his outer shirt off and hesitated. Zara held open the blankets, so he climbed in, making sure he wasn’t touching her. When he let out a sigh at the heat she smiled.

“Between the fire and how warm it is in here you should be comfortable soon.”

“It’s already leagues better.”

“Good.���

He looked at her steadily enough that she could see all the shades in his eyes. When he wasn’t threatening or yelling at her she thought that they were almost beautiful. He reached up and gently pushed her hair back, his fingers grazing her skin.

“Stars, Obi Wan, you’re freezing.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You’ve really got to stop running out into the cold chasing stupid Jedi.”

He smirked and nodded, looking down as Zara took his hands in hers.

“Not to be crass, but you would get warmer if you weren’t wearing your clothes.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re taking all my lines, sweetheart.”

“Just self-preservation, remember?”

“Right. Not an ounce of kindness.”

“For you? Absolutely not. Never.”

He hummed and slipped his shirt off before doing the same with his pants. He was left wearing only his own underwear making it easier for Zara to see just how discolored his skin was.

“Veth, now who is being foolish.”

“I like it better when you call me Obi Wan.”

“Well, Obi Wan doesn’t sound like a fool. So, when you’re acting foolish then I’ll call you by a foolish name.”

He chuckled and shifted closer. They both told themselves it was to get more heat. Both were convinced that the only reason the other was close was to ensure they survived. Survival was smart. Sharing a bed with a sworn enemy was not. So, the easiest way to deal with their situation was to convince themselves that everything was simple.

“Then what do I call you when you’re being foolish?”

“Hmm. You usually call me Jedi.”

“It is one of the worst insults I know.”

“Watch it.”

They both laughed and Zara yawned.

“Get some sleep. Please don’t bolt out the door again.”

“I couldn’t escape without waking you regardless. You’re on the outside of this blanket cocoon. I’d have to uncover you.”

“Very true.”

“Turn around. Face the fire so you can get some heat from it.”

“You could just tell me I’m ugly.”

“Shut up, Veth.”

Obi Wan chuckled and rolled to his right, reveling at the heat of the fire on his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been rather cold. When he felt a small arm wrap around him and Zara’s body press against his back, he had to stop himself from flinching. He felt her rest her forehead against his upper back and nestle in. He could have groaned at how warm she was but absolutely didn’t want to scare her off.

“Maker you’re cold. Next time you kidnap someone bring them to a more temperate planet.”

He chuckled and gently moved his arm, so he could place his hand over hers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

He felt her nestle in deeper, getting comfortable up against him. He smiled to himself when her sigh danced across his skin right before she fell asleep. He knew that he should be trying to turn her to the dark. His Master would be furious at his weakness. The idea of trying to corrupt someone so light and kind was repulsive to him.

He could feel her breath steadily fan across his back as she slept peacefully. He hated the Jedi, that much was true. He would never be able to go back nor would he be able to escape the darkness that held him so tightly. Zara didn’t make him forgive the Jedi, but he found himself forgiving her for being one.

It had been a very long time since Obi Wan felt anything but contempt for another living being. He could hardly remember what it felt like to have someone’s arm wrapped around him, no matter the circumstance. He tried to tell himself that he shouldn’t feel anything but the physical sensation of warmth.

The truth though? That warmth meant everything to him.

---

When Zara woke, she didn’t want to open her eyes. She felt warm and comfortable regardless of how sore her body was. She nestled her face into the warmth in front of her and let out a sleepy sigh. When she felt something shift, she froze.

“Did you forget you fell asleep next to me?”

She opened her eyes and found herself looking directly at Obi Wan’s bare chest. He had his arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him.

“I guess I did. Uhm. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We are both warm. Survival, right?”

She nodded against him, tentatively letting herself nestle back into the heat surrounding them.

“I didn’t.. I didn’t wake you at all I hope?”

“If you had any nightmares they didn’t show. Do you have them most nights?”

“Sleep isn’t something that is usually peaceful for me.”

“Perhaps there was enough darkness around you that your mind didn’t need to manifest any of it.”

Zara looked back up as he looked down, locking eyes with her.

“Your darkness is.. different.”

“Oh?”

He had an amused look on his face but the hesitance in his eyes told Zara that he was uncomfortable. She shook her head and looked back down. They had come to a tentative peace, but he was still dangerous. A different type of darkness didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. Obi Wan gently hook his finger under her chin, tilting her head back up.

“You have nothing to fear, darling.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

He hummed as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“I suppose you are correct. I don’t want you to fear me though. I will not harm you outside of necessity. Now tell me, what did you mean?”

Zara took a steady breath, willing down the nervousness and trepidation. She wasn’t used to being close to people, let alone someone who was an enemy of everything she stood for. She was vulnerable which was something she just was not comfortable with.

“That first day that I saw you, when you confronted Anakin and me. I felt your darkness. I felt it long before I saw you. I’m no stranger to the dark side but I also have never felt it the way that you carry it. You’re dark but.. you’re not chaotic. I see you calculating everything. As much as you say that I am different for my reverence for life, you are different too.”

“You picked all that up when we met?”

“I picked up on it but the longer I’ve been around you the more I see it. I’ve run into other Sith. I’ve fought them. Their energy was hard to be around because it was so unstable.”

“Are you saying I am less of a Sith?”

“No. Your eyes let me know that truth. It’s not that you’re light.”

He chuckled and moved his hand, so he was cupping her face.

“Your darkness is strong. It’s powerful but it isn’t all consuming like the others I’ve come across. You have a control over yourself that rivals even some of the strongest Jedi I have known.”

“Hmm, that almost sounds like a compliment.”

“I guess it is. At the very least it’s an admittance of me being taken by surprise. You are.. not what I expected.”

“Neither are you, darling. Neither are you.”

Tag List:

@mapplestrudel​

If you would like to be added/removed please let me know

[saphirered]

OK! I promise (kinda) that this is the last one (maybe). Eldritch Knight nearly dies protecting essek form something (assassin, Rouge kryn soldier, etc) and essek's mom kinda pick up that like s/o has saved her son so much that she invites them over for dinner as a thank you, they accept the invite -cause why not- and chaos ensues, Verin is there and teasing his older brother/jokingly challenging s/o to a battle. Thank for everything you are by at my favorite writer on here, have a beautiful day!

Booooooy this is turning into a long one so I'll have to split it up in two parts for the sake of readability 😅. Here comes the first part. Enjoy 😘.

It’s a lovely day out. The moon’s shining bright, the stars sparkle like millions of crystals in the night sky and you and your favourite drow wizard had the opportunity to get away from your busy lives and spend some time together not on official business; an opportunity not often found in these days. You were grateful to spend your time on a walk outside in one of gardens reserved only for the higher classes of Rosohna and their guests. A nice day indeed.

Well, it would have been a nice day if it hadn’t been ruined by a rather rude interruption. Was it truly too much to ask for some peace and quiet and alone time to just relax? Apparently so. Neither of you seem to be able to get a break from the chaos.

You’re flung into the pillar of the gazebo-like structure at the centre of the gardens, feeling the cracking of your ribs as you hit it and drop to the ground with a loud thud. Hitting the stone with your fist you get up with a growl. That hurt. A lot. You hook your foot kicking up your sword catching it in your hand.

“I’ve had it up to here with these mages!” You duck behind the pillar to avoid a firebolt being thrown at your face. You see Essek struggling with the other Volstrucker. If you keep this battlefield divided much longer both of you might not make it out and since these gardens aren’t as public a space, guards don’t regularly patrol. You can only hope someone has noticed something because this is not liking good. At this rate you might need an accomplished cleric and a pretty good amount of diamonds on site sooner rather than later.

You look around the corner and send a bolt of blue crackling energy to your Volstrucker hitting them square in the chest. A firebolt is returned and strikes you in the shoulder singeing at the fabric of your clothes and your now exposed skin. You shrug off the pain in your chest, shoulder and the struggle breathing and release another witch bolt drawing closer to your opponent.

Taking some good hits and as difficult as it may be you’re close enough to the Volstrucker to strike. So is the Volstrucker. This was never going to be an easy fight and no matter how clever you are, so are they and one mistake is deadly. Keeping your injured arm close to you you move around quickly trying to exhaust their reserves enough to get a proper hit.

Your plan works. The movements get sloppier ever so slightly and just barely enough to get through the Volstrucker’s defences. A slash sends them stumbling holding the new wound and a hit with the pommel to the face takes the Volstrucker down bleeding. You turn your attention back to Essek and his attacker to see him cornered and on his last leg, a blow breaking through the shatters of a shield spell.

Kicking off and rushing over you use the momentum kicking off a stone bench to grab onto the neck of Essek’s opponent, wrapping your arms around and elbow down until they throw you off into the bench you jumped off. Feeling your already burning chest you’re forced to cough leaving an iron-like taste in your mouth. Not good. But this is life or death. You choose life.

Getting between Essek and the Volstrucker you cast a lightning bolt using your current space to your advantage. Not much places to dodge to from this side. The Volstrucker lands within a bed of flowers unmoving. A wave of relief comes over your as you see Essek back on his feet. While a little worse for wear, he’s alive.

“Next time you ask me to go out with you can we please go somewhere without your admirers trying to horribly murder you?” You joke between coughs, the taste of iron growing stronger.

“Perhaps it’s just the Luxon trying to intertwine our fates through making me admire you even more?” Essek places a hand on your back but quickly regrets it when you wince in pain.

“Perhaps we should find you a healer.” Essek suggests and you couldn’t agree more.

“Looks like we both can use a healer, or several.” You refer to the injuries the both of you sustained biting back the pain coming through the adrenaline from the fight.

Then it happened. You heard before you saw. Movement. Turning to see what it was you see the Volstrucker you knocked down first standing with a bow, string just released arrow flying, second one following in you and Essek’s direction. You quickly try to cast warding wind but you’re not quick enough. The first arrow strikes you in the gut. The second one is stopped, trajectory changed and sent into the bushes.

White hot searing pain. You’ve been shot before but never have been so rough already. The sensation is a new one entirely making you hyperaware of your body, your surroundings to the point you can hear every breath you take and the beat of your heart as you fall back from the impact. The warding wind drops as you do and you’re fighting to stay awake, a sudden fatigue and fog enters your brain.

Essek sees you fall, you can barely make out his expression; changing from worry to anger when focused on the Volstrucker. The next thing you see is darkness and for a brief second you think you’ve passed out and this is the Raven Queen beckoning you. Instead it’s a darkness summoned surrounding the Volstrucker until it disappears leaving nothing but a pile of dust.

There’s a constant ringing in your head but you’re still awake. Awake, bleeding and in pain. Essek, now the Volstrucker is dead and dealt with kneels down next to you, worry returning to his face as he’s unsure what to do. He reaches for the arrow shaft sticking out of your stomach but you stop him with what little force is left in your body.

“Don’t! Not unless you want me to bleed out. Just go get help. I’ll be fine.” You try to stabilise your breath as much as you can. To be honest, you don’t know for sure if you’ll be fine but that won’t change anything. You don’t hear his reply over the ringing in your ears but Essek strokes your cheek before he rushes off gods know where.

Next thing you know the face of a blue tiefling appears in your vision, behind her a green cloak. The arrow is pulled out and the burning pain is quickly replaced by a cool pressure until it disappears along with the majority of the pain in your chest. The sense of tunnel vision disappears and you see Essek looking worried waiting for anyone to say anything. You give him a weak smile.

“You owe me big time, dear.” You cough as Jester helps you sit up. Still a bit lightheaded you manage. Essek returns your smile but you can see the guilt in his eyes.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s nice and all. Can you guys please stop flirting?” Oh, Beauregard. Way to interrupt the moment. Doesn’t she know you could have gotten all the Mighty Nein’s favours owed to Essek erased in a snap of the fingers now? Jester and Beau help you to your feet and begin to support carry you back to the Xhorhaus.

The next few days you’re on bedrest as demanded by well, everyone around you, until you’re fully recovered and no longer feel like you dived off a cliff missing the water. Essek’s been a frequent visitor to the extend where he must be neglecting his responsibilities by how much time he’s spending with you.

Essek makes a surprisingly good nurse, making sure you’re always comfortable, getting you whatever you need or ask for and of course good company to fight the boredom from being confined to one space for days where night and day do not differ.

Then finally the day came along where your clerics had declared you fit enough to leave the confines of your room. Another few days and you were good to go back to your usual routines. While Essek was forced to return to his duties sooner rather than later he still tried to spend as much time with you as he could, sticking to your side like glue.

You had to reassure him many times but finally did get it through his thick skull this wasn’t his fault and he couldn’t have done anything about it. He may still blame himself partially but he’s not beating himself over it which is all you could ask for. Besides, you’re very persuasive when it comes to Essek so perhaps in time you could get him to see it the way you do.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JALICEWEEK20 DAY 6

The Way of Things

JaliceWeek20 Day 6: Reincarnation

Notes: I... don’t know. It just sort of happened? This wrote itself. There were a few more lifetimes I thought about including (there was a Jessamine and Alice ‘life’ that I really wanted to include but it’ll be a standalone fic once I’ve done a bunch of research) but I think I’m happy with it? 

This was absolutely inspired by a gorgeous Thor fic I read a few years ago based in Norse mythology and the creation of Yggdrasil; if I can find it, I will absolutely link it because it was an incredible piece of writing. 

Also go me! I’m kind of getting a hang of writing sex adjacent scenes! I remember not being able to look directly at my cursor when I implied a blow job in Shadow to Light, I’m oddly proud!

Now, just the second part to Against a Wall. 

Word Count: 4,322

NSFW - not graphic but yeah. 

--

Soulmates are funny things. They do not start out existence together; they must find each other - it might take one life time, it might take ten. It is important they undergo this struggle; some souls are not meant for regeneration - they shine and burn out within a lifetime or two. But others get stronger, more powerful, during those early searching years.

And one they find one another, they are forever more entangled. The oldest and strongest eventually fuse, unable to be separated in life or death.

Of course, eventually they burn out. But not in a tragic way; more like in a way that is last page of a very good book; the wilting of a final flower in autumn; the way snow melts in early spring, with sense of peace and satisfaction, and utter tranquility. And as they dissolve into starlight and dust, they begin the cycle anew. It is neither good nor bad or anything in between.

It is simply the way of things.

—

When they meet the first time they are vampires in Dacia - the land that will become Romania. It is an era of indulgence for vampires in that region, and if any records had been kept, it would have declared nearly dangerous levels of changes.

She is Alis, a peasant girl changed by a careless vampire who fed and left her in a ditch. She’s a gentle beauty, with long dark hair, sharp and cunning eyes, and even after the change, her skin maintains a slightly golden tint of someone who spent their life in the sun.

He is Jesper, who mentions nothing of where he came from or what he was before he arrived to hover at the fringes of the Romanian court. He has a reputation in the court, with the ladies and the men both, and Alis is entirely aware and slightly amused by that. She catches his eye more than once, but is illusive like a quicksilver, unbent and unbowed.

Until she isn’t.

It’s been a good hunt, blood soaked through their clothes to their skin that they lick off each other in their frenzy, and she learns exactly how he developed such a reputation. He learns exactly what he was looking for as he finds himself skin to skin with the spirited girl that has always seen him coming before he could catch her. But he has her now, and he’s not letting go.

She doesn’t seem to mind. They become a common sight, as a pair, their hands constantly entangled. They are not at court to curry favour or power or anything more than their next meal, but their relationship is magnetic, and more than one jealous or yearning gaze falls upon them as he presses hot kisses to her neck as he ties a choker of sapphires or diamonds around her pale throat.

The Volturi attack a century or so later, and they stand with the Romanians, their leaders and their friends. He remembers thinking they cannot possibly fail; they are the side of the kings, of the angels. He remembers admiring her as they lined up; the way she had pinned her hair with the silver clasp he’d given her, the way her dress fit her and the smirk on her lips that promised something to look forward to in their personal victory celebrations.

They don’t survive. In the chaos of the battle, it is hard to say how they each fell - the Volturi take no prisoners anyway, so a quick death in battle is preferable to an execution. But they fall and they are burnt, and their ashes mingle in the purple-grey smoke that fills the field.

When Lord Aro finds a silver hair clasp discarded on the battlefield, still clinging to a clump of dark hair, he pockets it and later presents it to Sulpicia, polished to shine and on a bed of velvet. It is a curious and beautiful piece, the shape of a raven’s wing, and it quickly joins the Volturi’s treasury without a single thought given to its origins.

—

In whatever counts as the afterlife for souls and spirits, they reunite. It will take more than one life to work out their powers, the boundaries, of this resting place - how to shape it to their preferences, how to give themselves form. For now, it is just a long horizon of contrasting light, and they are little more than sentient energy, mingling and expressing regret and pain at the demise of the other, of relief of being reunited, of contentedness being once again with the other.

Time is not something that exists on this plane, and soon they learn how to change what is around them; a swathe of sandy beach that meets perfectly clear water, expansive grassy plains that fit between quiet, looming forests that are quiet and cool. They are no more fixed than any other aspect of this space, but it remains unexpectedly consistent.

Sometimes, there is a house. It’s immediate form never changes, but the outside facade does, as the lifetimes pass them by. Somethings a log cabin, other times an English cottage, or a farmhouse, or a bamboo hut. It is their every-changing, ever-evolving desires, a nod to their shared past and their hopes for the future. It is their reward, their sanctuary.  

They learn how to shape themselves as well. She fluctuates a little more than him, but she is always small, always naturally dark-haired, always cunning but sweet. He is always tall and always blonde and too charming for his own good, and sometimes not he is she, blonde and tall and could charm birds from the trees. It doesn’t matter either way; the small one greets them just the same, with enthusiasm and passion and sweet sadness at their demise but always joy at their return.

And that is where they are together until the next life.

—

The next life is simpler; a part of a nomadic tribe. She is married, in their customs, to him when she is little more than a child and he just barely a man. And despite how they were raised, he is kind and gentle to her and has no interest in her as a wife before she becomes a woman.

It is a hard year, a bad year, as they travel the mountains and ridges, the snow sharp against their faces. Few of the tribe have born children that year, and less still have lived through the winter; when food is so scarce, the dying are calmly let go so that the rest might survive. There is an undercurrent of resentment when he hoists his child-bride onto his back so that she might make the climb; that he, young and strong and likely to live long and hardy, gives his share of food and water to the bony waif he is bound to.

But she lives through that year, and the next. She lives enough years that they are both ready for her to become a wife, and everyone who scorned her frailness, her smallness, the waste of a strong husband on such a girl, is shocked when she conceives and carries his child so easily. First a son, then two daughters, all born close enough together that the old women of the tribe mutter.

The tribe becomes stronger, settles in one place for longer and longer periods of time - where food and water are plentiful and they are safe from predators and other threats.

She dies during her fourth pregnancy, slipping away in an ocean of blood no one could have prevented. Her eyes are wild and frightened, and he promises that he’ll watch over their children and see them safe, and weeps openly over her body and that of his second son.

He dies after his second daughter is married to a neighbouring tribe, to a boy who looks at her like she is a miracle, and he knows his job is done. The death is quiet, in the still of the night, in the shelter that he once shared with her. As he passes from the world, he remembers the nights when it was him and her amongst the furs, and then their children pressed between them, and then the  firm bulge of the child who would ultimately kill her. He holds no resentment for the cause of her death, just a faint and worn sadness, and as he drifts away, he is certain he can hear her laughing.

—

He is a soldier, to protect his family, for a cause he finds entirely repulsive. But he mouths the words and holds the gun, and does not recognise her when he is ordered to shoot. Why would he? They’ve never met. She dies in the mud, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because they end up naming him a traitor and he dies in prison heavy with regrets.

In their sanctuary, they reunite in silence, with sad eyes and gentle embraces. Whatever powers above govern creation, they still send the souls and soulmates to earth, to be swallowed up and spat back out by human machinations, human fears and flaws and greed.

It is simply the way of things.

—

She is a barefoot thief in the streets of Paris, dangerously fast, and subtle of hand. She tells no one her story, or at least, no one her truth. Ragged and smirking, people mistake her for a child, and so there is little trouble to be had - if she’s caught at all.

She runs into him, lounging in an alleyway, tricking lords and ladies out of coins wiht sleight of hand, and is delighted with their potential. She’s old enough to be charmed by sharp green eyes and a lazy grin, and young enough to contemplate the sheer levels of chaos they can cause.

They live like kings those next few years, pinching pearls and purses, watches and rubies, and living in an icy dormer room wearing stolen rings to convince others of things they’ll get around to eventually. It’s really not much - a narrow bed with wafer thin blankets and a shared pillow; water that runs cold and brown into a bucket; pigeons that nest in the rafters and shit all over their clothing.

Doesn’t seem to matter, though, when she welcomes his kiss and sleepily encourages him when he rolls on top of her during the late night hours, frost forming on the weave and weft of their clothes. When their work is good, he brings her flowers from the seller on the corner, and she tucks her pockets full of cakes for them to share, and really, neither could imagine a finer life than together in their little tower.

But time marches on, and soon they recognise that the tricks that have gotten them this far in life aren’t going to be overlooked forever. There are less nobles on the street, less coin and jewellery to be fleeced, and so they decide to leave for the country - he’s not afraid of dirty work, and she’s not afraid of anything.

The journey will be long, and she steals a book for him on their way - he’s determined to teach her to read. It’s a neat little Bible with a smart green cover with the name ‘C-a-r-l-i-s-l-e C-u-l-l-e-n’ written in neat script on the front page.

They settle in a village, where she becomes a laundress, then a seamstress, and he finds work with horses. They marry in the village parish, where the kind priest is happy to absolve them of the sin of living as man and wife before their vows, and keep their secret. They exchange stolen rings for ones of brass, from a jar the priest keeps for that purpose.

There’s a tiny two-room cottage they occupy; those early years of hunger and neglect have left their mark on them both, and so there are no children in this life. But there is an endless parade of animals that he brings home tucked under his jacket; wounded or lost or discarded, and she finds that she doesn’t so much mind waking up to a blind duck on their bed or a sickly fox on the pillow next to her, when he is always so pleased with their progress, with their improving health. He saves more than he loses, and he takes pride in that. Some are set free and returned to the wild, but others linger until they are something of a spectacle in town - the house with all the animals.

They live a long life, a good one, and it ends peacefully. They are buried side by side in the village cemetery, with wooden crosses that bare their names, and prayers muttered in their honour.

But one Carlisle Cullen never gets his Bible back.

—

The good lives give them less time together in the in-between, if such a thing could be accurately measured. They wade, knee-deep into that perfect ocean that stretches out to their infinite horizon, hand-in-hand, and then they both feel it; that fizzing, tingling feeling as whatever oversees them pulls them back; back into bodies and minds, back into lives and places, and they once again have to go through the push and pull of finding the other and crossing their fingers it’ll happen sooner rather than later.

As he becomes nothing again, he holds her smile tight in his mind with a prayer that this will be the time, this will be the life, that he’ll recognise her for who she is to him as soon as he sees her.

She hopes its a long life, a good one, with his hand in hers always.

—

He’s reborn in Texas in 1863 and dies nineteen years later, only to rise again.

She’s born in Mississippi in 1901 and dies nineteen years later, only to rise again.

They meet in 1948, and if he knew any better, he’d tease her about keeping him waiting for thirty-seven years, six months, and three weeks. But it will be a while more before they both remember things like that, so he can’t. Instead, he falls completely and utterly in love with her, in a way that echoes right back through to that very first meeting in Dacia.

He wonders if its possible to miss someone he’d never met before, when he takes her hand. She wonders if he’s going to disappear, to startle and panic about the future that lies before them and leave her behind.

He kisses her like a starving man, and she almost immediately drags him - a willing supplicant - into her bed because it doesn’t matter what life they’re living, she’s never been particularly subtle. He knows exactly what to do to make her scream indecently, and she puts her mouth to every single one of his scars, and he wishes he could weep - with relief and guilt and a million other things that are knotted up inside his head.

And she will untangle each and every single one with enough time.

They unknowingly draw from each of the lives that have come before - they are nomadic for more than two years, criss-crossing across the country. He is no less fixated on animals - as a human, it was the training of them; as a vampire, they are his salvation. Their hands are always entangled, their gazes always on the other.

This time, they find a family, and some quiet, subconscious little corner of her mind decides she likes that they aren’t alone this time. There’s a small joy in the memory of a ‘family’, and a warm feeling - one that she doesn’t know originated from a long-ago life where they were the ones welcoming new children into their heart and home, one she doesn’t quite recognise. But families are shaped so many different ways, and the Cullens are just another way to fit together, and so they stay.

It’s a good life, an untroubled life - at least until Edward gets tangled up with a human girl and the cursed Volturi. Somewhere, the great puppet master jerks the strings and decides that if history is so desperate to repeat itself, well, it might as well put on a show.

They escape the Volturi once (a flight to Italy to save an idiot brother), and twice (Renesmee shall live, Joham shall die, and Aro leaves without any new amusements and deeply, infinitely disappointed in his beloved Carlisle).

Third time’s a charm.

—

Aro’s great error shall go down in history as underestimating the damage he has done assembling his collection, the rage and resentment that boils like an undercurrent in the vampire world. He is not a beloved leader, but a feared one.

In truth, which will be lost to both time and the fact that the powers above don’t keep written or oral histories as humans comprehend them, his undoing is two things: the fact that in all things there must be balance.

And an ancient silver hair clasp shaped like a raven’s wing, that his Sulpicia wears in her hair as they arrive at the battlefield, cloaked and over-confident.

The battle is ugly and fatal and messy and all those things wars usually are, and there is no certainty in their victory, not with the wolves involved, with the shifters and the cryptids that have crawled out of every shadow and space to be done with Aro and Caius forever.

(Stefan and Vladimir are naive if they think they will fill the vacuum left behind in Aro’s wake; Jasper takes them both out quietly on the battlefield, when neither of them can call out the betrayal or identify their killer. Sometimes ugly things need to be done, and he’s not above getting his hands dirty.)

The battleground is smokey and even her supernatural eyes struggle to see through the gloam; her dead heart heavy as she looks for him. Voices call for help; for missing limbs, for injuries, for protection and she ignores each and every one.

She doesn’t know why she stops at the sight of a silver hair clasp, ancient and lost in the mud. Or why she reaches for her own hair, cut short.

Or why she picks it up and unlocks something inside her own mind. It is not an explosion of information, a supernova of memory. It is simply an intense awareness of who she is and who she was and who she will be. It is a confidence in her stride as she moves through the battlefield with a sense of self she has not known since before her home was known as ‘Romania’.

Jasper is bent and twisted, Rosalie limp on the ground, and those vicious, hideous twins hold them captive, like fish twitching on the line. Their deaths are not imminent, because who could take down the little vipers and stop their little game?

Jane’s head is off her body, and Alec’s too, before Jasper has shaken off the pain, expecting Peter or Maria or Emmett to have gotten a lucky shot and dismembered Aro’s little favourites.

Instead, it is his mud-streaked wife with a strange look in her eyes and emotions skittering over her skin like static. A battlefield is no place for a lover’s reunion, but she still bestows a kiss on his kneeling form (so ready for his own execution) that is so positively lascivious that it takes him a minute to remember himself.

And then he remembers himself.

The scales have been rebalanced, and the fight is won by a toss of a coin that finds Aro, Caius, and Marcus on their knees in the mud, waiting for their own trial. The oldest of the gathered line up - Carlisle, Amun, Maria, the Chinese coven - to pass their judgement, but the memories that press on both of them demand their pound of flesh, and Edward eyes them both uneasily.

Instead of violence, of sliding down a slope that turns them back into the monsters of old, into the truest of nightmares, Alice crouches in front of Aro with her wide dark gold eyes, and pulls the hair clasp from her pocket.

Aro’s rage is cold, at the few strands of Sulpicia’s hair that are still trapped in the metal, and if he could, he’d shred her to pieces in that moment, gift be damn. But she smiles sweetly, and strokes the etched feathers.

“Did you know?” she asks quietly, only loud enough for the fallen Volturi kings to hear, and Edward who hovers in case this spirals into a cataclysm, “When he gave me this, I mean?”

Aro stares at her, straining to touch her and understand, but his guard holds him tight and all he can do is sneer at her.

“The night before you brought your army,” Alice plucks the strawberry-blonde hairs from the fixture and tosses them into the mud. “He pinned this in my hair and we danced; we thought we’d win. And I suppose we did.”

Aro gapes at her, Caius is spitting curses, and Marcus is just pleading for his peaceful death - and how many lifetimes has he lived without Didyme, has he wanted to return to that in-between space?

She sees the scar on Esme’s face and finds it hard to care.

Edward is backing away in horror from whatever he sees in her mind, and Jasper is helping her stand, returning to their place amongst the very confused witnesses - what could the diminutive vampire say to the Lords of Volterra that would inspire such a response. The three are summarily executed without ceremony, and they are scattered over the fire without reverence.

Alice tosses the hair clasp in, too. It is better to be burnt to nothing, to be forgotten and buried by dirt and ash. It is too close to becoming a cursed object, one that will follow them, if they place too much belief and trust and hope into it. It has witnessed two downfalls, and it will never witness another.

He holds her tight in the aftermath, as they count their dead and make their plans. Edward is already whispering warnings into Carlisle’s ear, of the shape their thoughts and memories take. But they are family, and that comes before everything else.

(It’s not exactly their fault that Edward is a shiny new soul, and it’s going to take him a few lifetimes to understand what he’s seeing and hearing. Harder especially for him, with his gift so strong so early in the cycle. But everything happens for a reason.)

Despite the curiosity wafting off everyone, they say nothing and they go… well, not home, but to the closest residence, the headquarters of this war. A sprawling property with enough beds for the wounded, the wolves, and the lovers.

That’s where she makes good on her unspoken promises from eons again, of their private victory celebration. She sits astride him, her hips rolling hard against his, drawing out his groans and growls as he grips her thighs almost tight enough to crack. Their gazes are locked the entire time, her tongue skimming over her lips, as she lets her emotions tell him everything that she wants and everything she plans to take.

He remembers fucking her in the dirt in Dacia; his mouth between her legs as she hollered obscenities in a Paris attic; and the urgent, passionate loving-making of a marriage finally consummated.

She remembers bloody emeralds looped around her throat and resting between her breasts as she gets down on her knees and takes him into her mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair; the delicious weight of him on top of her, their sweat mingling and cooling in the frozen night as their flimsy bed creaked against the wall; and his soft encouragement in her ear as he grasps her around the waist, their hands resting together on the gentle swell of her stomach.

It is times like this that their talents are burdens and gifts both because it is so much, so very much, and in all that passion and true love, there is also loss and regret.

But they have each other, and they will weather this new storm together.

—

They are hardly the only couple to spend the night tumbling together, but they must be the loudest, because when they reappear the next morning with darkened eyes and clean clothes, Jacob and Emmett are looking at Jasper with a new and very specific kind of respect, and if she flips both of them off behind Esme’s back, no one has any proof.

They don’t talk about what they’ve learnt, because it probably wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t matter, until the mantle of it settles upon you. And then it is everything.

Instead, they hunt. They have won the battle, won the war, and whilst rebuilding will take time, they can take this small moment to feast with their family and relish freedom from fear.

She truly doesn’t know what comes next. He truly doesn’t know if it will be good or bad. They will live this life for as long as it lasts, long may it last, surrounded by the people they love and trust.

And then they will die.

And then they will live again. Maybe they will live another ten lives, maybe another one hundred. Maybe one day they will cross paths with their family again, or they will choose to have children again. Maybe they will be long lives full of joy and laughter, maybe they will burn out fast and hard, but full of feeling.

But the thing they are now both and utterly certain of, above all else, is that they will walk each step hand-in-hand.

It is simply the way of things.

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 2: Sway

This is the story of how Serella Arcbane died. And how she got back up again.

(this is a tale of the Calamity, and what Serella was doing when it happened. Vesh is her pre-Calamity chocobo, and though she’s not referenced in recent post Calamity fics, rest assured Vesh is okay)

Word count: 2,788

Dalamud was falling.

The skies turned red. Creeks once flowing and brooks once babbling had turned ruddy, darkened by soot and blood. Even lacking a breeze, the Twelveswood seemed to sway even in the stillness as the world held its breath.

Gridania seemed to exist in constant contradiction in the days of darkness. Stillness and constant motion. The forest teemed with life, but the air was heavy with the scent of death. Few dared to leave the city-state for the Twelveswood out of fear of the voidesent that flooded it.

Dalamud was falling, and time was at a standstill.

Serella thought on her brother, gone to Limsa Lominsa years ago now, and prayed that he kept his head about him. She had no faith in the Twelve, but she begged them to keep him out of Carteneau. Her prayers contradicted the truth she knew, in her heart of hearts: he was a warrior down to his marrow. He was a helper. Provided he was as hale and healthy as his last letter had indicated, though he did not say so, she knew as surely as she knew the moon was falling, that he was on the battlefield.

Dalamud was falling, and her brother was at war.

A part of her hated that she wasn’t there. But there was no sense in her going, not when there were people here that needed help. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that though she had learned much in her years under the tribe’s tutelage, she was hardly a soldier. The bow at her back wasn’t going to do much on the front lines. So she focused on what she could do here and now. Supply lines needed escorts, people needed tending, errands and messages needed to be ran. She did what she could of the thankless work, because she knew it was what kept the heroes going.

Dalamud was falling, and she was not enough.

Then the battle at Carteneau escalated. Fires began to spread throughout the forests. Already largely trapped in the city-state proper as so many were, it felt as though they were cornered animals watching their hunter close in. People cracked under the pressure, began to panic, began to try and flee into the flames.

Dalamud was falling, and the Twelveswood burned.

Serella, and many other adventurers, did what they could to ferry water— she and her own chocobo hauled much of it toward the brushes, wetting them against the flames and trying to douse what embers she could. It was not enough. It was not enough. The wood burned all the same.

What Adders remained in the city were clearly not made for risk taking. Those civilians that ran into the forests were largely left to die. Voidsent were only barely held back by the adventurers that were skilled enough to slay them. It was not enough.

“Please! My son!” Serella heard a woman cry. 

Scrubbing soot from her eyes, she turned to see the wailing Elezen, clinging to the arm of a Serpent lancer who seemed desperate to shake her off.

“I told you—” He tried to growl.

“He’s just a little boy, he’s scared! Please, you have to save him!” She begged. 

"I'm sorry, but he is lost to the wood."

Serella watched. And listened. This wasn’t the first person to beg for help from the Adders, was not the only one begging now. Help us, help our families. We’re scared. Help us, they begged of their protectors. 

What a fitting name, the Adders, she thought bitterly, and spat into the dirt. Snakes, the lot of them.

Dalamud was falling, and Gridiania did not care.

But Serella did. And she had water. And a cloth to douse and cover her mouth. And a bird swift enough to make it in and out.

She was moving toward the weeping mother before she had even made a conscious thought to act. Every muscle in her body pulled taught, a low roiling anger burned within her, but she had never been one to let herself be idle in her rage. Not when she could put it to good use. She could, so she must.

“Quickly, miss.” She called to her, and scrounged up every bit of softness she could manage to usher her to a nearby bench. “Your son. Tell me his name, what he was wearing, and which way he went.”

“T-Tam!” The woman replied, and when she began to sway from the stress, Serella helped her sit down. “He was wearing a yellow shirt, brown pants. He fled south from here, r-right through those trees!”

“My thanks.” Serella nodded to her. “I will try to find him.”

She had to be quick. With some of the water she had gathered, she soaked a bandana for herself and her trusty bird, and hastily tied them around face and beak alike.

“Vesh, let’s be swift, yeah?” She patted the bird’s neck.

Vesh trilled and bumped her forehead against Serella’s in answer.

She mounted her bird and took off into the burning brush before any of the Adders could even attempt to stop her. Ducked low against her galloping companion, eyes squinted against the smoke, she scanned the trees for any signs of anyone— she knew there were many that had run to try and get away. When she was deep enough in that she couldn’t make out where the city was, she pulled on Vesh’s reigns to make her stop.

“Anyone out there?” Serella called at the top of her lungs. “Tam? Anyone?”

A scream echoed to her right. She spurred Vesh to chase the sound. It took little time to find a young woman running from a voidsent, swaying and stumbling as she maneuvered around the charred forest remains.. 

“To me!” Serella shouted, and drew her bow.

She had seen many of these particular type of voidsent in recent days— wraiths with leathery wings, ashen scales, and fearsome claws. They looked more akin to gargoyles than living things. It shrieked, jaw distended as it bore its fangs, hungry for the woman’s aether.

The arrow she fired connected with the voidsent’s chest as the woman staggered toward her. It shrieked again, in agony this time, and dissipated before it could fall to the ground. 

“I’ve got you!” She reassured the woman, hauling her up onto Vesh’s saddle in front of her.

Retracing the path they had tore through the burning brush, Serella dropped the woman off at the safest edge of the wood, in clear view of the city. Once she saw her stagger toward the awaiting Adder, Serella wetted their cloth masks and was off into the fire again.

She felt a strange calm amongst the flames, the chaos. It wasn’t the soft, warm days full of birdsong, the kind where villages could be eradicated, and the birds would still sing through the destruction. This was some strange equal opposite to her trauma. She had never felt more aware of herself and her surroundings than she did in that moment.

Maybe that was the real reason why she kept going back in. Back and forth, back and forth, she would ferry what people she could find. Still, there was no sign of a little boy in yellow and brown.

Dalamud was falling, and Serella was on the move.

On the fifth run in, just when she thought she had run out of people she hadn’t failed, she was proven wrong.

“Help!” Cried the voice of a man. 

She followed his call, shouting at him to keep calling out to her, until she found a small group of people: three of them, two children, and a man, huddled together. One of the young ones— a boy in yellow and brown— stared at her in horror as she dismounted. 

“It’s alright, I’m here to get you out!” She reassured them. “Tam, is that you? Your mother sent me. Let’s go home, yeah?”

“B-but…” Tam wheezed, and when he stepped aside, she saw a chocobo egg almost as big as the boy who had shielded it. “We can’t leave it behind—” 

His words tapered weakly on a cough. The others were faring no better, and it was clear they wouldn’t last long breathing in this smoke. She tore bits of her own shirt off, wet them, and passed them around. 

“Here, cover your mouths, come now, that’s it!”

“There are others!” The man cried, even as she helped him atop Vesh’s saddle. “I...I tried to find them—!”

The man dissolved into coughing fits.

“You tried, and that’s what matters. I promise you, I’ll look for them.” She reassured him. “Come, we have to get out of here.” 

She scooped the little girl up with one arm, once she realized the poor little ones could only sway in shock and horror, and handed her to the man to situate on the saddle. Hastily, she plucked little Tam up in one arm and cradled the chocobo egg in the other, and once Tam was situated behind the little girl— Bev, she had croaked her name out— she slipped the chocobo egg in the soft, fur lined saddlebag for safekeeping.

Serella had intended to lead Vesh away on foot, back to Gridania, but they must have tarried too long. What glowing light there was from the fire became eclipsed in creeping shadows made solid, manifesting around them. Vesh tossed her head, startled, even as Serella’s grip on her reigns tightened. 

Dalamud was falling, and the voidsent hungered.

These were greater numbers than ever before. More than she knew she could handle. More than she knew Vesh could outrun, burdened as she was even without Serella. She would have to stay behind to buy them time, even knowing what it would cost her.

She didn’t even need to think on it. Fortunate, then, that she had no time to.

“Get them out of here!” She ordered the man still astride her bird. “I’ll cover your escape!”

Vesh tossed her head again, letting out a wark of despair.

“Hush now, Vesh. It’s alright. Go on. Keep them safe for me.” She patted her bird’s face affectionately before she hardened herself for what she knew was coming. “Go on now, go!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. As Vesh thundered off, wailing out a mournful cry of farewell as she went, Serella turned to the rapidly solidifying darkness. The swarm of voidsent. They clustered so closely she couldn’t discern their shapes, so she instead counted the eyes. Ten sets of them. More of them than anything she had ever fought. 

Dalamud was falling, and so, too, would she.

There was a strange calm to knowing death was approaching— but Serella refused to revel in it. Honing her focus, she quickly nocked an arrow and fired into the collective shadow.

Two eyes vanished. Nine voidsent left. The swarm descended. 

She fired a second arrow, nearly dancing to the rhythm of her hammering heart. Though her lungs burned and her eyes stung, she persisted. 

Two more eyes vanished. Eight left. They grew near enough to nearly grab her, but she leapt back to keep the distance and fired a third arrow as she landed on her feet again.

Seven left, but the flames were closing in. She was out of room to move. 

Her bow would do little here, with them coming so close. She glanced down when a glint caught the corner of her eye— a fallen Adder she had not seen before, with his blade stuck in the ground beside him. 

She had only ever seen the Wood Wailers train with them from afar. Though she would die flailing, at least she could buy them more time.

The blade's hilt was slick with blood, but she redoubled her grip and swung it upward as she ripped it from the earth. When the edge of the sword connected with the first voidsent, she nearly dropped her blade at the unexpected resistance she met: she had thought them less solid. Nevertheless, she had to rip the blade through and complete the arc. She caught two of them in her path. Five remaining.

One of them sunk it's scythe appendage into her arm, and she cried out at the stinging pain as it dug into her bicep.

At least it was her off hand, she mused darkly, and stabbed its black heart.

The motion left her vulnerable for another attack, however, and with another lunge, one of the remaining monstrosities slashed across her back. Shallow enough to keep her standing but deep enough to make her bleed. A cry of agony tore from her throat as she slashed wildly outward, and caught a two more in the stroke.

The last two voidsent, however, had her pinned. Diving in from either side, they swooped, graceful as black swans, and dug a bladed arm each into her chest. The impact stole the breath from her lungs, and she shuddered with the want to breathe. Even as her chest felt sticky and wet, she did not dare look down, knowing of the blood she would see.

Her mind and body hadn't quite caught up with what just happened, and with another swing of her limp arm to line up the beasts, and a strike with her blade, she'd managed fell them both with the last of her strength.

Her legs stopped working, and she sank to her knees in the blood soaked earth. As she lurched forward and managed to catch herself, just barely, by digging the blade into the earth and leaning on it, she wondered in dark humor whether or not this was how the blade's last bearer had died.

It didn't matter. Vesh got away with the civilians. That was enough. She made that enough.

Dalamud fell, and so, too, did she.

When the scent of smoke and brimstone filled her nose, Serella had, at first, presumed she'd been condemned to one of the seven hells. Opening her eyes and taking in the smoke filled skies, the brittle, burned trees, and the near foot of ash that coated everything, she wasn't entirely sure she was wrong in that assumption.

Then she looked down. She lay centered in a perfect circle of preserved grass, unburned, untarnished, and verdant beneath the ashes. Peering down at herself, she lacked wounds to speak of the horror she endured, and yet, the blood still stained her clothes deeply. The tears, the holes, every other marker of her injuries remained on everything but her. 

She lifted her weary eyes, staring at the blade that had served her in the bitter end, still embedded in the grass. Her senses slowly returned to her, and she could hear the faint crooning of crows off in the distance, but little else. Her father's bow and pack slung on her shoulders were a familiar weight, and she drew comfort in that.

Her hand was enclosed around something, she realized. Confused, she looked at it and turned her palm up.

A bright, glowing blue crystal. Deep as the fathomless sea, bright as the surface of the ocean at midday, it was cool against her fingertips, and almost impossibly smooth. Every gleaming facet seemed to hold reflections of a face she almost thought she recognized, though they were all a little different from the others.

This is me. Some part of her whispered, and her mind lurched at the implication.

Hear...feel...think… a soft voice cooed from somewhere within her.

Serella decided she had done enough of all of those things for the moment. She had important things she had to do, if hell was too scared to take her now. She had to try and find Vesh, first. Gods willing, she could then take Vesh to track down her tribe again— Mina had taken them north, closer to Coerthas. She knew the path well. She had to know if they made it through this hellish nightmare, and if there was anyone that she could turn to with this weird...crystal, and this strange, intrusive voice in her head, it was Mina. 

After that, come what may...she needed proper training. She had to learn how to properly protect people. The Adders weren't  going to do it, and she wasn't about to hold her breath and expect anywhere else to really look out for their people, either. Someone had to be their shield.

Oh, huh. A shield would have been handy back there, she thought in a daze, brushing the ashes off of her clothes as she hauled herself up in a fit of sneezing and coughing. Something to look into. That's step four-or-so.

Dalamud had fallen, and in its ashes, Serella stood tall.

[adhd-wifi]

MDZS and the Legends of Hou Yi

So just for fun, I wanted to talk about how much the tales of Hou Yi, a famous figure in Chinese legends, is referrenced in the story of MDZS. I’m pretty confident that MXTX is quite the fan of this particular story. (Note: There are multiple versions of this tale, and I went with the one that had most ties with MDZS, which, coincidentally, happened to be the version I personally grew up with, with one or two minor differences.)

This post took me 6 hours.

The Legend:

Back when the world was still new, there were ten brilliant suns in the sky, children of the Heavenly Sun Emperor Di Jun. They took turns illuminating the sky, bringing light and warmth to the mortal world below. However, the ten suns were still children, and despite their father’s strict instructions of only allowing one of them into the skies at a time, they all went out together one day to play together. 

The mortal world suffered from their game, the blinding light and unbearable heat killing crops and livestock and causing the people immense suffering. Seeing this suffering, the great immortal archer Hou Yi climbed to the top of a great mountain, armed with exactly ten arrows in his quiver, and spoke one final warning to the suns, asking that they return home peacefully. But when they did not heed his warning, Hou Yi drew his divine bow, letting loose nine arrows made of dragon bone towards the heavens. One by one, nine suns were struck, each of them falling dead to the Earth as blood red crows bearing three legs. With one arrow left in his quiver, however, Hou Yi chose to spare the last sun so the world would not fall into icy darkness. The last sun promised to behave, fearful of the archer who shot down his brothers. The mortal world declared Hou Yi a hero and their saviour.

Di Jun, however, was furious at the deaths of nine of his children, and so he cast Hou Yi and his wife, Chang'E, from the heavens, stripping them of their immortality. 

Seeking a way to return them to the heavens and relieve the feelings of grief felt by his dear wife, Hou Yi sought out the help of Xi Wang Mu, Mother Queen of the West, who was known for having created the Elixir of Immortality. Xi Wang Mu took pity on Hou Yi, and also recognized his heroic deeds in shooting down the suns despite knowing there were consequences, and thus, she gave him her last bottle of Elixir. She warned him, however, that the elixir was too strong for any single mortal, and it must be shared between him and his wife. 

Overjoyed, Hou Yi returned home, hiding the elixir in hopes of surprising his wife with it. He told her that the 15th day of the Eight Lunar Month would be a special day, for he planned to share the elixir with her on that day, and ascend back to the heavens together under the light of the beautiful full moon. 

However, others had heard of the elixir the famous fallen hero had managed to obtain. Greedy with the thought of ascending to immortality themselves, they stalked Hou Yi home and overheard what he told his wife. So they planned an ambush on the promised night, when Hou Yi left to go hunting for a special feast. They attacked Hou Yi under the moonlight, killing him and then raiding their home. They tried to force Chang’E to give them what they wanted, but Chang’E refused to give it up to her husband’s killers. To ensure they never got their hands on it, Chang’E drank the entire elixir. True to Xi Wang Mu’s words, it was too strong for one person, and she was immediately cast into the skies, forced to leave her husband behind without even saying goodbye. She then decided to live on the moon, the closest she could to the Earth, where her husband was, her only companion the Jade Rabbit of the Moon. 

References to the Legend in Mo Dao Zu Shi:

The Wen Sect & the Ten Suns

The Wen Sect represent the Ten Suns, who enjoyed their lives and did what they wanted at the expense of others

Though we don’t meet all of them, there are exactly ten named (sort of) characters bearing the name Wen

Wen Mao

Wen RuoHan

Wen Chao

Wen Xu

Wen ZhuLiu

Wen Qing

Wen Ning

Granny Wen

Uncle Four

Wen Yuan

Note: While not explicitly stated, Granny Wen & Uncle Four were only ever considered part of the sect, so it’s fair to assume that they were in fact surnamed Wen

Out of those ten Wen Sect members, only one was alive by the end of the story, Wen Yuan (Wen Ning was technically dead)

The Wen Sect as a whole is said to be bad at archery, and they were furious upon losing an archery competition where missing a shot disqualifies them (Hou Yi only had ten arrows, at first planning to shoot them all down, and couldn't afford to miss a shot or the world could've been left with more than one sun)

The indoctrination can be seen as a metaphor for the suns playing and exerting their power harmfully over the mortal world

The Wen Sect primarily resorted to burning and fire, the element most associated with the sun

The name of QiShan Wen’s residence is 不夜天城 (bù yè tiān chéng), (overly) literally translated, “No Night Sky Palace”, AKA Nightless City. With the Ten Suns in the sky, night could not fall

Wang LingJiao took the shooting of a sun-like kite as justification for her accusations of the Jiang Sect going against the Wen Sect 

It was specifically the child of the Wen Sect Leader, Wen Chao, that led the attack on Lotus Pier, like how the Ten Suns were the children of the actual Sun Emperor

Also on a narrative note, both the Ten Suns and Wen Chao had larger roles in the overall story compared to their fathers, despite their fathers playing key roles as well

The first Wen Sect member to take Wei WuXian’s side, which ultimately led to Wei WuXian & Jiang Cheng surviving the massacre of Jiang Sect, was Wen Ning, the only notably skilled archer of the Wen Sect

On a similar note, Wei WuXian, who was the considered a hero and major player in the fall of the Wen Sect, was also the winner of the archery competition

This means two skilled archers were heavily responsible for the Wens losing the war in the long run, albeit somewhat indirectly

The Sunshot Campaign is literally named the Sunshot Campaign and was in fact directly and explicitly referencing the legend of a great hero shooting down the sun in canon (meaning the story of Hou Yi exists as a legend or fairytale in MDZS canon, nice!)

Wei WuXian, who is the Hou Yi of MDZS and a hero in the war against the Wens, is represented by a crow in official promos for the animation, and when the suns were shot down, they turned into red crows with three legs (this one could be pure coincidence since crows are also just seen as symbols of death in general and he controls the dead)

The Golden Core, The Yin Tiger Seal, and the Elixir of Immortality

Since golden cores are seen as necessary to cultivate, and cultivation leads to immortality, they are what represent the elixir in MDZS

Wen ZhuLiu, a Wen Sect member, having the ability to destroy golden cores could be seen as referencing how Di Jun took away Hou Yi and Chang’E’s immortality in retaliation for shooting down the suns

Jiang Cheng into going up a mountain to meet BaoShan Sanren to restore his golden core is similar to how Hou Yi sought out Xi Wang Mu to restore their immortality

On a related note, MDZS’s version of Xi Wang Mu is both BaoShan Sanren and Wen Qing combined, BaoShan Sanren playing the role of the immortal figure to give the golden core, and Wen Qing taking on her identity while being the one to actually give it through the experimental surgery

After getting the elixir however, it became more similar to the Yin Tiger Seal instead, being sought after by hostile people who were willing to kill Wei WuXian for it, all for personal reasons (Fuck you Jin Sect)

Wei WuXian hiding the golden core transfer from Jiang Cheng can be seen as similar to how Hou Yi initially hid the elixir from Chang’E, though Hou Yi always planned to tell her about it unlike Wei WuXian

In an alternate version of the tale, Chang’E was suspicious of Hou Yi’s secrecy with the elixir after subconsciously blaming him for their immortality taken away (Hou Yi may or may not have told her about his task, depending on what version of this alternate version you read), thus peeking inside the hidden box while he was away on a hunt. When he returned, she panicked over betraying his trust and drank the whole thing. This alternate version can be seen as similar to how Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure whether to trust Wei WuXian or not after the events of the Sunshot Campaign, and his inability to trust his “former” brother heavily contributed to their separation. I mean if Wei WuXian & Hou Yi had just talked to their loved ones in these versions of their stories they would’ve had a little less problems but what’s an ancient Chinese dramatic tale without miscommunication am I right?

WangXian and Hou Yi & Chang’E

Both Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi share aspects of Hou Yi and Chang’E’s individual sides of their stories in MDZS

Lan WangJi, like Chang’E, wasn’t present during his loved one’s confrontation with the Wen Sect (”the Suns”) 

Lan WangJi is also associated with the moon in some official art and his robes are always white and resemble “mourning robes”. This ties into Chang’E being the goddess of the moon and being known to wear white, some believing she does so in mourning the loss of her husband who remained on Earth

In contrast, Wei WuXian is more associated with the sun narratively, having fought the Wen Sect during a major turning point in his life, then lived as family with the Wen Remnants and always having something red in his otherwise dark outfits (his ribbon). This ties in with Hou Yi’s involvement with the Ten Suns in general

Side note: Lan WangJi wore clothing that was more typical of a non-combatant (long, flowy hanfu-looking robes), like Chang’E, who was a dancer never saw the battlefield. Wei WuXian tended to wear clothes more typical of an active combatant (pre-Yiling Patriarch at least) with narrow sleeves and trousers, similar to the portrayals of traditional archers such as Hou Yi. He no longer wears such attire in Mo XuanYu’s body. (CQL not counted for this point)

 WangXian’s representative animal is the rabbit, specifically the two rabbits Wei WuXian gifted Lan WangJi. Chang’E’s main (sometimes only) companion on the moon is the Jade Rabbit

On a related note, the Lan Sect is the one that keeps the rabbits, and the Lan Sect happens to be the Sect most associated with jade ornaments, even though the other sects have them as well

Like Chang’E, Wei WuXian was unwilling to give his assailants the Yin Tiger Seal, choosing instead to ensure they could never have it, but by destroying the seal (”drinking the elixir”) he ended up being separated from his loved ones in the mortal world, in his case by dying

Also, part of his decision to do this was driven by the grief of losing someone he loved, though in his case it was Jiang YanLi instead of his future husband

In an alternate version of the tale where Hou Yi survived the ambush, or the version where Chang’E betrays his trust, Hou Yi becomes violent and cruel, going from a worshipped hero to a hated tyrant. This alternate version can relate to both Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi. Wei WuXian was a hero of the Sunshot Campaign, but became hated after the war was over (though he did so by sticking to his personal morals). Lan WangJi turned against his sect and the cultivation world despite his reputation as a righteous man because he feared losing the man he loved, then upon losing Wei WuXian he lost himself in his grief, especially notable in his drunken rampage where he branded himself with the Wen branding iron

Also related to the alternate versions in which Hou Yi lived, like Hou Yi, Lan WangJi was left on the mortal surface without his love, who had gone to a non-mortal plane of existence and was unable to even communicate with him

Hou Yi and Chang’E, post-separation, are sometimes associated with the concept of Yin-Yang, representing the “opposites” of Earth and Heaven respectively, connected by love. WangXian is similar, having started as opposing personality types with shared ideals, then their relationship became that of love by the end of the story. (WangXian is also more visually representative of Yin-Yang, with their black and white clothing respectively)

Welp this got so long LMAO. Anyways this was still really fun to do, especially since I personally really like this story, since it was one of the stories I was told growing up (it’s not my favourite exactly, tiny-baby-me got mad at the Jade Emperor a lot, but one of them). Hope this was just as fun to read lol. 

[fixxofvixx]

Possession - Taekwoon AU - Chapter 11

hello my dears!! i hope you’ve had a lovely weekend and I hope that this chapter can bring you some joy in reading it.  I am always thankful for my readers!! 💖💖

Please let me know what you think and enjoy!!!!

🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰

Leo's words rang in your ears like a bell.  Reverberating over and over, each time widening the crack in your stone heart.  You almost doubted you'd heard him at all but you knew you had.  But instead of feeling dreadful over it, you felt warmth.  You smiled through the remaining tears left on your cheeks.  Leo looked as if he hadn't meant to let that slip but didn't have the heart to retract it.  You knew he was being sincere so you felt the need to help his pride a bit.  You nodded and slumped back down to the floor.

"I've made you even more tired, I fear."

"No, I'm alright.  We both need to get some sleep and we can figured out what to do tomorrow....together."

"You will sleep.  I will speak with Hakyeon and the others about Alek and Hongbin.   We will need you to be fully recuperated if there is to be any fighting.  We will most likely require healing."  Leo stood before reaching down to pull you to your feet.

"I suppose...."  You attempted a couple of steps before your knees gave out.  Instead of falling, your body floated upwards.  Your stomach flipped at the feeling.

"Leo!"

"You won't fall.  Just relax."  He stepped back a couple of steps and your body followed.  Having no control over your movements was certainly unsettling.

"This....feels weird."

"I can't do this to myself so I'm not sure how it feels personally.  You are in no danger."

"I know."  You looked down at your feet and then back up at Leo.  The expression on his face reflected surprise.  Was he taken aback by your response?  You couldn't help but smile at him, which seemed to confuse him even more.

"What?"

"You look surprised....more so than me."

"You....nevermind.  You need to sleep."  Leo stepped aside and your body gently floated to your bed.  Once you reached the edge, you descended until your feet touched the floor.  Using the bed for support, you climbed onto the mattress.  Right when you got settled, someone knocked on the door.  Hakyeon entered the room with a scrutinizing face.

"How is our heroine?"  

"Much better now, thank you."  You smiled and stole a glance at Leo who had donned his usual stoic face once Hakyeon had entered.   He sat on the bed next to you so that half of your body was covered by Leo's wide frame.

"That is good to hear.  I wanted to tell you before you went to sleep that your room will be finished tomorrow.  We can help you get your things in there whenever you wake up and get you in there."

"Oh, thank you, I'm sorry you had to do that on top of everything else." 

"It wasn't difficult, we should have cleaned this place up long ago.  Get some rest and we can all talk more tomorrow."  Hakyeon smiled and then sent a pointed look to Leo as if silently telling him something. 

Leo gave him an annoyed looked and sent the door moving on its own to hit Hakyeon before he could make it all the way out of the room.  He yelped slightly and turned back to Leo with a shocked look on his face.  A laugh escaped your lips and Hakyeon turned to you with the same face.  

"You dare to laugh at me?"  He narrowed his eyes at you and started to turn back towards you, intent on revenge.  Fire erupted in Leo's hand causing Hakyeon to stop short of his mission.  The fire grew and you saw the look on Leo's face.  His face was set in a confident smirk as he was challenging Hakyeon to dare to come after you for laughing at him.   Hakyeon crossed his arms over his chest.

"We'll see how long you can hide behind your knight."  He sneered playfully at you before huffing and walking out the door.

You looked back at Leo and he extinguished the flame in his hand.  You smiled widely at him and he stood from the bed.  He now had an odd look on his face, like he was trying to memorize you.  A second later, he snapped out of it and took a breath.

"Do you need me to put you to sleep?"

"I think I'll probably just pass out so you don't have to.  I'll see you in the morning."

"Alright,"  Leo started to walk away but then turned back towards you, "I promise not to yell at you again."   He didn't wait for a response before quickly walking out of the room and shuting the door.  It took you a moment to realize that you still had a smile on your face.

You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.  You felt like you could begin to like it here.  Some of the ice had chipped away from Leo's walls and you were starting to see the person he truly was underneath.  It made you want to keep going until the entire wall came crumbling down.  Settling down into the blanket, you looked around the dimly lit room.  Tomorrow you would be in an entirely different room.  You wouldn't be able to come into Leo's room again.  As you closed your eyes to sleep, you tried to figure out why that made you sad.

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

Leo found Hakyeon in the kitchen, humming to himself as he sat in one of the seats at the large table.

"Tuck her in?"  Hakyeon let out a sound of surprise when a ball of fire hovered just in front of his face.  He could actually feel the heat from it and knew it would burn him if Leo brought it closer.

"You're lucky I don't have time to deal with you."  Leo headed through the kitchen for the back door of the mansion.  As he walked past Hakyeon, the ball of fire fizzled out.

"You going for him?"  Hakyeon watched Leo adjust the bracer he always had on his wrist.  

"You know I am.  I'll be back before daybreak, watch over her for me."

"Why don't you wait until we can all go?  We can help you."  Hakyeon knew Leo would refuse the offer.

"I work better on my own with situations like this, you know that.  This way she won't have to worry anymore."

"Are you ever going to tell her?"

"And risk having her run from me?  Not a chance."  Leo clapped a hand on Hakyeon's shoulder and then headed out of the house.

"Be careful."

"I always am."

Hakyeon sighed as he watched Leo walk out the back door, his shoulders looking like they had the weight of the world on them.  Sometimes he wished he wouldn't be so careful.  Only when it came to y/n, of course.  His friend was a machine on the battlefield but clueless in the art of love.  He hoped y/n could be the one to break him out of his cycle of punishing himself.  

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

You woke up the next morning to a knock at the door.

"Y/N? Are you awake?"  You recognized Hyuk's voice on the other side.

"Just a moment."  You rose from the bed and adjusted the robe on your body and patted down your hair.  Your hair still felt damp from the shower you had taken in the middle of the night after the beating of the rain against your window had woken you.  You opened the door and saw Hyuk standing there looking apologetic.  

"Sorry, y/n, but Leo asked me to come and get you."

"Is something wrong?"

"He's…..a little banged up and so is--."

"What happened?!  Is he in the medicine room?!"  You sped out of your room in search of Leo.  You ran full tilt until you reached the medicine room. 

Turning the corner, you saw Leo sitting on the chair in the corner, an ugly slash across his face.  You immediately ran to his side, inspecting the wound.

"Leo, what happened?"  He didn't answer and, instead, crossed his arms over his chest.  He looked angry.  You reached out your hand towards his face and he moved it away.

"What are you--?"

"Him first."  Leo pointeda to the middle of the room.  You followed his direction and saw a body on the table. Raising back up to see who it was your eyes widened.

"Hongbin?!  What happened?  Did he escape?!"

"Well, not exactly…"  Hakyeon walked into the room carrying some cloth with Ken right behind him.  "Leo decided to launch a rescue mission last night….on his own."

"Are you serious?!  I thought we were going to do that together?"

"It doesn't matter.  Hongbin's back and no one died.  End of story."  You turned to Leo, flabbergasted.  One one hand, you couldn't be happier that Hongbin was back.  On the other, you felt a pain in your heart and you didn't know why.

"Yes….you're right.  How silly of me.  Give me a moment to collect what I need and I'll fix you both up."  You cleared your throat to ease the lump forming inside of it.  

You worked quickly and silently.  The others offered their assistance but you refused and sent them out of the room.  Leo didn't say a word, either.  Hongbin's injuries were not severe but they were numerous.  It looked as if he had been struck with something long, perhaps a whip.  Your heart broke for him.  Thankfully, he would live.  

After Hongbin was completely patched up, you turned to Leo.  The cut across his face was only slightly bleeding now.  You grabbed clean cloths and put fresh water in the basin.  You took the basin and cloths and set them on a small table beside Leo before turning back to get the salves. 

When you turned back, Leo was already wiping the blood from his face.

"I can do that."  You took the cloth from his hand and started where he had left off.  "The cut doesn't look too deep, there shouldn't be a scar."

"I don't care."  Your hand stopped short of its work when you heard Leo's cold tone.

"Leo...are….are you okay?"

"No."

"Are you in pain?  I might have something to help."  You started to stand but Leo grabbed your arm and halted your movements.  You looked at him, waiting for him to say something.

"Go get dressed."  

"Huh?"  You looked down at yourself and realized that you had only a robe on.  "What do you mean?"

"Get dressed, then come back."

"Leo, what I'm wearing doesn't matter.  I need to tend to your cut."

"Y/N…..you shouldn't be walking around like that in the house.  There are 6 grown men here."

"And everyone of them gentlemen, including you.  Now sit still."

"Y/N, please...go get dressed."

"Leo, please...be quiet."  

"Don't argue with me, woman."  He reached up and took your hand away from his face.  His grey eyes locked onto yours and you almost left the room….almost.  Instead, you took both of his hands and put them in his lap.

"Shut up and sit still.  I will sit on you if I have to!"  You set your lips in a determined line and reached for the salve.  With lightning speed, Leo reached forward, grabbed your waist and lifted you.  You let out a yelp when you landed on his lap.  You tried desperately to remove yourself but Leo held you in place.

"Don't make empty threats."  Leo leveled you with a stare that convinced you to be still.  "Finish what you were doing."  

You swallowed hard and raised the salve with a trembling hand.  You tried to finish as quickly as you could.  You hoped talking would help ease the awkwardness you felt.

"What happened?  Did you leave last night?"

"Mm-hmm."  

"Why?"  You were almost finished and prayed that your heart wouldn't give out.  

"To get Hongbin."

"Why did you go alone?" 

"It's easier that way."  His answers were curt, just like usual.

"Easy enough to get hurt?"

"It wasn't perfect but the result was the same."  The tension was disappearing from his voice and you were thankful. 

"How did you get in?"  He didn't answer but instead turned himself invisible before reappearing a second later.  Your hands stopped.  "Oh…"

Finally, you were finished with the cut across his face.

"It shouldn't scar much.  Is there anywhere else?"

"No."

You nodded and moved off of his lap.  Thankfully, he didn't try to hold you back this time.  You put all the supplies back and walked out of the room.  Leo watched you leave, desperately wanting to follow.  

---------- 

"Is that everything?"  Ken held a large cloth bag filled with your clothes.  Hyuk's arms were filled with a wooden crate packed with things from your old house that you hadn't even looked at yet.  

"I think so.  Please let me carry some of that."  You reached for the bag in Ken's arms but he moved away from you.

"Absolutely not.  Now, follow me, we have a bit of a walk."

"Where is the room?"  They had never said where your new room would be.  Since Ken mentioned a walk, you assumed it was on the other side of the mansion.  Which meant you would be completely alone.  You didn't really like the idea but you couldn't refuse their generous offer of giving you a room.

Ken led you out of Leo's room and turned to the left, Hyuk following behind you.  Once he reached the next door on the hallway he stopped.

"Man, that was hard.  I didn't think we were gonna make it, right Hyuk?"

"I agree, my legs were about to give out."  Hyuk chuckled and you stared at them in disbelief.

Ken opened the door and went in.

"Welcome to your new room, Y/N."

"T-This room?  It's right n-next door?"  You were surprised but then you walked in and immediately fell in love.  

The room was covered in light greens and greys.  It wasn't super girly save for the ruffled curtains.  You loved everything about it.  

"What do you think?"  Ken put the bag on the massive, fluffy looking bed in the center of the room.  

"Well," you buffed your nails on the material of your dress and inspected them, sighing, "I suppose it will have to do."  

A jolt of electricity lightly zapped your fingers and you jumped.  You looked up at Ken, eyes wide.  Sparks were coming from his own fingers and a smirk of satisfaction filled his face. 

"Oops, I must not have been paying attention to my abilities…"  You narrowed your eyes at him before Hyuk walked up and whispered something in Ken's ear.

"You better not tell him!"  

Assuming Hyuk was threatening to inform Hakyeon of Ken's shenanigans, you felt the need to come to his defense.

"Hyuk, you don't need to tell Hakyeon, we were just having a bit of fun."  You smiled showing you were hopeful that Hyuk would let it go.

"Oh, I wasn't planning on tell Hakyeon."  Hyuk laughed and patted Ken's shoulder.

"Then…."

"Hyuk, why don't we let y/n get settled into her new room.  We have training with Ravi anyway."  Ken all but dragged an unwilling Hyuk out of the door and in a second, you were alone.

After an hour of exploring every nook and cranny of the room, you came to a door on the opposite side of the bed, next to the window.  Curious, you turned the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked.  You opened the door slowly and peeked in.  All you could see from the light provided was a small hallway.  

All of a sudden, something pushed you, hard, in the center of your back.  The push launched you into the hallway with enough force, your body knocked against the wall on the other side.  A second later, the door to your room slammed shut. 

"Hello?! Is anyone there?! Hello?!" You tried everything to get the door back open but it was useless.  Now, you were trapped in a tiny pitch black dark hallway between your room and Leo's.  You felt your way along the wall in hopes of finding another door just like yours the perhaps led to Leo's room.

Sure enough, you located a door.  But your hope died quickly when you found it locked. 

"Hello?  Leo?  Are you in there?"  

"He's not in there."  Your body froze when you heard the voice.  It wasn't a voice you recognized.  

The voice was female.   

[cherishedkids]

a letter to kamado tanjiro || tanjiro x reader

anime: kimetsu no yaiba warning/s: angst, sad, a bit of spoilers, mentions of death and bloodshed words: 1,679 pairing/s: tanjiro kamado x reader summary: A traveller and his sister once stopped by your tea shop years ago. The memories you shared with him stayed with you even after he had to leave. This is the last and only letter you leave him.

A/N: i’m actually thinking of continuing this in tanjiro’s perspective.... but idk! i hope this letter format is understandable huhu

To my dearest traveller,

I do not mean for you to worry, but I feel that my death may be imminent. So even if you receive this letter, I doubt you have enough time to rush to the small countryside of Fujinomiya to save me. Before I leave this world, however, I still wanted to talk to you one last time, even though I know it has been years since.

If you are wondering, yes, I still am living in that shabby tea shop you visited… so many years ago. I believe it was when we were still living in the Taisho era, before the Showa era. Back when times were peaceful and we did not have to endure this… pointless war of egos. I truly hope you and your sister have stayed safe all this time. When you visited me, she was very young and cute. I hope that hasn’t changed since then.

Mt. Fuji looms before me, as the sun is slowly rising and climbing over it. The stillness of the air reminds me of my fate, and I hope you still remember me. I still do. You have left such a huge impact on me, that I almost cursed you. The stars in the night sky that are visible here remind me so much of you. When I go to burn wood for warmth during winter, I see the burning passion in your eyes staring back at me. Even when I go to hang my wet yukata, the cloth billowing in the air reminds me of your checkered haori. Everywhere I go, I could attribute to you. You just had left a mark on everything. I just wish I could see your smile one last time.

You stayed here for a few days. You told me it reminded you so much of the small village you used to visit when you still lived in the mountains, before you left to show your little sister the world. I could see the pain in your eyes when you said that, and from the scars that littered your arms, I knew how much you had to go through to be happy with her. 

Nezuko, if memory serves right, loved the hot spring behind my shop. It was her first time to bathe in one, and you asked me if I could accompany her. I did, and we had a grand time. I remember just how much I looked forward to spending more time in your company. Just the smile that you gave me was enough to satisfy me.

Through the days, more and more customers visited my little shop. I had to attend to them, of course, and the both of you did your best to help me. Even though it did lead to spilled hot tea and my dango mochi looking unformed, you still tried to help. Until now, I still do not know why my eye caught the both of you. Why did I ask you to stay for the week? And why did you ever accept? Because of this, I have been longing for you all these years. I cannot help but blame myself.

Perhaps it was because of the blade you were carrying. There were only a few samurai that were still roaming around, and I had always been curious since I was young. I think it was because you both had caused such a commotion when you arrived. Outside my tea shop, a fight was going on with a drunkard and a homeless man. But you butted in to stop it, saying that it was wrong. I exited the shop and saw the both of you, standing in the sun. When you came in, I was just so inspired that I gave you free tea and dango, which you kindly accepted.

Maybe the reason I will soon be leaving this mortal world is because of my morbid curiosity--the longing to know everything. I will try not to say much about the people who will be coming for me. I do not want any bloodshed to happen even after I die. It is my only wish and gift to the world. In their place, I will die. That way, there is less death. It is better this way.

As more days passed, you confided in me about a war that you partook in. It was different from the wars now, you explained. It was bloodier, and the trail ran longer back in the past, and blood had already dried out. For four hellish years, you had to live through it, and everyday was a struggle for you. Numerous times, you had faced death, and there were days you thought you were going to die. 

I can still remember the hurt in your eyes as you relived the countless deaths of your allies. Just the both of you surviving was a miracle, you said. When I looked at Nezuko, I wondered how such innocent eyes were able to witness death in the eyes and still held bravery to continue on.

But the warm smile you gave me when you said that you and numerous of your allies had defeated the supposed demon was enough to reassure me. When you were alone in your makeshift room that was actually a storage area, I saw you holding up a black uniform. I was passing by, and I read the words ‘destroy’ on it. Was that the uniform you had to wear while you were fighting the war? I ask, as if you’d ever actually reply. Forget that.

In exchange for the stories you told me about your life, I told you about the legends and the history of my family. I don’t know if you still remember, but I told you about my grandfather all those years ago. He was also a samurai, like you. Our bloodline was also wrought with clashing blades and untimely deaths, and I soon came to learn. Love and hate intertwine, and I realised it wasn’t just looks that parents pass on, but also conflicts and feuds. But it is too late to change that now.

That night… Do you remember? I’d hate to bring back memories that meant nothing to you, but this one did to me. Under the prying eye of the moon, and below the dirt palace of Mt. Fuji, you pressed your lips to mine. I wished a second lasted longer. I remember each and every touch. Your hand held mine dearly, and your body was hot as you took me in your arms. It had to end though, but I really thought you were going to stay. I tried pretending for the longest time that I was just dreaming. I did my best, you have to believe me. But it was all for naught. Your memory kept coming back to me, in the most mundane things. This dream turned to a nightmare. A reminder of the best thing I ever had, slipping away from my grasp.

It was a big world, and it still is, but you were on your own journey. The next day, you had to leave to show your sister the rest of Japan. To give her all the things you weren’t able to give to your other siblings. Was I a fool to listen to your hollow words that you were to return as soon as you travelled the country? Or do I just have enough faith in you to keep your word? But I already know I ended up being a fool.

I heard from the others about a counselor in Edo that looked like you. Watanabe Hitoka told me of this certain man’s striking red eyes and slicked black hair with burgundy tips. The scar on his forehead reminded him so much of the traveller that had visited here an era ago. Then I knew, I was a fool. Kamado was his last name, Watanabe recounted. I just hope that I left an impact on you, the same way you left sorrow on my soul when I heard this. Even so, you were able to make me happy, even if it only lasted a couple of days, and even if the pain still stayed and stung me for years to come.

My tea shop is the only familiar thing in my street. The buildings have been through everything, and as time goes by, so do the inhabitants. The young people that used to eat and drink here already have their own family, some have died, and some have been born. I think I am the only one refusing to yield to time. So much so that it has caught up to me, in the form of my ancestor’s debts.

Travellers like you have also stopped by here numerous times. Their tales and legends could never hold a candle to yours, but the ones about war never cease to surprise me. Just how harsh was the battlefield? Were you also caught up in the political hell that is Edo at the moment? I hope not. I’d hate to see you be eaten up by greed and power. I know your sweet soul would never yield, but what did I know? A few weeks together and I knew who you were? Impossible. The men disappear, but the cherry blossoms continue to grow and bloom. These were the only constants in my life. Tea, dango, cherry blossoms. 

I still hope that you returned. Maybe I would not be so miserable, but family came first, I understand that. I confess, I still am holding out a bit of yearning that you’d show up and save me from the hot water I suddenly find myself in. But that only happens in tales, stories like you told me. And I didn’t live in one.

I hope to see you soon, Kamado Tanjiro. Even if it is just in my dreams. But if we end up seeing each other in the afterlife, I hope that I still have to wait a long time before that.

Yours forever,

______ ____

[a-dark-kiss]

Erika Sigvaldon’s Biography

Basic Information:

Name: Erika Sigvaldson. Gender: Female. D.O.B: Winter 994AD. Species: Vampire. Physical Age: 28. Actual Age: 1,027. Date of Transition: 1022AD. Sire: Kol Mikaelson. Sexuality: Bisexual.

Physical Description:

Height: 5ft 7inches.

Weight: 70kg.

Build: Strongly built, yet still agile.

Skin: Quite pale or ‘fair skinned’, even when well fed.

Hair: Despite it being styled very differently over the years, Erika’s hair has always stayed it’s natural golden colour. These days it falls down to just below her shoulder blades and often has small, thin braids in it.

Eyes: Generally a deep shade of mossy green, unless she’s starving or is about to feed.

Significant Marks/Scars: There are various thin and pale scars all over her body from her time as a warrior when she was human. But there are a few far more noticeable ones. As a child, when living in the same settlement as the Mikaelson family, Erika was also attacked by a wolf in the surrounding forest. Four thick scars line the back of her left thigh, where Erika was mauled whilst lost in the dark on a full moon. The witch Ayana used herbs and powerful magic to cleanse the infection that soon had taken root in the flesh, but these left grizzly scars behind. Some years later (at 14 years old), after fleeing back to Norway with a nearby settlement, she was whipped ten times as punishment after stabbing a man in the groin when she was caught stealing leather armour. The scars from those lashings are not as thick, nor as grizzly as the ones on the back of her thigh, but they are much longer. The worst of which starts at the back of her left shoulder and goes diagonally all the way down to her right hip.

Personality:

As a human Erika was generally a kind hearted and thoughtful person, but her temper was known throughout her adult life as a silent storm of hatred and sometimes even cruelty among the people in the town she fled to in Norway. When she was turned her already unpredictable temper was amplified. But so was her compassion and her kindness. 

Hobbies:

Despite reading thousands and thousands of books over the centuries, Erika continues to have a deep love for books. Her home in London that she has had since the late 1700s has an entire floor dedicated to the books that she has loved the most and collected on her travels around the world. She did try her hand at drawing for a while, but she found that it didn’t soothe her soul the way reading did. And then, during the first world war Erika took it upon herself to find new and exciting ways to use the rations that were passed and traded between human hands. Whilst choosing not to eat herself, she fed those around her and became quite a good cook in the process, which soon developed into a passion for baking.

Abilities:

Being nearly as old as the Original Family has given Erika extreme strength and speed, along with very heightened senses. As with most vampires that have a steady diet of human blood she is skilled at Compulsion. Whilst she was a human, she had an affinity for animals and this only became stronger once she was turned, leaving her able to soothe a distressed animal with ease.

Weaknesses:

Erika always wears a silver necklace that has a lapis lazuli crystal embedded into the small locket pendant that protects her from the sunlight. Without it, she can be killed when in direct sunlight. Vervain will weaken her if she ingests it or is injected with it and if it touches her skin it will burn her just as badly as a ray of sunshine would.

Backstory:

In 997AD, when Erika was only a few of years old, she and her father, along with the Mikaelsons, travelled to a settlement in the New World. Her earliest memories are of running around the large white oak tree in the village – it was bigger than any other tree she’d ever laid eyes on. As she slowly grew up, she became closer to the youngest Mikaelson sibling; Henrik. When one of the other boys in the settlement pushed her into the mud, he was the first to defend her and they were nearly inseparable after that.

After Henrik’s death she withdrew into herself, not wanting to speak to anyone or do anything aside from walking through the woods as they had done together. Not long after he was killed, the Mikaelsons enlisted Ayana’s help in creating a faster and stronger being that would not need to be afraid of the werewolves. After the Mikaelsons had transitioned and were given the ability to walk in the sunlight, Erika’s father took some clothes and provisions and tied them up into a bundle, gave them to his daughter and told her to run as far into the forest as she could with the moon on her right shoulder. He told her that she would find another village, with people that would protect her if she told them her name.

Reluctantly, she did as he asked and waited for him to join her for days, until the leader of the new settlement decided that they were no longer safe, with the wolves coming every full moon and vampires that now had the ability to walk in the sun, they needed to get away. Rowan Sigvaldson was not heard from again.

After travelling for many weeks, they arrived on the shores of Norway, the country that she had been born in. Thankfully the family that had taken care of her in America had decided to take her in as their own. And as she blossomed into a stunning young woman she trained with the other shieldmaidens until she was just as good as their fiercest fighter. At twenty-two years old she was caught stealing leather armour from the tanners of the town, with the notion that she would use it when the other warriors went raiding. Instead, she was tied to two whipping posts and received a lashing for each bronze coin it would have cost to buy the armour outright – ten lashings in total. After the punishment, she was held there in the square for ten days as penance for the life she had taken when Erika had stabbed the man who owned the tannery in the groin with a thin dagger. But they did not break her and nor would they, no matter how many times she was ridiculed.

When she was finally untied, she fell to the ground and stayed there for hours; her body weak from starvation and exhausted from having to stand there for days on end. When she finally willed herself to move, she stumbled to the small home she had and had her closest friend rub a salve into the wounds on her back and then helped Erika bind them with cloth.

The next year, when the Vikings went raiding again, she bought a set of armour with what coin she had left from selling herbs and joined them on their journey. She was well known for her vicious brutality on the battlefield and her strength in a shield wall. From then on she was always taken with them, and continued to go wherever they went.

The years slowly went by, and when she reached the age of 28 a new threat had arrived nearby. Known only for it’s beautiful face and it’s curious habit of draining it’s victims of blood. People made offerings to the Gods, to help them overcome this new fear, but it had very little effect. More and more of them started to go missing; husbands, wives, brothers, daughters… Even the children. Erika had decided that she would not be afraid of this new creature, and she braved the dark to find it. When the face that revealed itself to be the monster, she saw him plainly and she knew him well. It was Kol. One of the Mikaelson brothers. She backed away slowly with her sword in hand, and her emerald eyes almost aflame as she watched him cautiously.

In the end, it didn’t matter how skilled she was with a sword. It didn’t matter how fast she was or how much courage she had. And the last thing she saw was a pair of fangs sliding out from his gums… And then she was surrounded by a black nothingness.

When she awoke the following morning, the sunlight felt like it was burning into Erika’s eyes and her skin, that was somehow even more pale than before, felt like she had sunburn all over her body. As the day went on, her stomach growled and felt as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks and her mouth and gums began to ache. Eventually - as she began to get too tired to fight it, she attacked a woman that had a grievous head wound and was bleeding. As she stood over the woman, who was then crouched down and whimpering, her eyes strayed to the graze on her head… And then she knew. Kol had fed her his blood and then killed her in cold blood. She knew enough about the vampires to know that she needed to feed soon, or she would just fade away.

Erika pulled out the dagger she kept down the inside of her boots and sliced through the flesh of the woman’s neck, grabbed onto her and then let the blood gush into her mouth. Instantly she felt the aches in her mouth stop, and the more blood she consumed the stronger she became and the hunger in her stomach died down. Once the lady was empty, Erika went to leave the hut but instantly flew back inside, the skin on her arms blistered from the exposure to the twilight sun. She looked around with a puzzled expression. The Mikaelsons had been able to walk in the sun, so why couldn’t she do it?

As soon as the sun had set, she dashed out of the hut and came upon the body she had drained to complete her transition and a man that had discovered it. Wrecked with guilt over the killing, she felt the blood rush to her eyes as they darkened. The man that was leaning over the corpse glanced up and yelled for help as he saw her. And in no time at all, she managed to find the mark of his carotid artery and bit into it with ease, satiating her hunger.

After her transition in 1022AD it took her nearly forty years to come across a witch that was willing to help her gain the ability to walk in the sunlight. After taking care of a few of the witch’s problems she was more than happy to enchant the lapis lazuli locket pendant she owned.

Over the last millennium Erika lead an extraordinary life, travelling all over the world and assisting in many wars. In the late 1800s, with money she had earned and saved, she bought a large house in London, with three floors, a courtyard and a grand garden. In this house, she has kept treasures and souvenirs from various time periods; including jewellery, gold coins and handwritten texts and rare prints of books. She spent the last few years back in Norway but has finally decided to return to her London home; the only place she ever felt truly safe in.

[lo-55]

Revel Ch. 6

Factitious First Impressions                     

Tori was as good as her word. That night, when they went for bed, she drew the curtains and he snuffed the lights, leaving the pair of them in pitch and utter darkness. Tori climbed into her part of the bed and Katakuri his. There was space enough for another full grown man in the bed between them, and though she would have welcomed some contact Tori was smart enough to know that Katakuri, in his shyness, might panic.

So she kept her hands to herself and when the morning came she rose without him. She dressed herself in a simple lace robe over her long nightdress and left the room. No one would expect her to be in finery for breakfast.

She shut the door quietly, leaving Katakuri sleeping in their shared room, and made her way down the long hallway. The ancient floor was worn soft and cold under her thin slippers, and sunlight streamed in from skylights above her head. She walked into the Silver Hall with a halo of light floating across her sea-dark hair.

The Silver room was home to three long tables equipped with benches. One was for the staff, who had already had their breakfast, another for the soldier girls, who would eat later, and the third was reserved for the nobility.

For Tori and the other rich, high ranking women she had grown up with.

She was one of the last to arrive. She took her seat amongst the others, already chattering. It was all idle, easy gossip, nothing that would make its way into court or true intrigues. This was a place for eating, not a place for doing business.

Tori piled her plate with fruits, took a bowl for yogurt and a pair of hard boiled eggs. Most of the others were eating pastries. Someone handed her a cappuccino.

Tori joined the idle chatter. She alone did not stop when the door opened once more and Brulee walked in, sticking out like a sore thumb. Her clothes were plain, her face was scarred and her hair was a mess. Tori adored her.

“Everyone,” she spoke, “ I would like to introduce my sister-by-law, the Lady Charlotte Brulee.”

Brulee’s smile was somehow both awkward and unnerving. She took an empty seat, and started piling her plate without saying much to anyone.

“If that’s a Lady, I’m a cat,” Seline muttered, loud enough to be heard by everyone from Selbo to Tori herself. Brulee’s shoulders lifted and drew together and her smile spread wider and tensed.  Tori stood up abruptly. She walked around the table, grabbing a bowl and a pitcher of milk. A strange anger possessed her, pushing her forwards.

She brought it over to set it in front of Seline, pushing her plate away.

“You,” she said as she poured milk into the bowl, “Are Seline Butelli. Your father is a duke, and you are not even a duchess, when you marry your brother with inherit and you will hope for the best . I  , am Victoria di Imperia, crown princess and your future queen. And if I say that my friend is a lady  well .”

She set the pitcher aside and nudged the bowl of milk towards a stunned Seline, “You had best start lapping  kitty .”

Dead silence descended upon the women in the room. Tori had never been so aggressive, so uncivilized.

Yet now she stood, throwing her rank around in defense of a stranger who even Tori barely knew. But she would not tolerate it. She would not.

Satisfied with the mortified and red face Seline, and knowing that some form of retribution would come her way, Tori returned to her seat and continued on like nothing had happened to begin with.

Tori sucked in her stomach while Madelle laced up the back of her dress, pulling it taught. It pushed her tits up and gave her the illusion of not having organs. On top of the underdress and its laces draped a long length of blue as dark as magpie wings across her, falling straight down to the floor. On top of that she dropped a shorter length of imperial purple that fell only to Tori’s upper thighs. The edges were carefully embroidered in patterns, inlaid with fine, miniscule diamonds that shone when she moved like stars in the sky. It clasped at her shoulders with silver fibula adorned with a diamond skull. Rather grim, but befitting her new status.

“Beautiful, as always,” Madelle told her. She pulled her hair and piled it in tight ringlets atop Tori’s head before binding it with a thick ribbon encrusted with constellations.

“Of course,” Tori said absently, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a vision. She was beautiful and beloved by her people. It felt false. More so now than it had in a long, long time.

Tori slipped on her soft silk slippers. The sun was burning in the west, dipping towards the cradle of the sea.

Her mother lullaby came back to her again. She had learned it first in the Green Tongue, the one spoken in the forests.

  Roll forth Ocean mother

  Carry you children far  

  Shine bright moon hung o’er  

  Watch over their tepid flight  

  Bring with you, Great mother  

  The silver crashing mist  

  Protect your sons and daughters  

  Great Oars push to safety  

  The tide shall guard the night

  Lift high sea walls honor  

  Shine under sunstones bright  

  Stand tall, brother-sister  

  Guard each truth and steel  

  Cradle those, earth protector,  

  Crowned in stone from their ordeal

  Senten them moon sister  

  The sorrow of the earth  

Tori hummed softly. She knew there were more verses, but Dolce had never shared the full song with her. She told her that the sorrow of the earth was too sad for a child, but when she grew up she would sing it to her.

She never got the chance.

After Gemma was born, Dolce got sick. A post partum depression, she stopped sleeping, didn’t eat as much as she used to, and she was left open to infection.

It had been common, in the first days of Imperia as its own nation, shortly after the Novara civil war eight hundred years ago. A disease that swept through the vulnerable, cultivated by dying on the battlefield it was given free reign, passed through blood and sweat and tears. Or perhaps the air, no one had known and still no one did. It killed within twenty four hours.

The dark spots appeared, and the children were taken away. Dolce was quanteened, and she died. Followed by five servants, all four her handmaidens, and three doctors that tried to help her. They were blessed than the disease had stopped there, and hadn’t destroyed the entire city. Blessed, people said, but Tori and Lucien had lost their mother and Gemma had never even gotten to see her.

Now, Tori was a grown woman, married already, and Dolce would never see it. Would never know the woman that she had grown to be. Beautiful, and the daughter-by-law of an empress. One day, as the eldest child, she would be queen.

Dolce would not see that either.

Lapa finished with her hair, spreading a silver net encrusted in diamonds across it while Varinia lay her lips on. At last, she was ready.

Tori turned to the door.

“Let’s get this party started,” she joked lightly. Madelle, dressed in fine sapphire, skirts, nodded her assent swiftly. Lapa and Varinia took their places beside her. Aelia and Daria were hidden in the walls, in identical dresses to switch places with her if need be.

The gaggle of girls walked out of the room and into the hall. Katakuri had been shooed away some time ago, to dress himself properly. If he showed up in anything other than leather, Tori would be privately amazed.

They turned down the hallway and descended the stairs, meeting up with Brulee as they reached the bottom. She was flanked by the rest of Tori’s handmaidens, who had dressed her up in fine a lavender gown the color of her hair that draped across her long body well, bordered in pale blue. They had painted her lips and sculpted her face, tamed her hair and braided it into a crown adorned with blue roses.

Tori offered Brulee, who was closer to her size but still taller by a good head, her arm. Brulee took it, looking at her with a new light and together the pair walked into the atrium. Long vines dripped down from the ceiling, covered in wisteria, bougainvillea, and honeysuckle. The impluvium was filled with false lilies that held candles in the center and glowed faintly as they floated.

Tori took Brulee to the edge of the water and sat with her while her handmaidens scattered. they had their own duties to attend to.

Tori could see her sister, dressed in her uniform, standing off near the door with her captains. Her brother was talking to a judge near the spread table of fruits, cheeses, and wine. Nothing that Tori couldn't eat, but with Katakuri expected to be in attendance she couldn't either way.

Unfortunate, but she’d eaten before hand. Tori was no fool.

She chatted idly with Brulee until the attention in the room moved to the staircase once more. She turned with the rest of the room to find Katakuri standing at the top. He was wearing an actual shirt that fit him well, dark and bordered in red to match his scarf. His pants were still leather and his boots were spiked, but he was missing the knee pads.

Tori stood and glided towards the stairs. A silence fell across the room, or perhaps she simply wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were on her, and for the first time in a long time she felt a longing pressing against her ribs.

For someone so large he walked with a shocking amount of grace. He descended the marble staircase and when Tori offered him her hand he took it in his. A smile pulled at her lips, threatening the false one layered over top with silver glitter.

Katakuri kept his eyes on her and she her eyes on him as she guided him to his sister. He sat, crossing his legs, and Tori stood at his side, tucking her arm in his.

The band started playing soft strings, a low hum that build beneath her bones. Tori let herself stand close to Katakuri, for once taller than him, but true to her word, she didn’t try to sneak a peek. His arm was strong and warm beneath her hand and she felt that heat in her ribs once more.

While they sat, she talked, pointing out courtesans, officials, and visitors scattered around the room.

“That one,” she said, gesturing to a man in the corner that dressed in what appeared to be plain street clothes, no more than a tunic and leggings “is Orso Orseolo. He is a long trusted friend of my brother, sister and I but he won’t take any lands we offer and so he’s not a real nobleman at all. He says titles give him hives,” she smiled like she was sharing a conspiracy, “because he’s not got a title or lands but still has our backing and speaks with our voice, the rest of the court is terrified of him.”

She moved on. “The woman in the green dress is Arcielda Severan. She has quite the scandal about her divorcing Pietro, the one with the red boots and the frown lines. Still, she’s a good person, reliable and loyal to a fault. Once stabbed Chealsea Pruili with a fork and proposed Oblivion for her and hers when she tried to imply that disfigured babies shouldn’t be kept. Chealsea is the one in the brown gown with the bear bracelet.“

“How do you keep track of all of these people?” Brulee asked her, peering up at Tori with her same eerie smile.

Tori shrugged. “It’s not very hard. I just do.”

She was surprised when Katakuri’s low voice reached her.

“You said that flowers mean things. Do those?” he looked towards the flowers that dripped down the walls in long lines of white, purple, and pink. Tori felt her heart lighten at the interest Katakuri paid, and perhaps a bit at the attention in general.

“Bougainvillea, the pink ones, are for ‘peace and free trade’. We have ambassadors from the other Novara islands here. The Honeysuckle is for affection, fraternal and devoted. Wisteria, the purple, is for love, sensuality, support, sensitivity, bliss and tenderness. They’re for us.”

She felt his pulse under her fingers. Felt his shoulders draw together.

She drew a slow circle across a silver scar that crossed his arm, soothing.

“What’s oblivion?” Brulee asked next. Tori’s eyes darted again to Arcielda, speaking quietly to Alton Izard.

“Oblivion is the greatest disgrace for an Imperian,” she told them quietly. “It’s to have your entire existence erased. From the hearts of men and the Hall of Records. Your name will never be spoken again and you will be lost to the sands of time. Made into nothing and no body.”

Tori’s voice grew soft as silk and quiet as the grave. She was well aware of the attention that the two foreigners were paying her, rapt in her words.

Arcielda broke away from Alton and came over to them as the music picked up. She took Brulee’s hand and tugged her to her feet, sweeping her away to dance. Tori was left with Katakuri, who didn’t seem the type to waltz.

Brûlée was about as graceful as a colt, new and ungainly on its long, long legs. Bit Arcielda didn’t seem to mind. Her son wasn’t present, still just a child, and in any case he hated crowds.

Without really thinking about it Tori traced the strong lines of Katakuri’s arm. She kept talking him, telling him about the people around them. Where they came from. The positions they held. Their influence. Their temperments, histories, old grudges and new ones.

“Some of them are like me,” she told him. “Charlotte Victoria di Imperia. The ‘di’ is just a place holder. It means ‘of’. If they have that in their name, they are as old as the island. If their family name is all their claim, they’re newer blood. There aren’t many ‘di’s left to us. It’s been too long. Mostly, it’s my family.”

His voice was low and deep beside her when he spoke.

“Your family is very small.”

Tori smiled. Small, showing now teeth. A grin was threatening a rude. “Yours is very large. And new, isn’t it?”

“Mama is the first,” he confirmed, but Tori already knew that. She hummed softly, her voice a quiet melody. The band picked a quicker tune and she watched Arcielda lead Brulee through a clumsy spin across the floor. Arcielda was a sweet woman, and a complete lesbian.

“And you are the second. Third?”

“Second son, third child.”

“That must be a lot of presure,” Tori mused. Katakuri shot her a look.

“You’re a  princess .”

Tori smiled again, almost wide enough to split her false lips. “But I don’t have to work for that. My whole life has been presented on a silver plate. I don’t need to choose anything to get my future.”

Katakuri’s head tilted ever so slightly. Once more Tori found she couldn’t read the look in his eyes. She wanted, suddenly, impulsively, to steal him away. Drag him out into the gardens and sit him in the grass and unravel his scarf so she could  see .

But Tori was more well behaved than that. She let herself lean against his shoulder instead. Arcielda dipped Brulee low, until her hair almost touched the floor before pulling her back to her feet. Katakuri never looked away from them.

“You’re very protective of her,” Tori commented idly. He stiffened minutely under her fingers. Tori repressed a wince of guilt. That was right. Brulee’s scar.

“She’s my sister,” he said simply. Tori didn’t respond. Her own relationship with Gemma was much less… good. Gemma was a fighter, a general, hungry for power and stubborn. She was vicious and able. Tori was none of those things. She wanted no power, she fought for nothing. She was no vicious, so long as she could help it. She had been an honors student, she had competed in S.T.E.M., she had won academic decathlons almost single handed.

She wanted none of those victories again. She had no ambition. She coudln’t. Ambitious people drew too much attention, had too many expectations placed upon her and here-

No one expected her to be anything but pretty here.

“She told me what you did this morning.”

Tori looked at him, brows pinching minutely. She’d almost forgotten what she’d done. “Oh. Seline? She’s never been a kind person…”

“You didn’t have to stick up for her,” Katakuri said. There was a note of suspicion in his voice that pained Tori.

“You forget,” she said quietly. “She is my sister now too.”

She patted his arm and released him, the magic broken, to go find Orso. Her friend caught her hand when she appeared at his side and kissed each cheek. Familiar, kind, with a hint of concern in his soft brown eyes. He talked to her about nothing. Court gossips, hail storms, his sister. The pair of them walked to find others that Tori had grown up with, just as painted and false as she was.

There were three genuine people in the room. She was not one of them.

[ambarto]

I like to imagine that the Noldor in exile and the Feanorians in particular all had scars or various wounds they got through their hardships, so I’m compiling a post on my headcanons concerning how badly hurt they ended up. All Feanorians, some bonus Nolofinweans/Arafinweans. No particularly graphic descriptions of how they got the wounds, but still I guess there could be a bit of disturbing content ahead.

Maedhros - honestly, after what Melkor did to him, he’s scars all over. The tips of his ears were cut, and he has a large, ugly scar on his face, starting at his nose, barely missing the eye, and going down his cheek to the corner of his mouth, as well as various smaller ones. He lost a few teeth, and got metal ones. His body is also covered in scars, but almost no one ever sees him undressed. He used a glamour once to keep the scars on his face hidden, but as time went on he stopped caring about appearances. His right shoulder needed a long time to regain proper mobility, and it still pops out of the socket if he’s not careful.

Maglor - right after getting to Beleriand, he lost the tip of his left ear in battle. Other than that, he managed to stay overall whole until he and Maedhros stole the Silmarils. His burns never healed entirely, taking away the elasticity of his skin and damaging the nerves. He got a scar on his forehead during his wandering, from one time he fell and didn’t treat the wound properly.

Celegorm - he doesn’t have any mark in visible places, but he has a scar on his shoulder from being hit by an arrow once, and bite marks on his arms from a wolf hunt that went wrong.

Caranthir - he lost his right eye during an Orc ambush, and started wearing an eyepatch after that. His brothers told him he could have just glamoured his face to hide the wound, but he never cared all that much about his appearance. While still a good warrior, out of his brothers he was the worst when it came to fighting, and collected a good amount of small marks over the years.

Curufin - he received a wound to his leg during the Dagor Bralloch that got infected and left him with a limp. He always had burns on his hands due to his work as a smith, but he got a particularly bad one on his right hand after getting molten metal on it as an accident.

Amrod - he did not die in Losgar, but his clothes did take fire and by the time he jumped into the sea he had already burnt most of his left arm and part of his chest and back. The sea water also did not help his healing, the salt irritated the already tender skin, and he was left with discolored patches.

Amras - he broke his nose and it set wrong, leaving it crooked and giving his voice a certain nasal tone. People joked at least that way they could tell him apart from his twin that way.

Celebrimbor - he has never been a fighter, and whenever he ended up in battle he always hurt himself in some way. In the Dagor-nuin-Giliath he was pierced through in one shoulder, which left an ugly scar but no other permanent damage. In the Dagor Bragollach his back was burnt when the fire made his armor overheat. In the Nirnaeth Arnoediad he got a long, deep, jagged scar across his forearm. During the destruction of Beleriand he lost a finger of his left hand. Every single time he entered a battlefield everyone who cared about him was sure to be given at least one heart attack, and many found it rather surprising how he hadn’t died yet by the end of the First Age.

Turgon - got wounded during the Battle of Lammoth, and his left shoulder never fully healed, remaining with limited mobility.

Angrod - he lost a few fingers while crossing the Helcaraxe due to frostbite. He could still do most things with his right hand, as he only lost one finger in that one, but he lost the thumb of the left one.

Galadriel, Finrod, Fingon - all of them ended up with permanent scarring due to frostbite in various degrees. All of the glamoured the scars away for the most part. Even in the Third Age, Galadriel still never let anyone but her close family see the marks the cold had left on her. Even if so long had passed, and even if she could talk of the Helcaraxe, she never quite got over the trauma that having her skin freeze gave her, maybe because it had been the first time she had truly understood how she could have very easily lost her life.