#she’d sacrifice everything to protect those she loves even her power and self )

[ircnwrought]

ignore me thinking about a plot where amaya uses her powers to craft an illusion that affects hundreds of people. Like imagine she’s volunteered herself during a battle to make it seem like allied forces are in one place when they are in fact in another thus setting up for an ambush. Thinking about the fact that she’s never held so many minds or made such a huge expenditure of her power but she’ll try to protect the people she loves. Crying knowing that she’d push herself to the point of burnout and scrape the bottom of her power and would probably only pull herself out if her friends/family got through to her with a “that’s enough.” The illusion holds for a few minutes, long enough to turn the tide of the battle even as she collapses and probably requires days to wake back up

[pebblysand]

For the asks - 🌈 (for castles), 🌻, 🍭

Thanks for the newest castles chapter!!

hi!! thanks!!

[ask game here]

🌈 (for castles) is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

so generally, i don't tend to think there's anything that i worked on really hard that you guys wouldn't know about because truth be told, i kind of think hard work ... shows? like, i know you asked this about castles but taking the broader fic question for a second, i think it shows that i worked harder on something like the fault in faulty manufacturing, than i did for, say, a louisville slugger to both headlights. i like both fics, don't get me wrong, but i think it shows when you spend hundreds of hours on something, versus just a couple, you know?

having said that, with regards to castles (but also with writing generally), i think what i struggle with often is probably just knowing how much to show, how much to tell, how much to let you infer. like, for example, this, in chapter 18:

He is silent for a bit. Tired. Ginny bumps the shoulder of his Levi’s jacket against the fabric of his jumper. ‘I mean, I’m sure we can keep yelling about it but we both know what this is really about.’ He breathes. In, out. Feels the weight of her head drop against his shoulder. There’s stuff they don’t even need to say, anymore. Like: the fact that the idea of her using sex to get what she wants out of a world that’s so fucked up it considers ‘sexy’ to be a currency will always make him want to retch. That: he regrets his choice of words, ‘whoring out,’ but. That he loves her - so much, and wants to protect her, and what if this all turns sour? What if she’s not okay , again, like she wasn’t on those nights she woke up next to strangers and didn’t know where she was?  He knows what she’d say as well, though. That time’s passed, that she’s better, that it’s her life and she feels ready and she gets to choose. That Samira’s right, too, that it’s time for women to be treated differently and if that’s something she can contribute to by adopting this persona, that’s not even that far from the truth, then the end justifies a little bit of self-sacrifice for the greater good. That, after him, it took ages for her to feel like her body was her own again, and that now, she likes people looking. That it makes her feel good - powerful. That because of the things she’s done, they’ll always talk about it anyway, so she might as well take the conversation somewhere useful. Control it and take anything she can gain from it. That, also, she doesn’t care if some sorry bloke wanks off to pictures of her in his basement because that’s all he’s ever going to get. That: she prefers Samira’s plan to the alternative, which would be to hide and apologise for herself, and which makes her want to retch.  Under his shoe, Amycus Carrow’s like this piece of gum they can never quite get rid of, Harry thinks. Ginny smiles at him. ‘If that’s all he is now, a dirty piece of gum, then that sounds lovely, actually.’

in the first draft of this, the two middle paragraphs in italics were actually dialogue. i was "showing" (by H&G explaining how they felt) but i felt like that was too heavy and redundant in terms of what we already know (plus, i don't love heart-to-hearts in dialogue, i find them really hard to write convincingly). so, in the second draft, i took everything out. then, i thought: wait, am i gonna get comments from people asking me what the whole exchange meant?

to tell you the truth, i sat there for a very long time last tuesday being like: to delete or not to delete? redundant or not? to me, personally, all of this is inferable. like, at that point, i feel like we know both of them and what their positions are well enough to know that that is what they're thinking. so, i do think it is all a bit redundant in a way. i think i certainly could have deleted these two paragraphs.

i think this is one of the reasons i would love to have beta for castles. like, sometimes, i just need someone to do a sanity check of: is this understandable for anyone but me, or is it just clear in my head? that's a part i often struggle with. i think the reason why i kept it here in the end was that i asked myself: am i okay with people misinterpreting this exchange, though? like, sometimes, you sort of have to cater to the lower common denominator and think even if 90% of people would be capable of inferring that on the basis of their reading comprehension skills, am i okay with 10% not doing so? and here, because i think it's a very important exchange, i didn't think i was okay with taht. especially because i didn't want to misinterpret it by thinking ginny was doing this to piss off harry, or that he was that resistant just because he was jealous, you know?

so yeah, it's obviously easier when you have a beta but it is something i do struggle with a little.

.

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

lol, that exhausted, burnt out post from this summer will haunt me for decades, won't it?

more seriously, what makes me want to give up is capitalism. what keeps me going is spite.

.

🍭why did you start writing?

i think that's such an interesting question, which i don't have the answer to. for a lot of people, they seem to get into fandom, start seeing fanfics and are like: "oh, i'd love to do that too," or "i'd love to provide my own take" and start writing like that, as a hobby they more or less consciously picked. i think that's super cool.

that wasn't really my case, though, in the way that i was writing (albeit badly) before i even discovered fandom/fanfiction. i just loved writing from as far back as i can remember. i always tell this story but when i was 4/5 years old, i couldn't even write yet, but i had a babysitter and i would dictate stories to her. i would fold sheets of paper like a book and would do the drawings. then, when something needed to be written, i would ask her to write it down Exactly How I Wanted (yes, i was born type A ^^). so, i guess even back then, before i had even learnt to write, i already loved "writing", you know?

but also, it's difficult because i think that's something a lot of children do - i don't think i was "exceptional" in that sense. yet, they probably don't all end up being writers. and, as i've said before, i'm not really someone who believes in talent or in something "innate," when it comes to writing. so, of course, if you asked me where my current skills come from, i would obviously say "hard work", that's easy. and, obviously, a massive dose of privilege in being born in a country and to a family where it was possible to foster writing skills due to an array of economic and social advantages - but anyway, what i mean to say is that i don't think writing skills are innate, i think they are learnt.

having said that, as much as i like emphasising the fact that writing is work (and therefore, you can hone those skills), there is still this question of: why did you pursue it, versus 1) other people born in roughly the same conditions and 2) other hobbies like painting, music, etc.? the question being, in sum: why did you start writing? and, that, i can't explain. my mum loves reading, but she's not a writer (or an artist in general, tbh). my father was a wannabe writer but never did much with it and i didn't grow up around him at all. my maternal grandmother apparently loved writing really long letters to her children after they left home, telling them about life - could it be genetic somehow? i reckon there are enough nepobabies trying to follow the footsteps of their talented parents and miserably failing for us to conclude that it's probably not, though.

to me, it's the age-old question of: why do artists start making art? why are artists artists, and not everyone is an artist? because although i believe in hard work, i also believe that you either are a writer, or you aren't. and i don't think it has anything to do with being published or not, being "good" or not ("good" is not an objective standard, anyway), or being "successful" or not. i think it has to do with an inexplicable "spark" that exists in some and not in others. by which i mean: there are people on AO3 who publish very good, high quality stories, but for whom writing is a hobby. if they stopped tomorrow (because #life), they would probably miss their hobby (and their fandom friends, etc.) but they wouldn't collapse. it's a bit like me and hiking. i love going on hikes but if i don't go for 6 months in the winter, i'm fine, you know?

writing, for me, is totally different. if i don't write, i can't breathe. if you wanted to, you could literally track my periods of depression on my AO3. all the years i didn't post a single thing - those were the darkest times where i couldn't get my head out of the water. it's also why i'm ready to sacrifice so much for it, my weekends and my sleep - because i have learnt over the years that me not writing is worse than me writing to a level of true exhaustion. of course, stopping short term as a breather is fine but long term, for more than a few months? it sounds like a good thing at first, but it really isn't. and so regardless of talent, regardless of kudos, regardless of potential publishing deals, regardless of everything else, writers write because they need to, or else they will collapse.

and, that - that, i can't explain why.

[feralphoenix]

a thing that i really love about hollow knight is that part of its incredibly strict Show Don’t Tell policy means it works a lot in juxtapositions. comparisons and parallels.

like, rather than Telling us what makes for a good and responsible ruler, we get to know about various different heads of state in the various nations of the crater, and we can observe how they handled international relations, public policy, etc and the consequences/effects of their choices, and draw conclusions by ourselves.

there are lots of different parent-child relationships, and sibling relationships, so that we have many examples to compare ghost and their family to.

there are also a number of higher beings around and you can compare them to each other to understand their different approaches to godhood, how they handled being the center of a culture & the responsibilities that entails (radi, unn, tpk) or the ways they sidestepped those roles (white lady, grimm). in addition to forming our opinions of these characters this also contextualizes what ghost does when they attain godhood in the godseeker endings & after the delicate flower variant, in godseeker mode.

like you can use these points of reference for a lot of different analysis topics!!! but one of the things that always Gets Me In My Emotions is the direct juxtaposition between herrah, radiance, and tpk and how differently these three characters handle the cost of fighting Existential Crisis.

the pale king’s policy is officially No Cost Too Great, but just like the hunter says in hollow’s bestiary entry, for tpk “cost” was a thing for other people to pay, and he was not willing to risk any sort of harm to his own person. his plan to deal with the infection involved sacrificing the dreamers & the hollow knight, and his plan to create a hollow knight involved birthing hundreds of thousands of children who were designed to be expendable - they were there so he could experiment on them, select a candidate, cull the failures, and then sacrifice said candidate.

the worst tpk might have experienced through all this is emotional turmoil, and it’s left ambiguous in-game whether he was actually conflicted about the child sacrifice/felt attachment to hollow or whether his personal low point throughout all this was being butthurt about his wife walking out rather than birth a second batch of vessels for the slaughter. (he must’ve been pretty darn butthurt to have lied to the kingdom that the white lady was dead.)

as soon as his plan failed and he had no other recourse, tpk fled rather than expose himself to any potential harm. he was willing to - perhaps desperate enough to - expend any number of chess pieces if it would save hallownest, but his own life and safety was NEVER on the table.

just like tpk, radiance is trying to protect herself and her people. just like tpk and herrah, she too is willing to go to any lengths necessary to get the settlers to fucking step off, give her children back, and leave her alone.

for her this entails being willing to bend her own principles - i’ve talked about this in depth before so you can find all that in my essay tag if you’re interested, but in-game evidence points to radiance having been a pacifist like the rest of her tribe pre-hallownest. and the infection is a curse that’s only sometimes fatal, but it causes extreme amounts of harm and fear and chaos to inflicted parties. and this level of harm is something she’s willing to do just to threaten/pressure tpk into backing down.

her method also causes a large amount of collateral damage (including lateral harm to other indigenous bugs!), suggesting that she either doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to worry about who might get hurt, or just plain doesn’t care. if you squint, it’s possible to make the argument that radiance might have warned unn before her counterattack against hallownest, but even then forewarning was the only mitigation she was able and willing to provide. if this is what it takes to protect herself and her tribe, then so be it.

so, compared to tpk, who chose to actively sacrifice the lives of individuals to protect the institution of hallownest, and radiance, who doesn’t care about splash damage to bystanders as long as she can save her tribe... what i find extraordinary about herrah is that when she determined that sacrifice was necessary to protect deepnest, she took all that sacrifice upon herself.

most obviously herrah accepts the role of dreamer in hopes of ending the plague, sacrificing her life. in order to keep tpk from taking advantage of that to conquer deepnest, she also negotiates that he has to provide her with an heir, thus ensuring deepnest’s sovereignty... but this means she has to have sex with the very creature who has been trying to commit genocide against the spiders for generations. she has to let her lifelong worst enemy who she’s been fighting alone since the death of her husband impregnate her. this decision had to have come with some form of emotional distress for her, and yet herrah shoulders it and soldiers through it.

and then even through this, it’s implied in the white lady and midwife’s dialogue (+ posed in the dev notes/style guide) that tpk snatched up hornet when she was a child to raise her in the white palace. it’s unclear whether he did this to keep hornet as a hostage to make sure herrah couldn’t renege on their treaty now she’d got what she wanted out of the bargain, to ensure his offspring would be raised in the culture he created rather than in deepnest, which he clearly believed to be barbaric and uncivilized, or both.

yet instead of calling bullshit and flouncing on the deal or trying to steal hornet back, thereby exposing deepnest to the threat of both the infection And aggression from hallownest once more, herrah stuck with it. midwife says that herrah paid dearly for her involvement with this plan, but herrah valued deepnest’s survival over her own individual life, and saw it through to the end no matter how tpk’s plan caused her to suffer or hurt her dignity.

there’s an incredible amount of nobility and integrity herrah shows here. she refuses to let any harm come to her country, and insists that any and all sacrifice required of her as a leader be her sole responsibility. her courage, her political intelligence, and her strength of character as a leader are all nothing short of awe-inspiring.

at the same time, there is still a downside to herrah’s spirit of self-sacrifice. as anyone who’s ever watched steven universe can tell you, self-sacrifice is actually kind of a shitty solution to one’s problems because self-destruction hurts the people who love you.

we get glimpses of hornet’s intense emotional torment over her mother’s fate and her understanding that it’s necessary to let ghost murder herrah to change the status quo; similarly we can understand the crushing amount of personal responsibility hornet feels towards the whole crater comes from knowing the cost of her own birth, and having front row seats to her parents’ political power struggle.

we hear from herrah herself that everything she does is done for hornet, so hornet’s pain is probably the last thing herrah would have wanted, but ironically what hornet goes through in hollow knight is a direct consequence of herrah choosing to martyr herself.

anyway all of this speaks SO much for herrah and radi and tpk’s individual priorities and problem-solving strategies and also their blind spots... plus, there’s a lot about herrah’s character that goes underappreciated and this is one of those unsung aspects. fandom... fandom blease be SAD about SPIDER MAMA with me

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Tales of Heroes

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x @mikaelson-emma

Request: Hi! Could I request a imagine/one-shot were the reader is Hayley’s sister (a hybrid) and has a child, but scarified herself to save the Mikaelson’s? She could romantically involved with Klaus, but her child isn’t his. She asks him to have him tell stories about her to the child, and one day she gets resurrected. Or it could something else! I love you writing and I am excited to see that you are taking requests! I hope you have a good day! ❤️❤️ -@mikaelson-emma Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Nope. Nothing I can think of. 

Author’s Note: I’M OVER HERE CRYING MY EYES OUT. Like you guys have no idea how emotional this one has made me. I really do hope that at some point Emma comes in and sees this. I hope that this is everything you wanted. I freaking miss you! On another note, Welcome to another day of May Madness. I hope you guys enjoy! 

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

Laughter filled the air as Hope and Ava played in Hope’s room. The sound could easily be heard anywhere throughout the compound. The two cousins playing while using up the last burst of energy they had in their systems before bed. For the first time in centuries, there was a peace that surrounded the Mikaelsons that allowed the girls to be carefree. 

There was enough peace that the Mikaelson siblings didn’t have to worry about looking over their shoulders for any enemies that may be lurking in the shadows. With the two young girls, the Mikalesons believed that even more danger would be on their doorstep. But that hadn’t been the case. They were safe. They wouldn’t be hurt by the Mikaelsons’ past and that was all thanks to Emma. Without her, there wouldn’t have been the peace they were living in. 

Klaus leaned against the door frame as he watched Hope run after Ava with a pillow. Ava’s laughter had been followed with a shriek as the pillow in Hope’s hand had come into contact with her. Ava swung the one she had in her hand, hoping to get Hope away for only a moment before she attacked back. 

The sight itself had brought a smile to Klaus’ lips as he watched them. The bond between the two cousins had reminded him greatly of Emma and Hayley. The two girls are inseparable just as their mothers were after their own reunion. Hayley had believed she didn’t have any family left. And when she found her fraternal twin after coming to New Orleans, there was no breaking them apart. 

Emma had fit easily into the family. It didn’t matter how complicated things may have become, Emma was there for her found family. She would never leave her sister in a fight and she’d make damn sure that her own daughter and niece were safe. And when it came to making a sacrifice for the girls’ safety. Emma was ready and willing to pay the price. 

Just promise me one thing. Emma’s voice played in Klaus’ head as he watched the girls. That if anything ever happens to me, you’ll take care of her. 

Klaus could remember telling her that he should never have to make that promise. That Emma would always be around to watch as her own daughter grew. Emma had made him promise anyways. She had even gotten Hayley to promise as well. Emma needed to be sure that her daughter was taken care of. 

“Alright girls,” Hayley’s voice cut through Klaus’s memories, pulling him back to the present. “Time for bed.” Hope and Ava whined in unison the moment the words left Hayley’s lips. 

“Five more minutes, Aunt Hayley?” Ava asked as she watched her Aunt look over at Klaus for a moment. 

“Hayley is right.”  Klaus said agreeing with her. “You both have big days tomorrow. It’d be a shame if the both of you were exhausted before the fun even began.”

For weeks the girls had been asking about taking a trip to the state fair when it came. While Klaus and even Hayley were skeptical about taking the girls there, they had been assured several times that things would be okay. That things wouldn’t go wrong just because the girls wanted to have some fun. 

It was Freya that had convinced her younger brother that they should go. That they should have fun without worrying about anything. To let the girls live as normal of a life as they could from time to time. Ava may have only been a year older than Hope, but the girls were needing interactions with the outside world. Away from the teachings of spells, or self defense classes. 

Klaus’s words had made the girls toss the pillows back onto Hope’s bed before turning to each other and saying goodnight. Ava ran past Klaus and Hayley as she went into the room across the hall. It caused Klaus to chuckle as he pushed himself off the doorframe. 

“I got Ava.” He said as he turned and walked towards the door. 

A small smile pulled at Hayley’s lips as he watched Klaus do so. For as many times Hayley had warned Emma about Klaus, they found a way to be together. After the fights, after the accusations, there was something that Emma had seen in Klaus. The same thing Klaus had seen within her. They were willing to do whatever it took to keep their family safe.  To do whatever it took to keep each other safe. 

Klaus had stepped up as the father figure to Ava after Emma sacrificed herself. While Hope was still his daughter and he’d do anything for her, Ava was in a sense, now his as well. For the past year, he worried for her. Stayed up with her when the nightmares would scare her. When she’d break down crying simply because she had missed her mom. Klaus was there for her. He may have not been her biological father, but with how much he had grown to care for and love Emma and Ava, Ava had become like a daughter to him. 

Klaus watched as Ava climbed into bed, the moment he walked into the room. It wasn’t long before a smile tugged at his lips as she burrowed into her bed. To see so much of Emma within the young girl had caused a tinge of pain within his chest. Ava smiled at Klaus as she pulled the blanket over herself and nodded her head, signaling she was ready for her favorite story. 

It was during those nights that Ava had woken up from nightmares that Klaus would tell her the tale of her Mother. It was in a way that showed how much he had loved and adored her while proving she was the hero that saved them all. It had become Ava’s favorite story. One that needed to be told each night in order to keep the nightmares at bay. 

He walked over towards the bed and sat down at the edge. His hand coming to rest on her feet, making her giggle before he moved them. “You have to promise right after, you’ll go to bed.”

“I promise.” Ava brought her small hand up and made an x over her heart. “Cross my heart.”

Klaus chuckled as he shook his head slightly. “In a kingdom in a far away land, there lived a Queen. One that was loved by not only her subjects, but the family she had created. The bond between them ensured they were kept safe from any enemy that may have threatened them. The Queen was not immortal. For even the genes she carried within her blood may have made her stronger, but even the strongest warriors have their weaknesses.”

He watched as Ava’s lips pulled into a smile. “For this Queen’s weakness was her beautiful daughter. The Queen would slay those who dared entered their kingdom in hopes of taking or harming the Princess. She’d return from battle with the blood of her enemies on her body, showing that she would do anything in her power to save her child. 

“Even her family would face the invaders to help the Queen. So long as the Queen was there, the family would be invincible.” Klaus had lost count of the many times Emma had helped save them. The countless times she had been there to help protect them or to take down an enemy without any hesitation as to what his past held. “It wasn’t long before a new threat arose in the Kingdom. A dark creature entered the Kingdom, taking her loved ones one by one, threatening to take their lives. 

“One night, while the Princess slept, the Queen went and made a deal with a very powerful witch.” As Klaus said the words he could easily see in his mind how Emma had gotten up in the middle of the night to meet with Freya. Klaus remembered watching as she walked into Freya’s room before a spell kept him from hearing the words they spoke, or even viewing into the room from the balcony. “The deal would ensure the Princess would be safe, along with the rest of her family. But the King that had courted her, tried to stop her from making the deal.”

“You are all in danger!” Emma had yelled as she stood in front of Klaus. “I can’t just sit by and watch as you all are targeted. We almost lost your brother. What other close calls are we going to have to make before you let me help?”

“What about Ava?” He asked, trying to keep himself calm. The way they had been screaming at each other wasn’t getting them anywhere. 

Emma shook her head as tears filled her eyes. “This is for her as much as it is for you and your siblings. For my sister. For our girls to be able to live without a darkness looming over them. You have to let me do this. I’ll be able to come back from this.”

“No.” Klaus said as he shook his head before moving to place his hands on the sides of her face. “A spell like this, even I know there is no coming back from it. It will break Ava.”

“You promised to take care of her.” She said as she placed her hands on top of his as they rested against her face. “Just don’t let her forget about me. Talk to her about me, about us. Because I know that is the only thing that will make this easier for her.”

He took in her words before he pulled his hands away from her. Realization hitting him. This just wasn’t her saying she was going to try and do this. This was Emma saying she had already done so. This was her saying her goodbyes. He ran his hand along his face before he turned his head away from her. 

“When?” He asked a moment later as he turned to look back at her. It was as he looked into her beautiful brown eyes, that he loved so much, that he found the answer he needed.

“But he had been too late.” Klaus continued. He watched as Ava’s eyes began to close. He knew she would be asleep towards the end of the story. “No matter how much the Queen had loved the King, she knew what needed to be done. The very night the dark creature came to attack, the Queen’s family had begun to fall. Slowly each of them had been hurt by the creature. The Queen knew she’d be the next to be hurt. And once she was, the spell she had the powerful witch cast, allowed her body to absorb the dark creature.”

Ava rolled on to her side, her hands coming up under her head, her eyes closed. “Mommy saved us.” 

The words were soft. To any human, they would have barely been able to hear them. But for a hybrid, they had been loud in his ears. A sad smile pulled at his lips as he watched her eyes close. “That she did.” He said before continuing the story. “The Kingdom mourned the loss of their Queen. But there was one thing the King had promised the Princess. She’d always be safe. She’d always be taken care of. And she’d be told of her mothers heroics. The Queen would never be forgotten. It was her wish for stories to be passed on about her just as the stories of legends had.”

Klaus slowly stood from his spot before he watched Ava for a moment. She was sound asleep by the time he had finished. A smile pulled at his lips as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight little one.”

“You were always so great at telling her stories.” 

Klaus froze at the voice. He thought for a moment that there was some kind of trick that someone dared to do on him. Because after a year, he never thought he’d hear that voice again. His memory didn’t even do it justice. 

His heart sped up for a brief moment as he slowly turned towards the door. He hoped that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Or anyone else for that matter. But as soon as his eyes landed towards the doorway, his jaw dropped slightly. 

She was there. She was standing there in the doorway with a smile on her face as she watched his reaction. Klaus could see the way her eyes slowly filled with tears as he began closing the space between them.  Without a second thought, he walked quickly over to her and pulled her into his arms. 

Having her press against him had told him that this wasn’t a dream. That this wasn’t someone attempting to hurt him and the little girl that slept a few feet away. Emma was home and Klaus had every intention of making sure she never left his sight again.

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[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

[valkyriegoddesses]

Thoughts on ACOSF

⚠️ SPOILERY, SO DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK ⚠️

⚔️ the good and the bad, I’ll try to get rid of the bad thoughts first and keep the positive ones for the end but idk where my line of thought would go as I recall and type so here we go

• Nesta’s journey of healing is hers and hers alone. She owes no one in the inner circle anything, they didn’t do her any favors. (Now before I delve into this, I just want to say that I see they (Feyre and Elain only) had good intentions, but I’m going to point out everywhere it went wrong, probably against what they planned, but still it went horribly wrong) She was still suffering all the same after she got her free will stripped from her, the decision made for her by packing her things without informing her or listening to her opinion or trying to have a more lenient approach to the matter, being threatened that her second option is being thrown to the human lands where she could die, being lied to about the consequences of her actions in law, being told she “belongs in the Hewn City”, being told she’s “a pathetic waste of life”, and choosing the place everyone admits they hate going to aka the House of Wind, as her destination to heal. Knowing full well she can’t make the descent down these stairs and would be imprisoned without the power to winnow. And instead of being given her space and time, they push her to talk and interact when all she’s trying to do is have some distance from everyone. Some time to herself, to not feel anything, to control the storm of thoughts raging on the inside. And she’s pushed time and time again to face her trauma and heal RIGHT NOW because apparently, they’re timing her. And she shouldn’t have her emotions on display, when she tells them she doesn’t feel like talking yet she’s forced to interact and socialize. Anyone who’s been forced to interact against their will knows how draining it is. Now imagine this coupled with being triggered by water, and being triggered by fire, which are a daily necessity. And imagine everyone got a decade or more to deal with their trauma and are still not entirely healed, yet your time is up after little over a year. It sucks. And I hate how what triggered them to action wasn’t that she was wasting away to nothing, but the bill. When the bill was high, they drew the line. And I hate how in the narrative, the “conversation” -even though I wouldn’t call it that because only one side was allowed to talk and the other side wasn’t allowed to object- was written in a way that made it about THEIR image, when she’s frequenting taverns. THEIR image, when she doesn’t show up to their parties. THEIR image when the bill for her drinking is high. (They say it’s too much money, as if they don’t have all the riches and they all spend money on things that are absolutely not necessary, and THEY drowned her with gifts, LOADS of gifts, after she sacrificed her power to save her sister, which she didn’t do for payment, but anyway the thought is, they had the money and just like they thought Amren deserves payment for what she did in the war, they should’ve kept the same energy for Nesta because she had no small role in that either). I just think they handled it badly. Not exactly how you’d talk to someone suffering from PTSD, depression and survivor’s guilt. For one, threatening a worse alternative isn’t helpful. Secondly, There were way too many people in that room. More than necessary. Feyre and Elain would’ve been enough AS HER FAMILY (and I’ll get to details on this in a moment). And Feyre was the only decent one handling it as someone who actually was looking for a better outcome and really had the intention to help, someone who wasn’t there just to humiliate. Amren and Rhys were only there to land jabs and poke at her insecurities and bad coping mechanisms. Rhys used his power on her to force her to obey him and we all know how it’s a big NO among them. Many of those in the IC had worse coping mechanisms. But what she was doing was too much for them to handle? She was self-destructing. And she kept her distance. If I told someone I needed my space and they kept poking their head in my business, I sure as hell would lash out. When someone needs space, their privacy should be respected. No matter how long it takes them.

And I don’t see where the problem with her drinking was. She never showed up to events drunk. We never saw her hungover the day after. She was spending some money on drinking yes, but it did not get out of hand. She was also spending money on food and gambling. All in all, not the worst coping mechanism among those who were criticizing her. Not to mention that everyone who criticized her were drinkers as well, and they all slept around during some part of their lives.

Now the problem with the presence of other people in that room, other than Feyre (if Elain didn’t wish to attend and preferred to have some space between her and and Nesta, it’s her choice) anyway, only Feyre’s presence was required. Everyone else there was just an accessory, only adding stress to the atmosphere, forcing Nesta to get on the defensive with the way they slut shamed her, shamed her for drinking, shamed her for not being able to take a bath even though she told Feyre how the water still scares her, etc. I can see Sarah wanted it to look like a “family” intervening. Like some tough love sort of thing. But she failed. Simply because, the IC might be Feyre’s found family and she might take such a talk from them because it would really be tough love. As for Nesta, she doesn’t view them as family. She barely knows them. So for a group of strangers, or let’s say newly acquainted people, to sit around her and point out her every flaw and shame her for every misstep, who wouldn’t lash out at that? It’s enough she’s forced to spend time among them, on holidays she doesn’t really believe in, where they force her to attend but actively ignore her presence and treat her like a ghost. Why make her come if they don’t enjoy her company? It’s just ridiculous. Then when she gets angry from all the pushing and lashes out and it’s entirely her fault. they’re all like “come to our gatherings where we will insult you, nitpick all your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but don’t be offended and seclude yourself, we all took decades to deal with our trauma and killed people while doing it but your coping mechanisms are unhealthy. And your actions are unforgivable because you lash out at us when we shove ourselves down your throat. How can you not like us? Everyone has to like us.” Then she gets thrown away to a war camp, a FUCKING WAR CAMP, while a big part of her trauma is because of war. And instead of dealing with her face-to-face, while being gentle and showing her they’re on her side WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, WITHOUT WINCING AND GLANCES AT EACH OTHER AND INNER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HER WHERE SHE’S EXCLUDED, they’re like “we’re tired of your shit so here’s a house you can stay in while you sort this out away from our merry little circle, which has its nose up your business anyway. But still, sort it out away from us.” And in that house she became more and more closed off and her healing - and I will die on this hill - her healing DID NOT start until the house came into play which was her own doing. And it kicked off because of Emerie and Gwyn, who both didn’t judge her, didn’t demonize her, didn’t only see the bad in her, but accepted her as she was and loved every part of her. Showed her that she was not a waste of life and there are things to live for. As for the beloved inner circle? Beyond insulting her and her coping mechanisms, They don’t tell her about the weapons SHE made, because pro-colonization Amren doesn’t think it’s wise, that Nesta would use it against the world. (Amren do you hear how stupid you sound?) they always villianize her, assuming she’d be out to take the world and take revenge on everyone who ever glanced her way. They assumed she was bad, they assumed because she was angry, that she would use her power for killing and terrorizing and building an Empire like they all do. When all she wanted to do was listen to music and be around good company who passed her no judgement.

Anyway, getting into some details with each character:

Feyre: I hated Feyre’s “crying over scrambled eggs because my image is destroyed my sister spent so much money on drinking”. And the fact that when telling Nesta she was doing this for her own good, she told her she was embarrassed for her own image in the same breath. But beyond that I was fine with her. I loved her reconcilation with Nesta. I loved that she was one who wanted to give Nesta more time, recognized that she needed her own time. I love them together. I think without everyone’s interference, their reconcilation would’ve happened much faster. They were already making progress before ~some people~ ruined everything and caused Nesta to be closed off again. I don’t hate that Nesta sacrificed her power to save Feyre in the end. She’s her sister and she loves her and this is not the first time she proved this. She would do anything to protect her sisters and she hates herself for the times she misstepped. Even though it wasn’t her fault and there was a full grown man sitting there who conveniently got a redemption arc. What angers me though, is that it was only after this, that the inner circle viewed her as someone who is worth their respect. And made the sacrifice materialistic by drowning Nesta with gifts. She didn’t do it for their acceptance or for their love, or for payment. She did it because her sister needed help. Period. (Sidenote: I’m writing a post where I delve deep into their relationship, which I will eventually post, because I think I reached an understanding about their relationship)

Elain: let me get something out of the way, she has power. She has free will, she’s not a baby. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need coddling. I hate how the fandom views her as a baby. And she’s constantly infantilized, preventing her from reaching her full potential. Now that that’s out of the way, here are my 2 cents on her, since she wasn’t in this book much: Nesta’s wording was very clear, yet I’ve seen this scene misread all over the timeline. Nesta said “I sat by your side for weeks. Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you���d just wither and die. No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.” Nesta’s problem is NOT that Elain wasn’t “there” as in “by her side”. She explicitly stated she needed space. Nesta’s problem was that she stood between Elain and anyone who might tell her to snap out of it and lock her trauma in some dark room in the back of her head. She made sure Elain had her time. While Elain agreed to pack her bags and didn’t prevent them from shipping her away, deciding her time was up. All she wants is time, and Elain didn’t have her back on this. Then we have the fact that Elain slut-shamed Nesta. And then when Nesta comes to the party this time, Elain meets her at the door and her reaction instead of saying hi and leaving it at that or simply ignoring her, is “did Feyre pay you this time?” I’m torn on where to stand on the Elain-Nesta situation, a part of me is disappointed in Elain. I think she should’ve handled this better than anyone else because she was there, she witnessed the trauma happen, Nesta was there for her, they grew up being inseparable the entire time. If anyone should understand her better than anyone else, it’s Elain. So why did she abandon her to everyone’s judgement? And a part of me is like maybe she knew whatever she voted wouldn’t matter because the IC were taking the step anyway, and didn’t want to be there when it happened. Or maybe she’s still dealing with her own trauma in her own way and doesn’t want a confrontation. But I always circle back to the sl*t-shaming and the shaming about the drinking, and then I think about the Solstice scene where as soon as she saw her she was like “did Feyre pay you this time?” And a part of me is angry about the shaming undertone of that too, while some part of me thinks that maybe Elain felt unwanted along with everyone else and that in order for Nesta to meet them, she has to be paid, but we will never know unless we hear it from her.

Rhysand: that piece of shit, misogynist, who used his powers to compel Nesta to obey his orders, pulled rank on her, taunted and threatened her every step of the way and utilized her for his own agenda, and was *surprised* to learn the woman has trauma. Took him being inside her head and unable to wake her up from the nightmare, because the behavior she was exhibiting wasn’t enough. [insert shocked pickatchu meme]. I also would like to add that him playing the protective love interest from his mate’s own sister, WHO COULD’VE HARMED HER IF SHE WANTED TO, but never wanted to because she’s not a bad person, is so cheap. Like- you, the guy who drugged her and made her give you lap dances, are afraid for her sake… from her sister? Who only ever used words as jabs and is generally rude? Or do you feel like you’re overpowered and are trying to fill the void in your toxic masculinity and reassert dominance ?

Cassian: He was patient with her, and probably the healthiest person in the inner circle who dealt with her until she was okay, but he still silently agreed with all the shit that was said about her. Shit she didn’t deserve to be said about her as someone going through trauma. He mocked whatever progress she made on the stairs calling it pathetic in the beginning. He stayed silent when Nesta was stripped of her will, when she was told she belongs in the Court of Nightmares, when her fate was decided for her, when she was being lied to, when she was threatened to be thrown to the humans who would kill her. He made some progress and understood her better with time, but it doesn’t excuse how he stayed silent when she was being mistreated. Specially since he claims her loves her. He also stayed silent as the Inner Circle despised her presence but still used her to reach what they’re plotting for. He progressed, and he got better, I’ll give him that. But still, as someone who claims he loves her the way he does, he shouldn’t have allowed his friends to manipulate and use her in their schemes but then exclude her from everything else, even knowledge about her own power. But I love that he was patient, that he worked to understand her, that he grew to stand up for her. I would argue that they are the healthiest ship written by SJM this far.

Mor: fucking Mor, who experienced trauma, told Nesta she belongs in the court of Nightmares. Where she was abused herself. Knowing women are viewed as objects there, knowing Nesta would recieve abuse there. She said that, wishing abuse on someone who she simply didn’t like and had some quarrels with. They never saw eye to eye and that’s fine. They always had sharp tongues when talking to each other and that’s fine. What’s not fine though, is that THIS of all things, seemed so out of character for Mor. Now, she never knew Nesta was a survivor of SA. But as someone who helps SA victims, she’s the last person I expected such a comment from. It felt very out of character. I hate that this is the Bi character in all of this mess. Of all people, a hypocrite is the Bi person. The LGBTQ community deserves better. I thought about it, and maybe Mor, being like a stranger to Nesta, and seeing her ignore Cassian in front of the Illyrians who already look down on him, made her angry to the point where she just wanted to land a jab and didn’t think her words would mean anything. Maybe all she wanted to do was stand up for Cassian, but what she said was definitely not true and not okay. I wanted her and Nesta to have a talk about it, but also she grew to have decent conversations with her and she helped her when she and Cassian had that fight. So I don’t know, maybe it’s a silent progress between them.

Amren: this one told her she was a waste of life. What a great way to deal with someone who’s suffering from PTSD and depression and having suicidal thoughts, Amren. Tell them they’re a waste of life, enforce every thought they are having as fact, push them to the point where they doubt they should be breathing, and when they’re told they could tumble down a mountain and break their bones while hiking, their first thought would be “good”. Amren deserves a medal, a badge of honor for being the 500+ old woman who has healthy ways of dealing with traumatized people telling them they don’t deserve to live because the thoughts of their power and dealing with controlling that power right now is so overwhelming. Amren, who decided that because Nesta was always angry, she had no right to know that she used her power unknowingly and forged powerful weapons. Amren, who was pushing for colonization throughout this book, was afraid of Nesta misusing her power. Villainizing Nesta’s every thought, as if Nesta wasn’t overwhelmed from the thought of possessing so much power, as if Nesta doesn’t refuse to use her powers and train. As if Nesta is out there hiding as she masters her power to reemerge and turn the world upside down. You’re the one who’s pushing Rhys to colonize other territories and become high king, Amren. Maybe *you* should be locked up in the house of wind for therapy. What hurts most in this is Amren was her friend. She trusted Amren. Amren said that shitty line to her and then lied to her and manipulated her and used her to further Rhys’s agenda. She flopped from telling Feyre that Nesta is immortal and a few years are nothing, and she should be given time. She would not betray her trust, to whatever she turned into in ACOSF. And everyone give SJM a round of pats on the back and an applause for making Amren the wise one here and making Nesta, the traumatized one who was wronged, get on her knees and apologize. I mean- if you thought this apology scene was necessary, then clarification about the fight between them was just as necessary. Or you include neither scene. But deeming the apology important and not the incident? This is some victim blaming on a whole other level.

The House of Wind: The house of wind was honestly one of the best parts of this book. It was Nesta, “Lady Death” as they call her, breathing life into something, and it was gentle, and it was patient, and it was understanding, and it pushed her to be healthier without judging, without throwing insults or slut-shaming. It hated that she didn’t eat? It kept waiting for her until her body gave out and she had to eat. It didn’t like her drinking? It gave her water when she asked for wine. It showed her its darkest part where she found the greatest warmth as well, as if saying don’t be ashamed of your darkness because in it you’ll find light, and it didn’t abandon her or stop responding to her when she was angry. It was actively by her side, without any judgement, only support and pushing her to fix the behaviours without dissing her. and it was everything those people around her weren’t. It was family.

Gwyn: their first meeting wasn’t at all what you would call “friendly”, to a fault by Nesta. Gwyn didn’t even know anything about Nesta, yet she didn’t react with even more anger as ~others~ did, she didn’t fear Nesta, or give a retort, or get angry and lash out at her. She took the blow and was, with all the calm in the world, like fine, you want to tell on me, go tell. And Nesta did go tell on her, then realized by herself how she acted rashly. And later helped Gwyn without being asked to, by swapping the book so Merrill doesn’t scold her. And their friendship grew to the point where Gwyn, a traumatized person who couldn’t dare leave the library, started training with her, was her friend and had conversations with her that didn’t center her trauma or her coping mechanisms being analyzed. She went out of the library for the first time in 2 years when she knew Nesta needed her by her side. She occupied her mind with stories of Valkyries, women being strong and unyielding in a society which didn’t allow it. She took her hand and gave her a purpose in life to work for. Gave her a friend who didn’t judge, a kind face in the maelstorm of judgemental faces. Until she felt like a safe space to Nesta to the point where she spilled all her thoughts, the ones she could only admit to herself, to Gwyn, letting her inside those walls. And when she braced for judgement, she didn’t receive it. Gwyn dealing with someone’s trauma, as someone who’s been through trauma herself, is one of the beautiful corners of this book

Emerie: Another woman with trauma. She sees Nesta enter her store, of course she knows who she is, yet she doesn’t judge her. Nesta asks about making the fatigues warmer, Emerie says she’ll ask, but it’s costly. Nesta says then she can’t afford it, admits that she was cut off, Emerie, as a stranger, doesn’t judge her. She says she could make them anyway and she can pay her as she can. Because no one should feel cold. It’s simple, irrelevant. Nesta wouldn’t freeze to death, she as a stranger has no obligation to help, it’s a simple reasoning. “You shouldn’t feel cold”. It’s enough for her to help Nesta. Something as mundane as feeling cold. She asks her to join her for a meal. And Nesta asks her if she would join the training, which Emerie refuses. and Nesta blurts out that she didn’t take her for a coward. And later, Nesta sends her the herbs she wishes to get which she can’t get often because of her location, and it’s a message of “you too deserve to see what’s best in the world, to go out and experience the beautiful parts and live, not just exist”. So Emerie goes to training with her as well, and they bond over romance novels. Emerie also reaches a point where she opens up about her own trauma, and tells the truth about what she faced and her survival. This girl who is 50-something at least, who has never had friends, living a lonely secluded life, finally found someone who was trustworthy enough to be around and form a bond with. As for the fact that she is a PoC, and the illyrians are portrayed as this group of savages who abuse their women and their women have no say in their lives and futures and how they clip their women’s wings, when wings, wingspan and wingplay heavily imply that wings are erogenous parts of the body and wing clipping seems to be the equivalent of Circumcision, which again so happens to be done by the “PoC savages who abuse their women”, hits a whole lot as fucking racist and xenophobic. PoC deserve a storyline where they’re not viewed as the villains.

Azriel: I loved his relationship with Nesta. He was the best chaperon™️, he never spoke in judgement toward her. There was a silent understanding between them. However, I’m not against him showing his feelings toward Elain or her toward him. It’s fine, if that’s what they both want. I don’t think Lucien is the type to call for a blood duel. He simply brings her presents and attends when invited, he doesn’t force himself on her and keeps his distance. However I did hate that Azriel took the necklace and gave it to Gwyn, as a secondhand. I know his only intention was to make her smile but the necklace wasn’t meant for her. It’s not a trial by error, he can’t just keep trying out with different women every time he fails with one. And I’ll just leave this here.

The elephant in the room: the entire IC is involved in this, them all blaming Nesta, framing her as the wrong person, when she told Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy? I don’t care if she did it while she was angry, her heart was in the right place. She got hurt from them deciding her fate without her involvement, voting on her, not once, but twice, about her fate because she wasn’t fast enough to deal with her trauma, then again when deciding if she should know about what she did with her own power and the weapons. and she showed Feyre what was really at play. Protecting her from what she faced with the Inner Circle. Just because she was angry while doing it does not mean she did it out of spite. She did it to expose them, specially Amren at that point. But I don’t get how it was twisted to “because she wanted to hurt Feyre”. She wasn’t even angry at Feyre. But you all would rather suck up to the Inner Circle than confront the fact that they’re hypocrites and liars with a propaganda. They’re evil. They fear Nesta using her power to seize control of everyone because it’s how THEY are. With all this High King crap. Basically colonization dreams. With how they press rank whenever it suits them, and lie about the law to win arguments. It’s because those who are inherently bad think everyone is bad just like them.

Other Elephants in the room which have been here a long time: the thing with blaming Nesta for not being the breadwinner… I could never get it. Some have money-earning skills, others don’t. She, at the point of her life when she was human, was only trained in dancing and appealing to men socially so she could uplift the family’s social status. She couldn’t hunt. Feyre could. And NEITHER, should’ve been the breadwinner. Nesta was willing to starve to death if it would push her father to do something. Feyre wasn’t willing to wait and starve or watch anyone starve. But it doesn’t mean Nesta was at fault. She was only 3 years older than Feyre. Let’s leave the “the oldest child has to step in for the parents when the parents fail” mentality in the past. It’s ridiculous. Nesta was under no obligation to be the breadwinner. And she suffered self-flagellation regularly for letting Feyre walk out there and hunt. But she literally had no skills that when she thought of something to do, she could only think of selling herself on the streets. The parents were abusive, both of them. Favoring one child over the other and planting rivalry between the siblings. “i love you” means nothing. NOTHING, when there is no action to prove it. And if anything, this book made me realize that Nesta was never okay. She was never in a good place mentally. I mean, I knew, but this book just proved it. Her mother favored her alright, but it was not in a loving way. She simply exploited her to climb the social ladder. She didn’t give her love, she gave her instructions. She enabled the grandmother to beat her, and instill some “harsher punishments” one of which Nesta still holds the scars for. She was called worthless, as a child. Why? Because she made a wrong step in a dance. She was physically and verbally abused, and her mother let it happen. Yet she was the only one who would give Nesta the time of day so Nesta still loved her. As a child, her mother was the only person who showed interest in her and she clung to. However twisted it was, it’s the only love she ever got. The only love she knew. Then she lost her. and later the family also lost their wealth. So all she was taught to do her entire life suddenly became meaningless because she can’t achieve what her mother “trained” her to do. And we know the rest of the story. She never felt at home, not even when her mother lived and she still had that wealth. She admitted as much. She was never fine. She might’ve appeared the part, but it was never true. And since she was so good at masking her emotions, nobody was the wiser.

side note: As for her power being the “bare minimum” now, there better not be a plothole, since Rhysand couldn’t contain merely the “surface of her power” because it was too much. and if that’s all she retained, then it’s good enough for me.

[atomicblasphemy]

Can’t promise this will make sense.

But I think I’ve seen people theorize this lovely enormous andominous guy is in fact not King’s dad:

And I’m inclined to agree. I mean, Lilith does mention the island King was hatched at was ancient. So odds are he was being incubated for quite a minute and, when the time was right (which may or may not have something do with that sky window thingy or Emperor Phil’s meddling with the island innate magic), he finally hatched.

Moreover, whatever magic is used to cloak that wee island, to produce King sonic rainboom, or to animate Jean-Luc is probably of a different source to that elemental one harnessed by demons and witches from the Boiling Isles since Hooty was unable to pin down what type of demon King was, suggesting he may not even be one. (Also, on a bit of a tangent I just think that’d play nicely with the contrast between Emperor Phil’s bri’ishness and King’s more francophone tendencies).

Lastly, the carvings, the plant life, of the that Island, the fort’s architecture, the writing system, and the very fact that they managed to build what’s probably the most sophisticated bunker in any dimension would in my eyes point  to two things: one, whatever civilization made the island was powerful, foreign, and is long gone; and whoever King’s dad was he was important enough a figure to justify a lot of resources being used to protect his son. And you know how monarchies are: the king is dead, long live the King. Also, we know next to nothing about the world beyond the Boiling Isles other than Eda telling the Selkidomus to hide further into sea and the fact that the Emipre has some form of navy (be it it a military of commercial one, in either case this suggest the existence of other nation with whom to wage war or engage in trade).

Now, I know, essentially, this brings nothing new to the table. But there’s to things I’d like to point which might do just that.

First and weaker evidence:

This looks like a place that has a similar origin to the Boiling Isles, but not really it.

The reason why this can hardly be called evidence is simple though: Eda was undergoing a very bad acid trip when this happened. So while that whole sequence offers a lot of insight into her psyche, that’s all you can take from highs. Everything else there has a very blurry relation with reality. I mean, I’m not even sure that figure people thought was Amity is really someone from Eda’s past or just a way her mind found to cope with the trauma from years of persecution by a fascist state on account of factors way beyond her control.

Regardless, if this is a real place (and consequently faux-Amity a real person), this would mean confirmation that lands other than the Boiling Isles do indeed exist, and on top of that would suggest at least one candidate for King’s true place of origin (and possibly of Eda’s curse, after she became Icarus she did turn into that suspicious looking scroll after all). Hopefully though, the show won’t really focus on that. I mean, just look at how the show sidelined Willow this season then just imagine what the sheer amount of lore this would imply would do, especially considering how short the run time ahead of us is.

But hey, I don’t even know why I’m speculating on all this and seeing how given what we know pretty much all bets are off... so you know... no harm, no foul.

Anyhow. as I briefly mentioned before whoever the lovely guy (fig. 1) is, he seems pretty huge. And that’s actually quite important. Because there is one physically big (to fit her big heart ofc) with a very unclear backstory that the show seems to bring up only when strictly necessary. This lovely gal:

The one on the left.

The reason why I point this out is: I like her and want to see more of her; her backstory was left deliberately hanging after her second appearance; what we do know about her is that she was part of the “staff of a giant” some thousands of years ago; she’s takes care of palismen which put her in a collision course with Emperor Phil; I like her and want to see more of her.

Now, those second and third points are important because as previously stated that guy (fig. 1) is buff. And so was that other figure portray on King’s forts walls. Maybe enough to call them giants (we don’t know what their growth limit is), but not so much to be a Titan. If there’s really a kinship relationship between them and King, then we should probably expect him to undergo a growth spurt, maybe not one of continental proportions, but still a growth spurt.

Anyway, not only that, but Luz (the one on the right in fig. 3) did offer to help Bat Queen find out more about her past, and the offer probably still stands. Meaning that the show writers have this avenue open, and if she really was King’s dad’s palisman then that make her the most poised one to give him the insight he needs on his past (and that his dad is, most likely, long gone, making his story pretty much like Luz’s and Eda’s in the sense it could be described as learning to accept what you can’t, change what you can and from that forge a self you can actually like). Not only that, but this would make her have a deeper connection with Luz’s camp against Emperor Phil, giving her chance to avenge all the palismen he ate over the years (which as of now she’s probably not aware of).

Also, if all of that is the case and King’s civilization is as ancient as Lilith suggested that’d probably mean she is among the oldest palismen out there if not the oldest, which could offer a solution to the palistrom wood shortage problem. And it would also raise the possibility of King’s dad being the inventor of palismen or something along those lines, not sure what that’d entail and I’m into way too esoteric territory to comfort. 

But on a mostly unrelated note and seeing how I’m taking a few hours to aimlessly speculate: Luz’s palisman. I’ve seen people suggesting she’d pick all sorts of different animals from bats to blue cardinals.

I just think she won’t really get a palisman at all. She will get a staff though, Hunter’s artificial one to be exact.

Here’s the thing, getting a palisman and the accompanying staff is kinda painted as this whole rite of passage from witchling to witchhood so to speak. Meaning that from that point on they are a witch, a part of the Isles. A huge commitment for a human to make, and her character’s  whole subtext thus far this season has been a balancing act between her human past and her magical future, culminating in the promise she makes to Camila.

That’s why the Bat Queen (fig. 3) calls her out on her insecure, tentative response when pushed to state her purpose to the potential palismen - even if covered by her usual upbeat presentation (that girl’s mind is a storm right now, poor child). In other words, for good reason, she sees getting a palisman as too much of a commitment, implying certain sacrifices (her link with the human world) she is not ready to make. 

On the other hand, she found in the Boiling Isles everything she was missing in the human realm. She was accepted there, she has a family, friends, and a girlfriend now, all of whom see her as a cherished part of their lives as much as they are of hers. She belongs in the Isles, she belongs in the human realm, and those two are on equal measure to her.

That’s a pretty tough place for some who just started learning who she is - I mean, she is 14 after all. And as of the place that the show left after Yesterday’s Lie, there’s really nowhere she can say to her self that she belongs to.

However, since we are apparently getting a Hunter redemption either way because that’s what popular media is now, every story has a quota of redemption arcs to fill (preferably of officials of monstrous regimes, but i digress) him and Luz could form a sort of parallel. If, as certain sects of the fandom believes, he is a clone of Emperor Phil’s brother (Bob, that’s his name), that’d make them along with Phil himself the characters with the closest connection to the human. Phil is the one pulling the strings so I can’t really tell what  the parallels there would be other than some kind of “what if Luz had less of a moral center to her”. That’s not the interesting parallel though.

By the way, obviously, this whole word soup’s validity depends on the Emperor being either Phil, Bob, or some derivation. I know the show hasn’t made it quite canon just yet but I mean, come on, they’ve been throwing so many bones at this theory that we could build a skeleton army.

You see, Hunter’s staff is great symbol of the relationship he has with Phil. Something that symbolizes that, the way things are, seeing how he is a magicless witch in magicful world, his only way to truly be a part of the world and of society, the only way he can have a sense of belonging is through Phil, it is through the magic he provides via the staff’s artificial magic.

Moreover, if Phil being human ever comes out, and that Hunter is Bob’s clone, then Hunter would have this delightfully existential question to answer: “Who the fuck am I then?”

Essentially, he’ll be in a similar mind space as Luz buuuut their ways out of that are opposite. In order to make a self for himself the first thing he has to do is to sever his connection with Phil and reaffirm what he wants to do with his life (wild magic). And now he has the means to do just that, he has a staff and a palisman (made of wild magic) of his own, he doesn’t necessarily needs the artificial one anymore. A way he can cut that connection is by giving his old staff to Luz.

From Luz’s point of view that would solve her own existential problem, this staff, made with artificial magic - thus suiting the existence of a human in this magical world - would allow her to either/or conundrum: she can be a witch AND a human. She hasn’t gone through that rite of passage, so she didn’t forgo her humanity (in a metaphorical sense, of course). But she was given, from possibly her biggest enemy, tangible proof that she has a place in the Isle, not by birth, but because she made one for herself through the relationships and bonds she formed, through the way she changed people’s lives just being there and being herself. It isn’t a complete solution, but it is a compromise between those too sides of her being

That leaves that piece of palistrom wood Eda gave Luz out of the equation. What the show would try to do with it is anyone’s guess. But I think something along the lines of “Willow finds out a way to replenish the palistrom wood forests, she needs Luz’s branch to do it, Luz gives it to her out of a sense of moral obligation but is torn about it since she feels she’s giving up her chance at having a staff” would be pretty neat. You know, building up a bit of dramatic tension and whatnot.

Anyway, that’s it. Word soup’s over.

[fragileizywriting]

New fic is out for this AU!

pairing: Cat!Marinette / Ladybug!Adrien (Lady Noire / Misterbug) word count: 3,247 chapter: 1/1 rating: G summary: “You make me feel safe and wanted.” “You are wanted, little kitty.” “You know what I meant.” “I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.” AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

“Kitty?”

“My mom.” It’s all Lady Noire can reply through all of her sniffles. She curls up tighter into a ball on the couch, pinching her eyes shut to the point it hurts, curling up her arms and legs and tail and head so that she becomes a single black smudge on the couch. A stain. Just simply a stain. “My mom. Always my mom. It was my mom again.”

Her head hurts. It’s foggy and full of cotton, so stuffy from everything. She’s grateful for the shade in his room that gets darker and darker as the minutes tick by, casting the space in total darkness, so that way he doesn’t have to see how miserable she is.

It must be horrible to have to live with an east-facing window. Her plants would love it. Her eyes, though, not so much.

She grabs for a decorative couch pillow above her head, swiping it and hiding her face, giving her even a bit of reprieve from the light.

Adrien sits down in front of her on the couch. She hears the noise of his pajama pants crinkling as he sits cross-legged on the rug underneath the coffee table, hears how he drums his fingers on his thighs, and hears how slow and steady his heartbeat is. He’s always so steady. Always so firm and anchoring to her. Even if the world continues in its attempt to rock her boat and tip her over and submerge her. Adrien always holds on for her when she’s too tired and too scared and too lonely to do so. “I’m sorry, kitty.”

“Her idea of comforting me is by telling me to be stronger. Whatever it is.”

He pauses. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“It— it doesn’t matter. What I was upset about in the beginning is gone— I’m more upset at my mom now. Tell me how your day was first.” Because it’s always better to ask first about others than talk about her own problems. She doesn’t want to think about it for so long. If there’s any chance of forgetting about it, even for a little while, she’ll be happy.

And Adrien knows this. He knows this, because he knows her, and knows that her changing the subject is a cry for help. A flag upside down, calling out in distress. She’s sinking. It hurts. She’s injured. It shows. The silence is enough to make her remember the turbulent storms that made her cry in the first place, causing her to coil tighter, causing her to coil smaller, all in an attempt to get rid of the noise in her head.

He puts his hand on her head.

The hand at her scalp is soothing, and still damp from the shower— her lashes flutter when he gets a purr out of her, even if it’s a little watery. “My day was okay.”

“What did you do today?”

“I had school,” he shrugs a bit, jostling the hand that pets the soft parts of her ears. She knows about school. She’d spent the entire day boring a giant hole at the back of his head, chewing on her tongue like it was personally causing her grief, doing her utmost best like she always does to not accidentally tell Adrien that she’s the superhero that vaults through his bedroom window every afternoon. “Nothing, really. No extracurriculars for me today, either.”

She knows that, too.

She’d asked him at school.

He’d managed to stammer out a whole sentence to her today. To Marinette today.

He doesn’t have a problem talking to Lady Noire. But Marinette is an obstacle that he genuinely can’t conquer, no matter how many times she tries.

“I just came home and did homework and went to take a shower and suddenly…”

“And suddenly I’m here crying into your couch. I’m sorry,” she tries to fill in the gaps when he struggles on what to say next. “I’m always showing up with some kind of problem, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind. You know I don’t. I love taking care of you— you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

She does. Of course she does. That’s why it hurts so much.

“Some hero of Paris I am, huh?” Oh, she sounds bitter. “Showing up at a civilian’s house crying about personal life?”

“Hey,” he whispers, with something stern in his voice. “Stop that. Don’t talk like that— that’s not nice to yourself. You know you’re allowed to have problems outside of fighting Hawkmoth.”

And that’s it, really. That’s what gets another round of tears to freefall down her cheeks, but they come out sideways because she’s laying on her side— she can’t feel the tears track down on her black hexleather mask, but she knows she’s crying. She knows there are tears sloping across the bridge of her nose and joining with the tear pattern from her other eye, because she can feel how wet the whisps of her baby hairs feel against her ear when the tears finally get there. “I wish I didn’t have this.”

“Oh, kitty— I’m so sorry—”

“My mom just wants what’s best for me,” she feels herself get smaller and smaller, hiccuping hard enough for her to jump. Will she disappear? She wants to. Can she? Will Adrien let her? Probably not. He has a habit of wanting her to be happy, even when she wants to do nothing but disappear forever. “But we get into arguments about what that is all the time.”

“I know.”

“How I should be trying harder in school.”

“Yeah.”

“How I should”—she pauses, trying to think of something, anything, to fill in the gaps—“be trying harder to balance my civilian life and superhero duties.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, kitty.”

“How I need to be better. How I need to stop crying. How I need to do everything except what I’m doing now, because it isn’t enough.”

“Kitty…”

“She wants me to succeed, but instead of comforting me, she keeps adding more stress onto my shoulders by telling me how I should be dealing with my problems instead. And it hurts. And it’s painful. And I’m lonely. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“You have something you can do. You can stay right here with me. You can stay right here until it feels better. All of it. Everything.”

“It’s hard being a superhero,” she whispers. What an understatement of a lifetime. What does she choose to talk about first? What does she pick to say? “I don’t know how Mister Bug does it without breaking down.”

“Maybe he does. Maybe he struggles just as much as you do.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine that. Do you think he’s okay?”

“Well, he’s just a human. Just like you are. He has problems too, doesn’t he?”

“I can’t picture Mister Bug having problems. I should ask him.”

“I don’t think you need to,” Adrien shrugs. “I think he already knows how much you care about him.”

“Then, should I be going to him and telling him what’s wrong? Do you think he’s upset, knowing that I choose to talk to someone else about my problems?”

“I think he’s happy that you have someone you trust,” he whispers, damp fingers tracing the shell of her hexleather ears. She can’t feel it like her normal skin, because it’s a magical suit, but the little triangles at the top of her head twitch as if they’re sensitive to touch. “I think it makes him feel content, knowing that you go to someone you like and talk about your issues instead of bottling them up.”

“Love,” she corrects. “Everyone knows that I love you.”

“Love,” he repeats back to her with a smile. “Right. Yes. I think it makes him feel good, knowing you go to talk to someone you love about your problems.”

“The whole world knows, you know. Even Hawkmoth knows that you’re my best friend. People talk about it on social media all the time. We’re a pair. We’re a duo. We’re a matching set.”

If only people knew just how close the two of them actually are. Selfies taken on the street when either of them finds each other, pretending to act like simply a celebrity finding another celebrity on the streets of Paris, instead of being two best friends.

“We’re a team,” he whispers.

“Team shark.”

“Exactly,” he talks even softer. “We’re a team, little kitty. You and me.”

“Because no jaw is too strong,” she replies.

“No smile is too full of teeth,” oh, there’s a smile in his voice.

“And no mouth is too wide to keep me away from you. Never. No Akuma. No Lady Noire’s mother. No stupid photoshoots that they pencil you in at the last minute. No world-ending apocalypse that Mister Bug and I have to fix every month. Nothing will keep me from you.” They settle into a silence that is only partially filled with her sniffles and the occasional wipe of her mask with the back of her hand. It’s a shame she can’t feel his fingers on her back, following the lines of her spine like she knows he’s doing— but it’s the sacrifice she pays up in order to stay protected from Akuma battles.

“Nothing will keep me from you, either. No nightmares, no Akuma, no fangirls that drive me crazy.”

She listens to the silence, opening her eyes to the darkening room, watching the sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows start to orange and purple. It’s such a pretty sight, watching those clouds drift lazily by as Paris turns into a sight reminiscent of a dream. No wonder he doesn’t draw the curtains closed. Or maybe he just wants his room accessible to her at all times. “You know, sunshine, my uncle said that if I bottle up too many emotions I might start to break things.”

His eyes look like stars, looking at her in alarm and worry. “Like, you’re going to get violent?”

“No! No. Never. Not really. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Oh. Wait, then I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It wouldn’t be my choice. It would be just like a misfire of my powers.”

“A misfire?”

“It’s kind of like a protection, or a last-resort. When I’m so stressed out that my body just goes into self-preservation, making sure that it’s impossible to take my miraculous ring in case I’m indisposed.”

“Oh. I never knew this.”

“It’s to stop me from getting Akumatized.” As if the explanation makes this any better. “But it’s still not a good thing. Self-preservation is a pretty selfish thing to happen.”

“What”—she watches him lick his lips, as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully—“what does it look like?”

“How do I explain this— it’s kind of like— uhm. Do you remember that movie we watched?”

“We watch many movies together,” he snorts, scrunching his nose into something silly when she cracks a smile.

“Come on. The one with the wizard.”

“Do you know how little that narrows it down?”

“The one with the demon.”

“Oh boy. Remind me not to join any charades groups with you— we’d lose every round.” The two of them snicker at each other.

“Okay, it’s the one where the woman who falls in love with—” she pauses. “A guy.”

“Wait a minute. What were you going to say?”

“Just some guy.”

He narrows his eyes. “Some guy you really like.”

“He’s okay.”

“What’s his name?”

She twiddles her thumbs. “Howl.”

Recognition sparks in those beautiful emerald green eyes of his. “Oh. Oh. The love of your life, yes. I’m aware.”

“He’s not—”

“Yes he is.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t bother lying, little kitty. I know why you love rewatching the movie with me, you little gremlin.”

“The music,” she argues, feeling her cheeks heat under her domino mask. “The atmosphere. The flowers—”

“The magician boys,” Adrien grins. “Howl especially. Admit it. You have a thing for blondes.”

“I— I do not. Anyway,” she tries her hardest not to grin back. If only he knew. If only he knew that she’s not thinking of Mister Bug when he says that. “Shut up. Stop looking at me. Stop it.”

“Am I right? Am I?”

“You’re harassing me.”

“It’s not harassment, it’s endearingly interrogating.”

“I’m moving on! I’m moving on from this topic!” She paws at him when his mouth twitches hard, trying to keep his laughter out. “Do you remember when Howl got so upset that his hair changed color?”

“And there was goo coming off the walls?”

“Yeah! Exactly! The room was shifting super weird and goo was dripping everywhere? Something similar happens with the black cat miraculous when they’re super upset.”

“Similar? Or do you actually make goo?”

“Just similar. I’m not a gooer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise, I’m goo free.”

“How free of goo are you?”

“Pretty gooless.”

“I don’t want to see you all gooey,” he ducks his head, smiling at her with a quirk of his mouth like he always does when he’s teasing. “I don’t ever want to see that happen. Ever. And it’s not going to happen, because you and I are a team, and team members don’t turn into goopy sludge.”

Does he know how much that means to her? To hear the words out loud that he doesn’t ever want to see her get to the breaking point where her miraculous powers start to drain and create vacuums in the air around her? That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that she never gets to the stage where she breaks windows and concrete and whatever surface it is she’s standing on— whatever object she’s holding?

Her smile is so watery.

So, so watery.

“What? The concept of a jelly Lady Noire too strange for you?”

“Anything that isn’t my kitty in her normal and natural form is too strange for me,” he shares a smile with her, those beautiful green eyes looking at hers. “But don’t worry. If it ever gets to that point where you’re a gelatin, I’ll love you. Even when you’re gooey.”

“Gross.���

“And oozy.”

“Ew.”

“And goopy.”

“Ugh. Why do I sound so disgusting?”

“I’ll love you even if you’ve turned into a slime.”

“Watch out, Hawkmoth. Slime Noire is here. Even though I don’t actually turn into slime physically, I am emotionally. Try taking my miraculous now.” They share laughter hard enough to hurt in the spaces between her ribs. His laughter soothes an itch that is somewhere next to her heart— it’s a warm and gentle balm. She loves him. She loves him so much.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells her when she finally picks up her head from the couch, wiping at her eyes, smiling down at him. He has to crane his head up to look at her from where he is, sitting on the rug, but it doesn’t look like he minds it. “I’m glad you showed up, kitty. It’s lonely without you here.”

“I like coming here.” As if she even has to admit it. As if he doesn’t know. The only reason why she doesn’t stay permanently in this room is because of all the plants she’s populated her room with. And, of course, the whole problem that Adrien doesn’t know her secret identity. Hard to take a shower in a hexleather suit. It’s not like she would be able to move in and be able to use the bathroom. “You make me feel safe and wanted.”

“You are wanted.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.”

“You already make me feel happy. Always.” Oh, she can feel how her cheeks stain harder underneath her hexleather mask. “I know your house is quiet, but— when I’m here with you— it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. Being in my house makes everything so loud. So many cousins asking me to help them. So many aunts and uncles begging me to cover their shifts or go do errands. And my mom—”

Well.

“You don’t have to do any of that here.” He lifts his arms up, offering himself for a hug when she cuts herself off and starts to think about it all over again. She slips off the couch quick enough to startle him, planting a knee at the side of his hip and another between his legs and crushing his broad shoulders into a hug. His fingers find a way through her braid, just like always, massaging a certain spot on her scalp that makes her eyes role and see stars. “You don’t have to do anything. I want you here.”

“You’re just trying to make sure I don’t turn into Goopy Noire.”

“Maybe I like the idea of being able to save the citizens of Paris from a sludge,” he laughs so warmly into her shoulder. “Being a superhero of my own. Who knows. Or maybe I really do care about you, kitty.”

“What a weirdo.” Oh— her voice is cracking.

He doesn’t mention it. “God, I know. Caring about my best friend is so stupid these days.”

“Yeah. Who does that?”

“People who love one another.”

“Wait. Are you admitting you like me?”

“Don’t tell anyone. No one will hire me for modeling gigs if they found out about my secret.”

“You know what? Just because of that, you’ll be the first one to get consumed by my goo.” She dissolves into laughter so hard that the both of them tumble backwards on the rug from how much the both of them shake, grinning at each other like the idiots they are, snickering and poking fun at each other.

“Ew,” Adrien manages to say at some point during their laughter. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s the price to pay.”

“What price? What am I paying for?”

“No idea. But it’s the price you’re going to have to pay,” she wheezes out between snorts, peeling away from their hug just enough to make eye contact.

He can’t see her as well as she can see him. It’s dark now, and it’s way too dark for human eyes to see in his room. She can see him in perfect clarity, of course, because her miraculous allows her to see in the dark as if it were still daytime— so she gives herself the luxury of looking at him without him pulling a face or teasing her.

Just a little snippet.

Just a little indulgence.

Just a little moment that is hers that she won’t share with anyone else.

And yet, it’s as if he knows what she’s thinking about anyway, like he can read her face in this much darkness. His thumb rubs circles on her domino mask, wiping away her tears and her worries and her problems with that smile he only gives her. It’s not his Agreste smile. It’s Adrien’s smile. Toothy and stupid and silly and his— he’s not self conscious about himself in front of her. He never is. “You’re important to me, little kitty.”

“You’re important to me too, Charming,” she wiggles her toes in her boots before tackling him into another hug that makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Always. Every day. Gooey or not.”

AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

[hearts-hunger]

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter three || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one || chapter two

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: Ahsoka gives you a bittersweet gift.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst | Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader

A/N: You got me, I’m a sucker for Din and his bride working through angst together, especially if that angst has a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort mixed in, especially if they get emotional about how much they love their baby. I hope you like it! ♡

You stumbled backwards, both arms wrapped protectively around your baby, eyes wide as you watched Din block swing after swing of the blazing white swords. Each parry sent sparks flying from his beskar; he met his attacker’s downward blow with his vambraces and held them there for a moment, the contact ringing as neither would give way. Din regained his footing and held the swords off with one arm while he activated his flamethrower, and the forest was awash in an angry red blaze. 

He threw his whipcord and bound his attacker, giving you your first real look at the Jedi you’d been tasked to find.

She’s beautiful, you thought foolishly, unable to process how quickly the fight had started. Her skin was the color of candlewick flowers, and the head-tails that draped over her shoulders were dusty blue and white. She looked slightly stunned by the whipcord that confined her, but only for a moment; she gave Din a smirk and leapt upwards. Your shocked gaze followed her as she drew the whipcord over a branch and hoisted Din up by his vambrace. He cut himself loose and drew his blaster as she drew her swords again.

“Ahsoka Tano!” he growled. She stilled at her name, studying him warily.

Din’s shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths, and he held a half-defensive, half-placating hand out to her out to her even as he kept his blaster trained on her.

“Bo-Katan sent me,” he said, and you heard how he struggled to keep his voice calm. “We need to talk.”

They stayed frozen for a moment, each considering the other, perhaps gearing up for another round - then her gaze snagged on you, and the baby in your arms.

She turned off her swords and straightened, her posture relaxing.

“I hope it’s about him,” she said, surprise and genuine interest coloring her voice. Din turned, slowly holstering his blaster; you gave him a pleading look as your baby cooed at the two of them.

She took a few steps towards you, and you reacted in panic; whatever truce she and Din had come to, you didn’t know what her intentions were. Adrenaline and fear still coursed through your body, and you stepped back from her and held your baby closer.

She stopped when she saw your expression.

“Wait,” she said, her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

You looked to Din. She’d just attacked you, out of nowhere, and you couldn’t believe he was so willing to trust her.

“Din,” you said, willing him to understand your hesitation, your fear. You saw from the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t completely at ease with her, but he also hadn’t tried to stop her from coming over to you. What if she tried to take your baby? Your hands shook, and you couldn’t get your heart to stop pounding.

He closed the distance between you, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “It’s alright, cyare.”

“Alright?” you snapped. “She tried to kill you.”

Ahsoka put her hands on her hips. “In my defense, I thought you were coming to kill me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was probably best not to mention the Magistrate’s deal.

She nodded to your baby. “Are you... the little one’s mother?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, more confidently than you’d said anything else in this exchange. You met her gaze and held it, speaking to her not as a warrior, but as a woman and as a mother. 

“I made a vow to protect him,” you said. “And even though we both know I can’t fight you, I will gladly let myself be the last protection he has from you, if I need to.”

You made no mention of your husband, nor of his far superior skill in fighting her if the need arose. You also didn't tell her you were pregnant, which made the act of self-sacrifice a more complicated thing. None of it changed the point you were trying to get across to her: she must be very careful to earn your trust where your son was concerned.

She nodded, her expression serious and sincere. “I know you will,” she said, and there was nothing patronizing in her tone. “I promise you won’t have any reason to. Not from me.”

You saw nothing but honesty in her eyes. For the first time since she’d drawn her swords, you felt your tension and fear ease. You relaxed your hold on your baby, and he reached out to Ahsoka and babbled at her.

“Hello, little one,” she said, and the smile that eased her expression was kind and gentle. She looked over at Din.

“We should head to my camp,” she said. “We don’t want to be caught out here after dark.”

He nodded. “Lead the way.”

You and Din walked beside each other, following a few paces behind Ahsoka as she led you to her camp. His body language was a little reserved, and he kept an uncharacteristic distance between you as you walked.

“Are you angry with me?” he finally asked.

You looked up at him. “No,” you said truthfully. “I’m not angry with you. I’m... sorry if I was a little harsh, earlier. I was just scared.”

“Me too,” he said. He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to try and rush you. She and I came to an agreement when we stopped fighting, without having to talk about it. It’s a little hard to explain. You just sort of... know that you’re not enemies any more. But it was wrong of me to try and force that on you.”

He put his hand to the small of your back as the path steepened. Steadying you, lending you his strength - that came as easy as breathing to your husband, and you felt a sudden rush of gratitude and tenderness at the way he continually showed you his willingness to protect and care for you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He looked down at you. “For what?”

You shrugged. “Everything. Taking care of me. I love you.”

“Oh,” he said, and he affectionately nudged his shoulder against yours, a little bashful. “Well, you’re welcome. I love you too.”

You took his forearm in a gentle grip and raised it to examine his armor. “Did she hurt you?”

He shook his head. “No. Well - ” He rolled his left shoulder. “Dangling from the whipcord isn’t nearly as fun as it looks. But otherwise I’m fine.”

You moved your hand down to his, and he twined your fingers together.

“Your armor was sparking like crazy,” you said. You tried to shake the memory of him bracing his arms together against her death stroke. “Did you know it would hold up like that?”

He shrugged. “It’s sturdy stuff, this beskar. I haven’t met a thing yet that it couldn’t hold up against. I’ve never had to use it against laser swords, but it seemed to do the trick.”

You glanced at the sword hilts strapped to Ahsoka’s waist. “I’ve never seen weapons like those before,” you said. You wondered if she was the only person who used them, or if they were a traditional Jedi weapon. Though you had always known Din would likely teach your son how to fight, that had always been a long way off, and you wondered how young Jedi were when they started training in combat.

“Me either,” Din agreed. “They’re powerful, there’s no doubt about that. I’d be afraid to use one of them, let alone two.”

You smiled. “No you wouldn’t.” Whatever he said, you knew your husband was skilled enough to be effective with a weapon he’d never used before and could become proficient with it if he put his mind to it.

“You can’t fool me, Djarin,” you teased. “You want to try them out, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. It would certainly be an interesting look, wouldn’t it? A Mandalorian with a laser sword?”

You gave a soft laugh. “I think you could pull it off.”

You kept a hold of him as darkness fell; the roots grew more tangled and the fallen logs more numerous as you went deeper into the mountains. For all the times Din had gotten snagged on something earlier, he was much steadier on his feet with the night vision in his HUD. You, on the other hand, felt like you were stumbling over something every other step.

“Dank farrik,” you bit out, grabbing Din’s arm to keep from falling flat on your face. No sooner had you steadied yourself than he swept you off your feet, scooping you up bridal-style and holding you close to his chest. 

“Din!” you squeaked, grabbing onto his shoulder for dear life. The baby giggled at the sudden swing upwards, and your husband gave a warm laugh.

“Relax, cyare,” he said. He gave Ahsoka a nod when she glanced back to see what the commotion was, and you thought you saw a smile on her face as she turned back.

Din kept pace behind her, seemingly no worse for wear with both his wife and baby in his arms. You relaxed and circled one arm around his neck while the other held your baby, who was absolutely delighted to be carried around by both his parents.

“You don’t have to carry me, Din,” you said, amused and affectionate. He was really quite the romantic under that tough exterior, and it had always been something you loved about him.

He hummed in agreement. “I know, but I figure it’s better than you twisting an ankle,” he teased. “And you’re probably tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded. It was very nice to be off of your feet for a moment; you’d been walking all day, and you knew Din must be just as weary of it as you were.

“My camp’s just ahead,” Ahsoka called over her shoulder. Your baby offered her a pleasant babble in response, and you smiled at the sound of Din’s chuckle.

“We sure did get a friendly one, didn’t we?” he asked.

You brushed your fingers over your baby’s ear, feeling an almost impossible amount of love for him when he smiled and cooed at you.

“Yeah, we did,” you agreed. You hoped that no matter what happened - whether he trained under Ahsoka or another Jedi, or stayed with you and Din - nothing would dim your little one’s bubbly and inquisitive personality.

As promised, you arrived at Ahsoka’s camp before long. Din set you down as she turned on her lantern, the warm golden light spilling over the ground in a small circle. You let your baby down to stretch his legs, and he toddled over to the lamp and greeted it with a curious babble.

A shiver took you by surprise, and you rubbed your hands over your arms as you realized how cool the night air was. You saw Ahsoka fasten her cloak over her shoulders and wished you’d thought to bring something; it had been warm when you left the Crest, and you didn’t know you’d be trekking through the mountains after you left the city.

“Here, cyare,” Din said from behind you. He unclasped his cloak and draped it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You snuggled into the warmth that enveloped you and gave him a grateful smile. “Much better. Thank you.”

Ahsoka perched on one of the small boulders near the lamp, watching your little one with a smile. You were unexpectedly endeared to the way she watched him with such obvious affection; though part of you wasn’t surprised, as your baby charmed everyone he met, you also hadn’t ventured to hope that she would even like him. You didn’t know how you felt about it; it would be much easier to justify not leaving him with her if she was unkind to him.

You watched as your baby clambered up onto the rock across from her; he sat still, uncharacteristic for your usually energetic and adventurous little one, and cooed up at her. He cocked his head and gestured with his little claws, something that still made you smile even if you’d seen him do a hundred times. 

“Look, Din,” you said. You nodded to your baby. “It’s almost like they’re talking.”

He watched them for a few moments; Ahsoka certainly seemed to be nodding in response to your baby’s gestures, but didn’t everyone do that to a baby? You were a little surprised when Din pulled you aside a few paces.

“What?” you asked, your voice low. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment; you put a hand on his arm.

“Talk to me,” you said. “What is it?”

He looked over at your baby, then back at you. His shoulders were tense, and you wish you knew the reason for his discomfort.

“What if they are speaking?” he asked. “What if... it’s some language only Jedi speak? What if that’s the only way he communicates?”

You frowned. “He’s only a baby, Din,” you reminded him. “He’ll learn Basic. He’s just little, that’s all.”

He gestured over to the two of them. “But what is that? It’s not Basic, and it’s not just baby talk. He’s saying something to her, and she understands it.”

You looked back over at them. You had thought there was something different, more intentional about your baby’s gestures and coos as he sat with Ahsoka, but you’d dismissed the idea as quickly as it occurred to you. With Din’s concern, though, it came back in full force - were they speaking? Could Ahsoka understand your child in a way even you couldn't?

The thought made you pale with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite identify. Grief, guilt, and sadness were among them, and something even a little like jealousy. 

“They can’t be,” you said, even as it became clear that they were. “He’s not - he can’t...”

You and Din had been interacting with your little one every day, talking to him like you would a human baby. Had he been trying to speak to you, and you just couldn’t understand him? Had you been parenting him inadequately this whole time, thinking you knew what was best for him?

Your chest tightened. How could you know what was best for him? You and Din weren’t Jedi. It was why you had been tasked with returning him to them, why you had been looking all over the galaxy for a Jedi - your baby belonged with them.

You looked over at Din, who had started to pace back and forth, agitation rolling off him in waves. You weren’t a pacer, but your discomfort needed somewhere to go; you worried the fabric of his cloak between your fingers, twisting and pulling at the well-loved cloth.

“Have we been doing this all wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t stop pacing. “What do you mean?” he asked, cautiously, as if he knew already.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling closer to tears than you wanted to be. “What if we - ” You shook your head. “What if we’re not what’s best for him, Din?”

That did stop his pacing, but he seemed no less tense. 

“We are,” he said. “Of course we are, cyare. Don’t talk like that. We’ve done the best we can.”

You felt a flash of frustration and guilt. “Isn’t that the problem?”

You thought of your other little one, the one growing inside you. You had considered yourself a decent mother - rough around the edges, perhaps, without your own mother’s help, and capable of making mistakes like everyone else. But with Din’s help, you were trying so hard to be the mother your babies needed - one who taught kindness and virtue, one who protected and cared for them above everything else. And you loved your son, like you already loved this baby you carried. You truly hadn’t considered a misstep of this magnitude, nor the idea that your son would really be better off with the Jedi.

“We can’t even speak to him, Din,” you said desperately. “How many other things are we doing wrong? How many other things am I doing wrong?”

Din read your distress easily and closed the distance between you. He put his hands on your shoulders, something he did when he really wanted you to listen to him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, cyare,” he said. His voice was gentle and firm. “You’ve loved him as your own. You’ve taught him and protected him and loved him like he came from you. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know.”

Your vision blurred in a wash of tears. 

“I knew he didn’t belong with me,” you said quietly. “Deep down, I must have known - I did know, and we were always supposed to bring him to the Jedi. I was never supposed to be his mother.”

His grip on your shoulders tightened.

“No, cyare.” He sounded hurt, heartsick. He released your shoulders; his hands hovered near you, as if unsure how best to comfort you.

“How can I convince you?” he asked. “You’re a wonderful mother, cyar'ika. He belongs with you. He belongs with us. He’s supposed to train with the Jedi, but  - we’re his family. We’ll always be his family, even if we have to let him go.”

You pressed your hands to your face, hiding behind them as a few tears fell. You leaned against his chest, and he gathered you in his arms.

“He’s your baby, cyar’ika,” he said gently, holding you close. “You’re his mother. You took the adoption vow just like I did. He belongs with us.”

You remembered the day you said the adoption vow, both you and your husband repeating the words after the armorer. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - I know your name as my child. Din had explained to you later that adopting a foundling was a very serious thing and a cause for great celebration: a parent and their foundling shared gai bal manda, name and soul. You had kissed your baby then, cradling him in your arms as Din held both of you close, calling him Djarin’ika - little Djarin.

You felt a wave of peace at the memory. He did belong with you. Whatever happened, he was your son, the little one who had made you a clan of three. Your little Djarin.

You took a deep, steadying breath and looked up at your husband.

“He belongs with us,” you said.

Din cradled your face in his hands and rested his helm against your head.

“Yes, cyare. No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are. He’s still our son, and he’ll always belong with us.”

You rested against his touch for a few moments, both of you drawing strength and comfort from each other. You were so thankful for Din, for his kindness and honesty and unwavering love for you and your family.

“Our son is lucky to have you as his father, Din,” you said, holding his wrists in a gentle grip. “Your dad would be very proud of you.”

Din cleared his throat, the sound thick with tears. You pressed closer to him.

“Thank you, cyare,” he managed after a moment. “That means more to me than you know.”

You held him for a moment more, then pulled away just enough to press a kiss to his helmet, right over his cheek. “I love you.”

He released a shaky breath. “I love you too, cyar’ika.”

He held you for the space of a few heartbeats, seeming to collect himself; when he straightened, you could see from his body language how tired he was. The light of the huge moon shone weakly through the clouds and reflected dully off his beskar.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” you asked, looking over at Ahsoka and your baby.

Din shook his head. “I don’t know. I think that’s what we’re about to find out.”

Both of you watched as Ahsoka lifted your baby into her arms, carrying him with one hand and holding the lantern with the other. She made her way over to you, the lantern light swaying gently over the ground; you took Din’s hand in yours and tried to keep yourself from asking the hundreds of questions that ran through your mind.

She set the lantern down and placed your baby on the stone nearest Din. Your baby looked up at his father with a sweet little smile before he looked back at Ahsoka, babbling to her again as she sat across from him.

Din shifted his weight onto the other foot; his impatience, his nervousness, was easy to read.

“Is he speaking?” he asked her. “Can you... understand him?”

Ahsoka tucked her hands under her cloak, considering his question.

“In a way,” she said. She looked up at you. “Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.”

You felt a wild, sudden thrill in your chest like the beating wings of a caged bird.

“Grogu?” both of you asked.

Your baby swung his gaze over to you, his little ears flopping with the movement. He cooed and looked up at you with those big, starry eyes, and you felt a deep ache in your chest.

“Yes,” Ahsoka said. You almost didn’t hear her. “That’s his name.”

Oh.

You couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t think anything. You squeezed Din’s hand, tightly.

“Grogu,” he said again. Gentle, wondering. Your little one looked up at him and gave him a curious coo.

You couldn’t help your beaming smile, then, nor the rush of tears that accompanied it. You knelt in front of him and extended your hand to him; he took hold of your finger and waved it happily.

“Hi, my love,” you said softly, only for him to hear. “My little Grogu.”

His ears perked up and he showed you a toothy grin, and you thought your heart might break with love for him.

“That’s right,” you said, and your voice was wobbly with emotion. You ran your thumb over his fingers. “Your mama loves you, Grogu Djarin.”

He giggled when you pressed a kiss to his head, touching your cheek with his little hand.

You felt Din’s hand on your shoulder; he knelt next to you, but kept his gaze trained on Ahsoka.

“What did he say?” he asked her. “When you were talking?”

You looked up at Ahsoka; her expression was calm and somber.

“He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” she told you. “Many masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the temple.”

You sent a silent thank you to the jate’kara for keeping your little one safe, for whoever had hidden him from those who sought to do him harm.

“Then his memory becomes... dark,” Ahsoka said. “He seemed lost. Alone.”

You wondered how long he had been alone before Din found him. You knew he must have been lost before he came to you, but you didn't like to dwell on it. To know he had been raised with the Jedi and had Masters train him and care for him, only to be taken away so suddenly and left all alone, tracked by bounty hunters and hunted by the Empire - you wished you could protect him from everything that had ever hurt him.

“I’ve only known one other being like this,” Ahsoka said. “A wise Jedi master named Yoda.”

Your baby - Grogu - looked over at her at the Jedi master’s name. She smiled.

“Can he still wield the Force?” she asked.

Din cocked his head. “You mean his powers?”

As much as you wanted to know more about Grogu’s past, you let your husband carry the conversation; your little one was tired, and his head nodded as his eyes fluttered shut. You gathered him into your arms and held him close; he grabbed a fistful of your shirt and snuggled close to you.

“The Force is what gives him his powers,” she explained. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

Din considered this. “I’ve seen him do things I can’t explain. Both of us have.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened, a warning and a comfort.

“Our task was to bring him to a Jedi,” he said.

Ahsoka shook her head. “The Jedi order fell a long time ago.”

“So did the Empire,” Din countered. “Yet it still hunts him. He needs your help.”

She looked at the baby in your arms for a long moment, the barest hints of sorrow and regret lining her face. However long ago the fall of the Jedi order had been, you knew she had not yet healed from the loss.

“Let him sleep,” she said gently. “I’ll test him in the morning.”

She rose, hesitating before she turned away. She looked at the three of you.

“He doesn’t feel lost or alone any more,” she said. “Not with you.”

You knew from her voice that she was telling you the truth. You searched her face, gratitude and sympathy warring as you saw the complicated mix of emotions across her expression.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice tight. “You’ve given us a great gift, Ahsoka. We’re more grateful to you than you know.”

Her smile was genuine, if shadowed by sadness. “You’re welcome.”

You watched her go, her figure enveloped by shadows as she stepped out of the light of the lantern. You wondered if she had any family, if she too had been lost and alone after the Jedi order fell.

You looked down at your baby.

“Grogu,” you said softly, not intending to wake him. It was a good name, fitting for your little one. Grogu of Clan Djarin, sharing name and soul with you and Din.

“Come on, cyare,” your husband said, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He helped you to your feet and held you close for a moment, you and Grogu held safely in the circle of his arms.

“I can’t believe we know his name,” Din said softly. He brushed a finger over his son’s ear. “Grogu. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, ad’ika.”

You swallowed. Your adoption vow meant that much more now that you knew his name. Din tapped his helm against the crown of your head, like a gentle kiss.

“We should try and get some rest,” he said. “I know you didn’t plan on being away from the Crest so long, though. I'm sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’ll be like the old days, right?” you said. You gave him a smile. “You forget I went with you on lots of hunts back then, and we ended up sleeping under the stars more than once.”

He put his hand around your waist and drew you close as he steered you towards a small clearing in the brush. 

“Oh no, cyare,” he said, an edge of teasing to his voice. “I haven’t forgotten those nights.”

You felt your face warm a little despite the cool night air. Back then, when the two of you were newly married and chasing the rush of bounty hunting, you rarely spent your nights under the stars just sleeping. That desire for each other had never dimmed, but becoming parents had cut down on your opportunities to be spontaneous, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such a... risky liaison with your husband.

Din settled himself on the ground, his back propped up against a broad tree trunk. “We should do that again, sometime.”

You curled up next to him, resting against his chest and drawing his cloak around you and your baby. Din put his arms around you slowly ran his hand up and down your arm.

“Do what?” you asked. You hid a yawn behind your hand and leaned your head on his collar. “Start hunting again?”

He hummed in agreement. “Or just fly somewhere and go at each other as many times as we can before we get caught.”

You laughed. “Din,” you chided. You weren’t necessarily opposed to it, but you were less adventurous in that way than you had been back then. You preferred to make love to your husband somewhere you wouldn’t get caught.

He chuckled and drew you closer. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “But, we are going to have a new baby soon. Our chances for something like that are about to be few and far between.”

You hadn’t really though of that - bounty hunting would become more difficult than ever with two babies. Though you had enough credits saved that you didn’t need to hunt now, it was something you would have to work out eventually. But you were already overwhelmed with everything that had happened today; there was no use worrying about your future when you couldn’t do anything to change it right now.

You cuddled closer to your husband for warmth. “Sorgan,” you said.

He gave a soft grunt as he got comfortable. “What about it?”

Despite the darkness, and your back turned to him, you smirked. “You can go at me as many times as you want before we get caught, when we go back to Sorgan.”

“I thought we were going back to Sorgan to have the baby,” he said. His voice was intrigued, though, and you knew you’d piqued his interest.

You gave a half-shrug. “I guess you’ll have to take me back before then,” you said cooly. He would have taken you back regardless, if you asked and he thought it was safe; but you kind of liked the idea of getting back to your more adventurous days, even if it was just in the woods on a backwater planet rather than on a high-adrenaline bounty hunt.

He gave a soft laugh. “Alright, cyare,” he said. “You’ve still got a little shereshoy in you, hm?”

That was a Mandalorian word for living life to the fullest, having a zeal for the enjoyment of each day, no matter what it brought. You and Din had lived like that before Grogu came to be with you, in the traditional way; you still believed you lived it out now, even if it looked different than it had back then. You were a wife and a mother, and you loved it and wanted to do it for the rest of your life. It was a different kind of shereshoy, but one you liked just as much.

A little bit of adventure wouldn’t hurt, though.

“We’ll go back to Sorgan,” he promised. “Sometime before the baby’s born.”

He didn't say whether Grogu would be with you, and you didn’t ask. There’d be plenty of time for working through that with Ahsoka tomorrow, in all its confusion and sadness and worry. For right now, you were together - and that was enough for all of you.

Read chapter four!

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[generallypo]

[   Constellation ’Director of the False Last Act’ is looking at you.   ]

------

dark academia!hsy, yeeee! the white coat is fantastic, but unlike kdj and yjh, she doesn’t really switch up the color scheme. no, her bum-aesthetic purple hoodie does not count. i think she’s super hot. i yell about how much i love her under the cut.

------

yo han sooyoung is actually amazing, incredible, powerful, witty, drop-dead sexy... what makes her so irresistible? let me explain

1) yeah, kdj takes the kdj company to end of the scenarios, but please. how many times does he have to kill himself to get there? not to mention his intentional (and unintentional) kill count? 

sure, he does the job, but damn is he kind of inefficient about it. say what you like about hsy’s methods or personality, but the 1863rd round far surpasses the 1864th in terms of the lives preserved while still managing to take the team to the end.

without the benefit of cheat-like knowledge, skills, and resurrections, hsy almost single-handedly orchestrates the events of the 1863rd round to a satisfying finale. kmw, problematic as he is, survives and becomes an admittedly better person, yjh finds a timeline where he can rest in peace, and the rest of the cast have their eyes set on the hopeful end of all scenarios. all this, while only being HALF of a person (hsy originally split off into two after misusing her avatar ability). do her actions lead to the happiest ending? no. but it’s the one that sacrifices the least and saves the most. for the greater good, in other words. 

hsy may be an intrinsically selfish person, but unlike kdj, she has the ability to grasp the entire picture and avoid tunnel-visioning into a crappier, more convoluted and self-sacrificial solution. ironically, it ends up saving more lives. perks of being a talented writer, i guess. 

and the 1864th hsy emerges as a leader in her own right as well. the epilogue arc shows her assuming roughly the same role as her 1863rd self in kdj’s absence: yjh breaks off from the main group (AND BECOMES A TERRORIST AKFDJDSLKSL HAHAHA) to assume a similarly antagonistic role to the remaining members of kdj company. as a result, she’s the most powerful lawful incarnation remaining, and once more the incarnations circle around her for direction.

2) independent, confident, competent (hot and kinda shameless about it). this woman has the most delightfully unrepentant attitude towards life -- how to defeat the man with the strongest defensive ability without dealing a single blow? summon a horde of your naked dancing clones to terrify his innocent sensibilities, and then cackle at his helplessness. the fact that her sponsor is literally the chuuni-est cringefest in the entire galaxy and she gives no fucks about him is just additional comedic gold. her undisguised disgust for what should otherwise be a highly respected/feared entity is a clear indicator of her supremely dominant position over everyone else, and i admire her consistent irreverence of everyone and everything.

hsy is the only character who can consistently bully kdj, brush off his deflections, and bully him again. 1863rd round hsy gives kdj about 50 migraines in the span of 5 minutes of conversation before confirming her superior wit. jhw comes close, but unfortunately, she actually respects the rat bastard. i wish i could mention yjh, but let’s be real: he -- and just about every existing version of him -- has been whipped for the guy for at least 250+ chapters now. 

hsy, on the other hand, has no regard for anything except herself... man, i respect that so much. what a queen. 

and i won’t lie! i didn’t like her in the first fifty or so chapters. plagiarism? homicide? kind-of-in-general-just-being-an-obstacle-to-kdj’s-plans? yeah, i almost fell into the trap of disliking her purely because she didn’t cave immediately in the grand scheme of kdj’s plotting -- thereby denying me the power rush that came with seeing kdj bulldoze his way through the puny attempts of small fry characters. she’s neither a friend nor a despicable foe, but rather someone who acts independently and in her own self-interest, WITH the ability to thwart major players if need be. aka, the one who frustrated kdj’s plans -- and me -- the most. 

going by my previous isekai/power-fantasy trope experience, i figured she’d get pegged into the sexy-but-sassy harem candidate, or get killed off if that didn’t work out. in hindsight, i’m just pretty fucking dumb, but honestly, i can accept that with gratitude -- 

-- because in fact. the whole ‘she-gets-in-my-way-so-she-either-goes-into-the-harem-or-dies’ trope in light novels/webnovels and the like, is, frankly, misogynistic and boring as hell. i had some admittedly low expectations for ORV, which consequently blasted my ass to the moon and left me there sobbing for 42 years as i mourned my stupidity and paid my respects to its incredible ending and character development. hsy is a particular delight, especially in her meta awareness of these tropes -- blatantly stating she isn’t obligated to kdj for saving her life and declaring the damsel-in-distress cliche as ridiculous, for example. 

and it really is, because suspension bridge effect aside, you’re not gonna want to bang a total shady stranger in the middle of the apocalypse. it’s the little statements of self-awareness, self-worth, and frankness that build up hsy’s charm. as ORV progresses, these little windows of her personality bloom as her presence takes stage center -- and then BAM! you really get to know how strong she is, how hugely capable of love she is, how subtly but wonderfully she expresses it, how she leads and protects those close to her, and how damn good she is at it. hsy is amazing. we stan an iconic queen -- no, black flameS EMPRESS. *kneeling*.

3) writes an entire EPIC, just to keep one lonely, broken fifteen-year-old alive. like. at that point in ORV, i knew. i knew. hsy is the fucking GOAT. seeing her spend the rest of her life on WOS, making sure it reaches completion because it’s the only thing that will sustain kdj until the advent of the scenarios... that hits too hard. inadvertently, it also damns the rest of the world to the terror and tragedy that the star stream brings.. but that’s the call she makes in order to save kdj’s life. 

obviously, there’s no precise beginning to the timelines -- ORV is so neatly crafted in its cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader -- but i’d have to argue that hsy holds the greatest power in the trinity. creating the existence known as ‘yoo joonghyuk’ and granting life-changing hope to an otherwise forgotten boy.. is pretty powerful. yjh, for the most part, is a slave to the scenarios (until he breaks free in the 1863rd and 1864th rounds, in particular), while kdj (unwittingly) admits it himself: he’s truly the most powerless god in existence. i forget exactly where he mentions it, but it’s in response to lgy’s reverent commentary that, with all his knowledge and presumed confidence, kdj seems like the protagonist of story or a god to him. kdj’s inner monologue, of course, is appropriately self-deprecating and scarily accurate.

in a lot of ways, WOS -- and ORV itself, really -- is a love letter to readers. it’s a two-way connection, writer and reader, between someone who creates with all their passions and someone who consumes and responds with equally sincere feelings. Ways Of Survival -- the story of a man who defied death and grief and great powers far beyond his being -- is a fictional guide to surviving in a ruined world. but to a battered, bullied, and ostracized boy, it’s not just escapism, or wish fulfilment anymore. WOS is the map to navigating the hell of his reality. there’s a certain power in the right words being spoken -- or in this case, written -- at the right time, even if it’s only for the temporary burst of endorphins upon reading an especially delightful chapter. even if it’s forgotten the next day, you’ve managed to connect. you’ve touched another person’s heart. you made them think about questions they’ve never considered before; maybe, you made them smile. 

what can i say but the honest truth? ORV, without a shadow of doubt, has most certainly reached me. i’m a goner for this story and its excellent characters -- long, long gone. something has changed, something that wasn’t there the previous day. 

the mark has been made on the reader -- small as it is, it’s irrevocable. behold, in all of its little magnificence: the power of a writer, and their story.

[marvelyningreen]

Even If it Changes Nothing

[Summary: Erik Lehnsherr isn’t the same man he was in his youth. It may be too late for it to do any good, but there’s someone he needs to apologize to.

Notes: XCU, canon characters only]

Erik took a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. After everything he’d seen, after everything he’d done, this was what put his stomach in knots.

He’s certain that Charles would find the moment terribly amusing. Fortunately for him, Charles wasn’t there. Erik squared his shoulders, and rang the doorbell.

For a moment, all he heard was the quiet sounds of life on the suburban street. Then, from within the house, footsteps crossing the floor. The door swung open, and Erik found himself fixed with an icy glare.

“The hell are you doing here,” said Magda.

Somehow, it wasn’t phrased as a question. Erik knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him. That’s part of the reason he’d turned up on her doorstep unannounced, really. That wasn’t to say that Magda wouldn’t slam the door in his face, of course. She had the backbone, the self-respect, and every right to do just that. But maybe, seeing him face-to-face like this, she’d actually hear him out.

Erik summoned up a smile. “May I come in?”

Magda regarded him silently. The years hadn’t changed her keen, scrutinizing gaze, that much was certain. She sighed, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

“You might as well,” she said. “I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if any of the neighbors recognize you.”

She unlocked the screen door, stepping aside for Erik to let himself in.

Magda was every bit as beautiful as she’d been when Erik knew her, and just as strong and self-possessed. It’s what he’d always admired about her. He gently closed the door behind himself.

“If you’re looking for Peter, he’s not here,” Magda said. “Try the school.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” said Erik. “I just want to talk, Magda.”

Her jaw tightened, and she folded her arms. “You’re gonna turn up here after this many years and call me ‘Magda?’”

Erik blinked. “That’s your real name.”

“And what makes you think you have any right to use it?”

They’d both had too much to drink that night, and between the alcohol and the warmth of their companionship, Erik found himself saying too much. Bits of his history came out – things that he’d never meant to tell anyone about his past, his family, what’d happened to them.

In return, she’d shared a bit of her own history. Her parents were an Eastern European Romani couple, living in Austria. One the eve of the Anschluss, they fled, eventually making their way to America.

But the fear never left them. They hid their heritage, never saying much about their ancestry, never speaking their native tongue outside their house. And, in a bid to protect their child from facing persecution, they decided to westernize their names.

That’s how Erik learned that Mary Maximoff’s true name was Magda Maximov. She’d never told that to anyone else, she’d said. From that night, Erik never once called her ‘Mary’ again. He’d never thought of her as anything but ‘Magda.’

But using that name now… It implied a great deal of familiarity and trust – both things he’d long since forfeited.

“You’re right,” said Erik.

Magda- No. Mary held his gaze for a second as she turned around – a silent, begrudging invitation to follow her further into the house. In the kitchen, she produced a bottle of whiskey. After another long, hard look at Erik, she brought two glasses down from the cabinet, filling them both and pushing one across the counter to him.

That was the closest thing to an olive branch that he was bound to get.

“So? You said you wanted to talk. Now talk.” Mary took a drink.

Erik picked up his glass, contemplated it for a moment, and set it back down.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said.

Mary let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Apologize? For what, leaving me alone as an unwed mother in the 1950’s?”

“I didn’t know-” Erik began, but it sounded like an excuse even to his own ears.

“Of course you didn’t,” said Mary. “You just packed up and left, off on your one-man quest for revenge again. I tried to contact you, you know that? But you did an excellent job of making that impossible.”

He’d gotten a lead on the men he’d been hunting. He didn’t have any time to waste – or so he’d thought at the time. He told himself that he’d always meant to come back. Even then, part of him must have known that it was a lie.

“Are you going to try to tell me it would’ve been different if you’d known about Peter?” Mary asked, raising her chin.

Erik’s gaze drifted to his hands, still resting on the countertop. A family wasn’t part of his plans, not back then.

“That’s what I thought,” Mary said. She took another drink. “You were never one to care about individuals, Erik. All you ever cared about was the big picture, and all your moralizing about tearing it all down and rebuilding a better world.”

It was a painful truth that Erik had tried for many years not to acknowledge. He hadn’t once considered what might’ve become of Mary, or of any other human he’d encountered. The consequences of his actions were simply a byproduct of a higher mission – either necessary sacrifices or too inconsequential to consider.

“I told everyone I was a widow,” Mary continued, “That I’d gone back to my maiden name to avoid painful reminders. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. You were dead to me already.”

He deserved that. Mary cleared her throat, turning her attention to topping off her glass. Erik got the impression that she was saying more than she meant to. Well, if she needed to call him out for his sins, he owed it to her to listen.

“Raising a son on your own,” said Erik, “How did you do it?”

A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. “Luckily, my parents were still alive at the time. They helped me take care of Peter while I went to school to become a nurse. It was hard work, but it let me support us all.”

All. Erik had heard Peter mention a younger sister. He couldn’t help but notice her picture alongside Peter’s – a little red-haired girl named Gwendolyn. Another mouth for Mary to feed on her own.

If things had been different, could this have been his future? A wife, a son, an ordinary life here in America? Would it all have come crashing down around him just the same? Would he have lost them, too?

No, that way lies madness. And in any case, Erik knew himself better than that. Nothing would have deterred him from his goal, not even a loving family. Erik took a slow sip of the whiskey.

“When Peter gained his powers, I was terrified,” Mary said. “Not because he was a mutant. I just didn’t want him to end up like you.”

Not even an attempt to soften the statement. It almost made Erik laugh, but that certainly wouldn’t have helped the situation.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said. “And then, to see him run headlong into danger the way he did. I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt.”

Mary’s bleak expression answered for her. She took another long sip of whiskey.

“For what it’s worth,” said Erik, “And I know it isn’t worth much, coming from me, but… You raised him well. Peter is a good man – selfless and brave. I know he learned that from you.”

In his younger days, Erik was a man consumed by grief and pain and vengeance. He would’ve been a poor excuse for a father, and they both knew it. But that didn’t erase his neglect.

“You know all my explanations already, and all my excuses,” said Erik. “And nothing I say can undo the past. But I owe you this much – to tell you that I am truly sorry for what I’ve done.”

He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“I also wanted you to have his,” he said, holding it out to Mary.

Her eyes narrowed as she took it. “What is it?”

“It’s my contact information. If there’s ever anything you need-”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve assuming that I’d need your help,” Mary interrupted, “Or that I’d even want it.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment at the sharpness of her words.

“I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know. You may tear it up, if you wish. But if there’s anything I can do, if there’s any way I can begin to make up for how I’ve hurt you – please. I want to make amends, if I can.”

Mary’s grip on the paper tightened for a moment. She pursed her lips.

“I heard about what happened. In Poland, I mean,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Erik.”

She looked up again, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the pain and anger were gone. Her expression was simply full of that sincere compassion that first drew him to her those many years ago. The same genuine kindness, even the same name that his beloved wife had possessed.

Erik’s throat tightened.

“Thank you,” he said.

He looked down again, finishing off his whiskey at once.

Once again, someone was being far kinder to him than he deserved. Erik wasn’t sure what he’d expected to feel after this conversation. Closure? He didn’t feel any such thing, and he was certain Mary didn’t either. But maybe – just maybe – there was the beginning of peace.

“I’ll take my leave of you,” he said, setting down the glass.

Mary made no attempt to prevent him from going, and he didn’t expect her to. She followed as he made his way to the door.

“Thank you – for allowing me into your home, and for giving me the chance to apologize.” Erik hesitated, his hand on the door. “May I… May I call you ‘Mary,’ then?”

A faint, exasperated smile crossed her face.

“I suppose I won’t make you call me ‘Ms. Maximoff,’ if that’s what you mean,” she said. “Yes, ‘Mary’ is fine.”

“Alright.” Erik said. “Then, goodbye, Mary.”

He was halfway over the threshold before Mary’s voice stopped him.

“Listen, no matter what’s happened in my life,” she said, “I love my children with all my heart. You’re half the reason that Peter exists. In the grand scheme of things, I guess that counts for something good.”

Erik turned back to her, smiling.

“I may be half the reason he exists,” he said, “But you’re the entire reason he grew up to be a hero.”

It was a little saccharine, but nonetheless true.

“Goodbye, Erik,” Mary said.

Erik closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the day.

[dottiechan]

Tempest (Pt. 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5  

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2177

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking

Summary: Ava’s handler has information that will turn her lengthy mission upside down - along with her heart.

Lady Ashbury’s parlour, London, 1898

“You’re ridiculously torpid this afternoon, Ava.”

The hostess’ words ring clear in her ear and she almost flinches - not like the others can hear them. Nate has taken it upon himself to entertain Lady Ashbury’s guests when Ava turned even more sullen and laconic than she usually would in a setting such as this. Afternoon tea wasn’t exactly her scene after all. Nor was being parted from the private detective in such a hurried, unplanned manner as the invitation that simply could not be refused was thrust upon her this morning by a note from Lady Ashbury. Letters such as that hold no importance to her at all normally. She doesn’t socialise. She doesn’t attend parties, or put on a show for the sake of being thought of as ‘pleasant,’ whatever that is supposed to mean these days.

But it would have been impossible to ignore her handler’s request.

“You said it was urgent, Lady Ashbury.” Ava folds her arms almost petulantly as she gazes out the window, refusing to look at the older vampire clad in a divine tea gown of showy green silk and soft cotton frills.

“Had I known this lengthy assignment would make you so surly, I would have invited you to my gatherings more often.” The sentence passes from the socialite’s parted red lips, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a way Ava can’t help but feel secretly mocked. “Oh, don’t frown like that! Or else we will all die of your ennui. I have great news, great news indeed! But I see no reason why we shouldn’t have an equally pleasant afternoon to ourselves before we talk business.”

“Half of your guests are not even of the Agency,” murmurs Ava, her disapproving glance sweeping over the almost gaudily overdecorated room. Eventually, her eyes settle on Nate serving tea cakes to some of the ladies, all refined charm and long fingers and even longer smiles, and a pang of guilt runs through her when she realises that her old friend is actually enjoying himself, thriving and basking in the plenitude of attention he is showered with. She’s been so absorbed in her love for the detective that she nearly haven’t had enough time for him as of late.

“All previously settled engagements, of course. I’m sure you understand how rude it would have been of me to entreat them not to come,” Ashbury lies fluidly, yet her brown eyes glint with a mocking light that betrays her immediately and on purpose. She delights in the tensing of the muscles in Ava’s jaw.

“Of course.”

“Now don’t be so uncouth, or else I will be the talk of every party and club for the coming weeks about the questionable company I keep,” Catherine Ashbury shakes her head stubbornly, dark locks bouncing defiantly as she links their arms and tugs Ava away from the window. They walk down the long parlour slowly, close enough to the guests that they feel like they’re part of the occasion, and yet far away for their conversation to remain private.

“You’re already the talk of London, Lady Ashbury,” Ava retaliates, almost suavely wrapping her jest in a cloak of concern. “Thirty years you have been here, and thirty years you haven’t aged a day.”

“Some of us are just lucky in that regard, aren’t we?” the hostess grins at Ava. “Unlike these poor ladies here... Or even your private detective. They’re young now, but they’ll whither away soon like roses in the winter. Such a waste. Just like this whole operation has been, if you pardon my frankness. I understand her protection was part of the deal the Agency made with the Police Commissioner, but such a waste of resources this endeavour has been! Our top agents, wasted on the protection of one human. I’ve always appreciated your practical thinking, so I know you must feel the same way as I do. And to be stuck in it for two whole years...! Well, I’m sure you will be relieved to learn the rumours I’ve been hearing lately.”

Ava awakens from her listless silence when Catherine Ashbury ceases to prate about the question of mortality and baits her into enquiring more about the mysterious little sentence she dropped at the end of her speech. She schools her features into an emotionless mask even as her heart begins to fill with uncertainty and fear, painfully aware of Ashbury’s almost predatory gaze fixed on her at all times. “Do they have to do anything with our mission?”

“Would you be intrigued if I said yes?” Catherine asks, red lips curving into a satisfied smile when she notices her quickening pulse. “Alright then. Mind you, these are only rumours, and you didn’t hear them from me... But it is said that the Agency wants to form permanent working units - much like your partnership with Nathaniel, only in teams of four and with greater autonomy than what is usually granted to field agents. I hear the top squad has already been assembled - and utilised. Here, in London. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What could possibly be their objective here?” Ava frowns as they walk slowly, Ashbury leading the way to the small balcony facing a lush park of green fenced in by equally posh buildings as the one they’re in right now. “I haven’t been alerted of any major supernatural activity here, save for the rouge dark elf, of course.”

“Ah, there you go, spoiling the surprise,” Catherine sighs, finally giving up her maddening secrecy as she takes a deep breath, the crisp air chilling her lungs in the most effervescent way. Or is it the anticipation radiating off of her agent in waves as great as ocean tides? It is an exhilarating game, reading others, playing with words and watching the body betray the mind as it answers all questions so truthfully. She is only the temporary handler of the two agents, and has been that for two years straight now, but a sudden recognition manifests in her heart - as difficult and disagreeable and perfectly unpleasant Ava can be sometimes (the very opposite of her companion) she will miss her. She thinks her a remarkable entity, a true novelty among the cheap copies upon copies of women who thoughtlessly sacrifice their truest parts on the altar of hypocrisy and vanity, until no vestige remains of their original self. To know Ava is to face a lot of uncomfortable but all the more truthful feelings - one can decide to despise Ava for it, but the wise learn to look within.

Though Lady Ashbury may not look it, she is old. Older than Ava, and certainly older than youthful, handsome Nathaniel. And she feels old too, the debauchery of her long centuries and the dishonest little games that made up her life ageing her soul prematurely. But when Ava speaks...! When Ava speaks, her throat becomes the well, and her words truth, and she shames mankind in the most delicious way. Like that splendid painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme, La Vérité sortant du puits armée de son martinet pour châtier l’humanité. Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind. A painting she wishes she could procure for herself.

And Ava. A woman Catherine wishes she met when she was still herself.

But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The demise of the rogue dark elf is only part of the rumours circulating in the Agency about Ava’s involvement during her latest assignment. Or about Ava herself, and her career, for that matter.

“Speak plainly, Catherine,” Ava almost pleads, her diplomatic facade slipping up to reveal a shade of fear in the green of her eyes. Ashbury wishes nothing but to descend upon Ava’s connection to the private detective like a vulture until she realises the rumours have more truth to them than even those who maliciously spread it could imagine. She hasn’t a shred of doubt about Du Mortain’s feelings for the human woman now, her initial doubt obliterated by every sign in Ava’s body language as they stand so close to each other on the small balcony overlooking the beautiful Cornwall Gardens. Ava is a clever woman, capable on jobs, willing to take on risks no one else would dare. And more importantly, she is aware of her strengths too - and thus her self-aware nature marks her as superior to all the other humble little agents. She must know what Catherine is about to tell her - with the task forces forming, and the first such group striking in a place none other than London, she must know that it is only a matter of time before the rogue is dealt with. Before she’d be given an assignment and a position befitting someone of her talents.

And here she stands, this brilliant woman in all her glory, terrified of a promotion that would have put a smile on her stern face two years ago.

“As I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” Lady Ashbury resigns, a little sullen at being robbed of her smug pleasure all of a sudden. “But I know for a fact that your current assignment is drawing to a swift conclusion as we speak. And rumour has it, you are destined for greater things once it is over.”

“Greater things,” Ava echoes, her whole being feeling hollow. Around the detective, she forgot about the world, to be honest. And it seems like she is about to pay the price for her two years of blissful ignorance. She always knew the mission would end, and yet in a strange way she didn’t really believe it. It’s like how people know they are mortal, and yet feel so much entitlement to life that when death comes for them, they have the audacity to appear shocked.

Ava has no illusions. This is a goodbye, not an opportunity. Nate may think that bringing in the private detective is a reasonable step, but Ava will do everything in her power to prevent her from learning who she is, what they are, what the last two years have been about. They were never right for each other. She was never right. And if she leaves now, maybe she can draw that conclusion too.

“My dear, everything you’ve done up to this point is in the past now. And it is best to leave a dead thing in the ground.” Catherine’s plummy honeyed words have an admonitory yet sad edge to them. It is a warning about the detective, and what clinging to her could mean to her career, with an undertone of genuine empathy uncharacteristic to Lady Ashbury. She inspects the woman to her right, a dark speck against the grey sky, and feels honest to god sympathy - and emotion she hasn’t felt in decades. Maybe it is good she will no longer be her handler, Ashbury thinks as she lights a cigarette. She felt too many real things ever since Ava came into her perfectly splendid and dull life, tearing apart the walls of hedonism and debauchery she’s built around herself. But that is a goodbye that can wait.

“Congratulations, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”

Catherine watches Ava from the balcony still as she purposefully cuts across the Cornwall Gardens, stomping the prized lawn of the old Mr Thomas Broadwood Junior in the process as that sweet Nathaniel treads on her heels ever so loyally. They must be headed for Cromwell Road which will no doubt have available hansoms for them to hail. Not that they need them, but if they are going to Whitechapel, which she is certain of, they need to travel the old fashioned way for appearance’s sake.

The tea gown is too flimsy for her to stay outside for much longer, so she heads inside, cheer and conversation and the wonderfully lukewarm sensation that only pointless small talk can elicit wrapping her in a blanket of comfort instantly. And Lady Ashbury is finally home.

On the other side of London, a woman is losing the only home she’s ever had in centuries. How many lives can she save if she goes along with the Agency’s plans for her? Surely the detective isn’t worth all that. (She is. Her rationale may deny it, but she knows she is worth all that and more to her. And she ignores it anyway.)

Ava will go on loving her in every following decade, in every language she knows, with every breath she takes. She marries duty, and allows death to make a martyr of her lover left behind. Turn her into her very own memento mori.

And in the end, the agent isn’t completely mistaken - something will indeed claim the private detective’s very soul. But it will not be as serene as eternal sleep, as Ava keeps believing. No, it is not death that claims the detective after all.

Even though sometimes even she wishes it were that simple. That peaceful. That freeing.

But there is no rest for the wicked.

[fuckingdeadbutroyal]

Jasonette July- Soulmate AU- Part 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

!Season 3 spoilers coming right ahead!

A tiny sigh escaped Maris lips as she felt her body filling up with energy. “He ate. I think I’ll be fine in a few”, she told her partner, who was currently swimming next to her. She hadn’t dared to detransform for a day now, knowing that doing so would mean her finally collapsing. The duo hasn’t been wasting time, though. Theyvwere trying to come up with a new plan. Ladybug told him all about her being the new Guardian of the Miraculous, about Chat Blanc and Bunnix. Pointed out how if Bunnix hasn’t turned up yet, that meant that they could handle the situation. Explained why she wouldn’t dare share her identity with him, even though she wanted to, because of how she couldn’t afford to risk him turning into Chat Blanc again. Ladybug told him about her soulmate. Now he finally understood how she had such incredible stamina and... had a hard time agreeing to the two of them staying as nothing more than friends.

Adrien did not disregard their friendship as something unimportant. Knowing that he was Ladybugs best friend and feeling that she was just as well his... best friend, his partner, the person he could rely on the most. It was amazing, unique and so very very important to him.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt, though. He loved her and she liked him, they both knew that. It just was never enough. Not for Adrien.Now was not the time to grieve his broken heart, though. He was used to suppressing his emotions due to Hawkmoths terror. He could keep it together for a little longer.

Now that all their cards were laid out on the table, they were ready to come up with a plan.

“Look. I can’t cast my cure while the akuma is still out there. Creation doesn’t work with destruction working actively against it.”, Ladybug told Chat who, though currently detransformed as Adrien, winced. The word “Destruction” has already intergrated itself as a trigger, setting off a bad reaction in the teenagers mind. Plagg did not like that in the slightest. “Kid, you’ve gotta get it together. Yes I am the god of D-Trigger, but I’m also the God of Chaos and let me tell ya, I can’t sense a hint of chaos on that dusty dirtbag out there.” Adrien smirked, a drained, sarcastical smile forming on his lips. “Are you trying to tell me I have another power you’ve just forgotten to mention?” 

The heroes knew they still weren’t off age and therefore didn’t have access to their full potential. That didn’t stop hope from lighting up in the backs of the duos hearts. They already couldn’t use the other Miraculous power, since all of the previous Miraculous holders were eliminated on day three, due to Hawkmoth already knowing their identities (thanks to what he had done on heroes day two years ago) and him finding the civilian heroes’ hiding places before Ladybug and Chat Noir could even locate their presence in Paris. Searching for new holders was clearly not a good idea. They couldn’t risk throwing someone inexperienced and terrified into a battle they didn’t know how to win yet.

But if Chat could use a new power? 

That would be the element of surprise they needed! Adriens 18th Birthday was just around the corner, there's a chance it could work!

"Nah, he's not in the right condition to try, too young and way too exhausted"

Bye bye little flame of hope.

"But if you were to get some ACTUAL sleep and eat some fucking food? You would totally make it."

"Wait what?", Marinettes eyes were the size of asteroids. They had a chance! She just had to get him to one of those bunkers so he could get some sleep and then..."Then we'll have to go without it. I'm not leaving you alone milady."

Oh, yeah, there was that tiny detail she had forgotten. The two of them were too protective of each other to leave their partner to their own devices and Ladybug entering any building was not an option.The girl let out a frustrated huff, "Cha-" "I understand what you mean, Ladybug.”, Adriens voice was solid and left no room for argument. Batman would have been proud. “But this is not up to debate. I'm not leaving you alone, not while you are in this state nor during any of our battles. It has never ended well in the past and it sure as hell won't end well now."

Plagg' and Maris' annoyed sighs were absolutly identical, which would've made Adrien laugh, if it weren't for their current situation. He knew he was right, though, and he knew she did as well.

Mentally, Marinette was feeling better. Less on edge, more focused. It was surprising to all of them. Of course she still was incredibly tired, even more fatigued than yesterday, which was understandable since she has not slept for about a week now and spent most of her time swinging around Paris, thinking her head off and crying her eyes out while trying to save as many civilians as possible. Nontheless, even though her body was about to shut down, her brain was working at a thousand miles per hour. She knew it was thanks to her soulmate, who was currently fueling the both of them by ingesting loads of energizing substances and getting closer.

Marinette was now certain her soulmate was a man. He was in Paris, in danger and aware of her dependance on him.

Who could he be? How did he get here? Why now? Why hasn’t he ever tried to find her before? 

She didn’t judge him, of couse. Did not expect him to put everything aside just to find her. Who if not Ladybug could understand what it meant to have duties holding you back, chaining you to the ones who claim to love you? (While they only do so because they need her, Marinette believed. Paris didn’t actually love her, no-one cared about her wellbeing unless it was important for their safety. No-one would jump into fire for Ladybug if they wouldn't trust her to sacrifice her sanity to resurrect them. No-one has ever jumped to rescue Marinette in her civilian identity, after all.)

Marinette was spiralling. Memories and repressed emotions suddenly jumping to the surface, reminding her of all the ways she had offered her very self to help anyone in need and receiving nothing in return. She had people who were nice to her, she had friends and family and people who loved her for who she was. Sadly, Mari only just now realised that love wasn't enough. It has never been enough. She would spend many nights awake, working on gifts and projects and helping her friends out or even just simply entertaining them over the phone. What for? Why?!

"Marinette is a saint", her parents would say, "She can do anything." Mari knew that wasn't true. She wasn't almighty. She couldn't even say "No".

That’s where the spiral came to an end. All those thoughts were standing at a cliffs edge, staring down into the abyss right beneath their feet. A tiny step forward, a minimal lean in and she would fall. Where would she go? What would she encounter? Was it okay to do this? Was it okay to change?

For once, Mari felt sure of herself. In a place she would've never thought she'd be, swimming under a god damn Ladybug themed boat in the middle of the Saine. Her mind was clear, certain. She opened her eyes and her mind jumped.

"Well fuck no I can't always do everything.", Mari heard Ladybugs voice, only partly recognizing it as her own.

The black cat duo next to her winced, having been discussing the topic of whether or not Adrien could leave Ladybug alone for a few hours. Not at all have they been expecting the sudden change in the star of their argument.

"Bug...?"

She looked at him, face straight but full of rage. Eyes sharp but full of thought. She didn't need to look around to figure out how to use her lucky charm, instead she had a horrible, unstable and unfinished plan she was absolutely going to follow.

"I have an idea."

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

Hawkmoth was nervous. The akuma was stronger than he had expected and definitely much harder to control. He hasn't yet decided whether or not it was a good idea to akumatize a homeless man, especially considering his educational history in architecture and geography.

It was like the Akuma was thinking, not just feeling like all his previous ones did. It could either mean victory or the literal end of the world. Gabriel was hoping for the first option, of course.

Another reason for his nervous state of mind, were the unexpected members of the justice league, who for whatever reason just now decided to enter the battlefield. He hasn't been expecting them anymore, once the first year of his reign had passed without a droplet of attention from Gotham and the rest of the world. If they've never cared before, why now? Did they suddenly have more free time or did they only just realise they were literal vigilantes and could therefore ignore any and all international borders?

Or was Hawkmoth finally on the right track, finally about to win so they sent the last of their forces to come and save his enemies? A grin split his masked face in a horrifying grimace. His secret weapon was still leashed, still waiting for his order. Agreste Senior had the upper hand, this was his time to shine, his time to win.

Finally.

----------

Much clearer air seeped into Jason's lungs. He even went as far as removing his mask, just so he could properly breathe in something that wasn't poisoned with a literal mist of dust and the stench of death. His heart, no, their hearts were beating faster. Jason stood right by the river. He felt the cold water numbing her legs and reaching for her throat. He felt her dizzy fatigue and her clenching stomach. He knew her thoughts were just as clear as his. It felt as though their minds were finally complete, as if their brains could finally grasp the whole situation. Their body's were so close, they could finally function the way they were meant to. Together, helping one another.

"Red Robin. I found her. The boats are meant for shelter, the akuma can't come out in the open and it’s afraid of water. The heroes must be somewhere underneath those fat kanus."

"Copy."

"I'm going in."

"Hood wai-"

Jason was already underwater, hearing but not listening to Tim's voice.

Red Hood was about to find his Red Lady and no one could stop him.

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

Marinette had just finished explaining her plan to Adrien, who was now transformed and ready to move, when she felt it. "He's here.", was all she could muster. Chat didn't have to think twice to guess what she had meant and subconsciously started to brace himself. He couldn't help but think that now really wasn't the time for her soulmate to interrupt. They were at war, which meant that her uninvited lover was putting himself and Ladybug at risk. Risking her safety meant risking Paris safety which meant that over all, Adrien felt like they were being royaly fucked by the Kwami of Timing.

The Duo felt the water underneath their feet moving. (The rivers flow has been stopped right at the beginning of the akuma battle. It was a safety precaution the mayor has ordered after a particularly unpleasant spread of akuma poison. Now, whenever the Akuma-alert went of, the city shut down, sealed shut and closed up. Not a single soul could enter and not a single twig could leave.

The heroes had formerly agreed to that being a great idea, now that they were short on everything, though... let's say they have learned that isolation wasn't always the best solution to their problems.)

Ladybug felt him before she heard him, a weird sense of Deja-vu overcoming her.

He came up behind her. Her spine felt like it was buzzing with electricity.

"Pixie?"

Jason didn't know why he called her that, but it sure as hell felt right.

Another shiver went down their spines. Marinettes reaction caused by her soulmates voice, while Jason's body just seemed to mimic hers even more intensely now.

She turned around.

Their eyes met.

Their scars felt like they've lit up in flames.

Two sleeping bodies were sinking towards the floor of the river Saine.

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

Hey ho, friendioh

I am so tired, my eyes are so done, je suis juste come Jasonette in my story.

You comments though? I LOVE YOU. Thank each and every one of you lovely message-leavers, my heart is now full of love and excitement and it’s your fault!

I can’t stress this enough, your feedback is shooing my depressay far far away.

Now back to the content. I am not finished yet, there’s more coming and the end is still uncertain, even to me. I have my plotline and my scenes, but this story has kind of started writing itself (which in my opinion is what makes writing so great). So I guess we’re all looking into a future just as uncertain as Dukes vision :)

My taglist has grown! Message me if you are interested in joining that cute group you are about to read the names of, I’ll be happy to add you ^^

Tag List \o/

@maribat-is-lifeblood @lokilex @amayakans @readingismyoxygen 

Thanks for reading ^^

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hi Evoe, can I ask for you to write this MCxVinca fic? The request is where mc made deal with demons by giving up ability to feel touch to obtain darkness and light powers so she can keep up with Vinca and her friends. However, demon magic corrupt mc’s soul. Mc went dark and betray her lover by using Vinca’s knife to kill her so she can become Pride and take her mind reading power. Mc made it looks like it’s from Vuzgamad’s ambush and claimed that Vinca made her a successor before her death

Part 4

Warnings:

Mental Health Insane Levels of denial Body Phobia? Strong Language Blood and Gore Assisted Suicide Forced Murder? Self Sacrifice Major Character Death A majorly self indulgent, arrogant ghost writer.

Written by: @evoedbd Part One, Part Two, Part Three ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rae had always heard of happy endings. The hero made a great sacrifice, endured the trials of their mistakes and rose above. The hero swooped in, got the girl, the Hollywood kiss and crescendo music of life… But everyone knew Hollywood was full of shit. It was a series of cucked up hopes and dreams, of self-denials wrapped up into comical tales to avoid the pain, or forgiveness where life would have kicked the shit out of them. As Rae contemplated her existence as it was, she finally understood. There was no happy ending for the characters who never made it. In life, mistakes weren’t undone by an overlay of laughter, or a kiss between hero and leading lady.  There was no black and white, no Superman and Lex Luthor. No Batman and Joker. In life, mistakes led to pain, and sometimes there was no resolution. Sometimes, there was no happy ending. Sometimes, there was just darkness. Just a simple question.

How?

Rae damn well understood that question right now. She felt it to the core, to the bone in her mental scape. This was her own mind, the place she was meant to be strongest. The place every war was won, before she even took a step onto a battlefield in the “real” world. But how?   How was she going to even win this war when even the act of trying to lift a finger of a single part of her mind was harder than declaring world war three. When she’d fragmented herself so far, broken herself into so many little pieces trying to protect those she loved. For all the window dressings, for all the add ons of experience and DLCS of happy memories, this was all that she had left. All she amounted to. A crumpled figure in a dark room; a world of black with a solitary beam of light baring down on her broken body.  How could there be a happy ending when she was so powerless?  So broken?

She’d thought she understood torture, understood disconnection. She’d lived without touch for over a year now, slowly forgetting the warmth of Vinca’s hug, the taste of a kiss. How it felt to have another break so willingly into her hands, only to reconstruct them in the afterglow. Her life had been exhaustion. A visual game of when to pretend she felt, and when to ignore.  How long a hug should be held before someone got awkward. If a handshake was too hard. Or too fish wristed. Touch had become sight, visuals and sounds. Life, nothing more than a movie.

How? How had the script gotten so fucked up?

She was meant to be the hero. She’d done the heroic thing. When things were hopeless, she’d sold her soul. She’d agreed to sacrifice the ability to touch another when she’d shaken Vuzgamad’s hand. She’d sacrificed to save those she loved. She’d SAVED them. Vinca. Onyx. Yvette. She’d SAVED them. She’d struggled, for so long, she’d pretended everything was fine. She’d bitten back her tears until Vinca stilled beside her. She’d laughed and apologised when a hug for Onyx was too tight, too painful. She’d done the heroic thing. The hero was meant to get the girl, meant to swoop her up into a cinematic kiss, not beat them into a bloody pulp. Not make them cry, make them plead. She was meant to be the hero. She wanted to be. Just once, Rae had wanted to be more than the side chick. More than the love interest. No, fuck that. Rae had never subscribed to the stupid roles and rules. All she’d wanted was to save those she loved, be strong enough for them. She’d been stupid enough to take the deal, to shake hands with the Devil. To sell human touch for the power over Light and Shadow, over all they encompassed… at the time, it had seemed worthwhile. The only way to overcome the odds as a human amongst heroes. For once, she’d been able to fight alongside them, instead of being the one tending the wounds. But the cost had drained her, spiralled out of her control. She couldn’t even identify when she’d lost control. Was it the first time she’d recognised the schemes building within her? The first time she’d answered Vuzgamad’s call? Taken the credit for victories when it had only been the Demon’s words that allowed them? Was it when her mind had snapped, fighting itself until what she identified as herself was imprisoned within her own mind as darkness paraded around, scheming to destroy everything she cared for as she was forced to watch?

How could she save Vinca when she couldn’t even make her body behave?

The horror movie continued, reaching the crescendo as Rae watched her own hand close around one of Vinca’s blades. No! This wasn’t how the movie ended, it couldn’t be! She screamed, kicked and clawed at the bars of her cage, as if her mind was some video game. Maybe if she jumped down the right tube, she might be able to reach the button. To shut herself down. If she smashed the spacebar, she could leap across the chasm, stitch herself together enough to redirect the blade… but she was so tired. Drowning. The water was pushing her into the bars of her cage, the landslide was swallowing the light. Only those solo screens were clear, the screens which showed her baring down upon Vinca… but hands were slushing through the water, digging her out. There were keys in the door, but she was too tired to turn the lock. Too tired to kick. To move her arms. Limp. So close and yet so far… dragged. A solid hand around her wrist dragged her to the door, was pulling her to the surface.  

Then it was lips upon her own that finally granted her the air her lungs had screamed for.

How? After so long, how could she feel the warmth against her? The puffs of agonised breath against her cheek through fine nostrils, the unseemly clunk of teeth against her own. It didn’t matter. She could feel… after so long, she could FEEL those lips against hers. An addiction, a benediction. She gasped, lifting her own hands to a familiar blond pixie cut, pulling those lips into her own. Crushing herself to them. Taking. Everything and anything… This was everything. The breath of life, warm and spreading down her own chest… why weren’t both hands in Vinca’s hair? She’d raised both of them, she swore… but pressure? Firm, warm, gentle. Hands surrounding one of hers. Her right. The hand which had been almost melted around the hilt of Vinca’s blade. The answer was there, just beneath the shadows in her mind, a mind clearer than it had been since she’d shaken Vuzgamad’s hand. A demon… She’d made a deal with a demon! A demon who was laughing as if they’d just watched a comedy. Not just a single demon. All of them, disbelief and malicious glee echoing through the air. As if the unexpected was delicious. As if they’d won.

“Vinca?” Trepidation flooded Rae’s voice as her eyes opened, expecting to find fury reflected in the skies. Instead, she found agony. She found reluctant acceptance, found a lone tear flowing down a beautiful cheek, catching between parted, bloodied lips. There was too much blood. It stained pristine white teeth into a sickly, blotchy pink. It trickled from the corner of a heartbroken smile, the face of courage in darkness. Sunlight after forty days of rain… Bittersweet. Her warmth left Rae’s hands, coming to gently cradle the former mechanic’s trembling jaw. A lone thumb brushed fine lips, urging her to be silent, leaving metallic warmth behind.

“Rae…” Vinca’s voice was a whisper on the wind, a smile given vocal form, relief. A whisper from the heart, exposing everything. Her eyelids fluttered, the weakened wings of a bird… a bird who’d been shot, was bleeding, an arrow buried within its heart. An arrow that looked just a little too much like Vinca’s blade. The Pride assassin let out an overly wet, weak laugh, one punctuated by a glob of red spilling between her parted lips. From her laden tongue. For one bright moment, her eyes shone, reflecting the stars hanging in the stillest night sky. Rae should have known that meant that beauty was already dead, inevitably gone, with only an echo remaining. Just like said stars, Vinca fell, legs giving out, leaving Rae falling under her weight. Fighting to hold the larger body upright as confusion erupted across her expression. It only lasted a few moments before her gaze drifted to Vinca’s chest. Red. So much red. Layers and shades, from brown-tinged to red tinging black. Just like med school. Just like the cadavers, Rae hadn’t cut cleanly, so they’d begun to bleed over her.  Just like a self-saucing chocolate pudding, with the insides bubbling out of a cut crust. A volcano bleeding lava. Red. Insides leaking. Flowing. Cut. Bleeding… the length of the blade rattling within a fleshy sheath.

“Fuck… that… hurt.”

“VINCA!” Rae felt herself shriek, her body erupting into action. A single blink had everything rushing back. The way she’d fought, tried to stop the blade. Vinca’s hands pulling the blade in, forcing Rae to commit to the blow. To the….

“H-haven’t heard you that l-loud for a while, Squirt.” Vinca’s voice was so quiet. So feeble. Weakening. Strength draining with each pulse of her blood.

“Don’t you fucking joke, Wren! I stabbed you! I am so fucking…. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just stay still, Vinc, I can fix this. I can fix this. I can you, I just have to… I can fix this, I swear. Just stay with me, please! Please… I can fix this, PLEASE? Let me fix it…” Rae pleaded, her voice rising in octaves as her hands desperately pressed down on Vinca’s chest, on the wound. This. It was her thing. Fixing people. Helping people. She had to do this, had to save Vinca. Had to fix it. That’s what she did. Fixed things. Fixed people. Repaired bikes and flesh. This was HER thing. She had to fix it. She could fix it. She SHOULD be able to fix it. But she couldn’t, she knew that even as she stubbornly denied the looming inevitability. Vinca had lost blood. So much blood. Too much blood. She needed blood! Now! Frantic, Rae began to scoop at Vinca’s blood, dragging it back towards the gaping hole in her chest. Trying to shove it back through the wound, like a child trying to restuff a teddy bear the dog had chewed. Paddling in the kiddie pool… but that pool was Vinca. Fading with every splash. The sheer amount of blood was so slippery, so gritty, leaving Rae’s palms sliding across Vinca’s skin with desperate, frustrated cries. She threw her everything into it, all of her measly body weight. If only she was fatter. Worthy of the biggest loser even. Over three hundred pounds. That she’d stopped exchanging the chocolate bars for apples. That she hadn’t been so dedicated to her fitness. Maybe if she was just a kilo heavier. Her hands larger, more meat and less lean tendons. If she was more flab and less ab…

“Rae…” Vinca implored, fighting until she managed to lift her befouled hands to Rae’s jaw. She trembled, barely managing a brush of her fingertips across Rae’s flesh, leaving strokes of her life as wet paint across Rae’s jawbone. There was something so gentle in her voice, pity and sorrow mixed with that unmistakable fondness she held for Rae and Rae alone. How had Rae missed that? The little tones amongst tones that Vinca held for everyone in her life. Tones which told tales far wilder than even the most drunken buffoon standing on the most rickety table in a dingey, run-down bar. Tales more touching than Shakespeare’s finest tragedy. More moving. Rae couldn’t believe she’d missed it, like a ship in the night whilst she was the Titanic sinking into the blues of Vinca’s eyes. She was once again bewitched by the depth of blue. Why had she not appreciated this? How had she not seen? They weren’t just blue, not just a flat shade. They were almost a braiding of blues forming a beautiful whole. Little circles and patterns Rae wished she could have spent forever memorising. They were the sky, she always knew this, but they weren’t just any sky. They were… she couldn’t even process. Never, in all her life, had she seen eyes so blue. Not just their colour, but their spirit. The essence of colour and emotion. Blue. Blue to counteract the red. No… No. Rae Lang couldn’t accept this, not now. Religious Parents denied their kids were gay for years, surely Rae could master the same level of world-altering denial. Maybe Mrs “something smells” down the road could offer her lessons on the haughty head tilt… But Rae knew, deep down, couldn’t ignore this. No amount of denial was going to pump the blood back into Vinca’s veins. Was going to undo the very lethal damage. Vinca Wren was dying in her arms, and all she could do was think how to keep the world turning even as it disintegrated. By the look of understanding in Vinca’s eyes, she saw every torment, every fight Rae was facing. She pitied. Afterall, Vinca knew she was no longer going to be there to save her fiery little Chinese Mechanic. But… just like the ocean, just like Vinca’s eyes, the pain seemed to run deeper. An undercurrent of guilt, until all Rae could do was stare, was let herself fall closer once she noticed the tremble of Vinca’s lip. The Pride assassin growled, a sound more akin to a wet mewl from a half-dead kitten in an alleyway, yet the sound seemed to be enough. She threw her body into the movement, lifting her hands, tangling her long fingers into Rae’s hair in an effort to hold her closer. She pulled, letting her dying weight bring Rae’s forehead to her own, bring them as close as the physical world could allow. Never close enough.

“It’s you. By my sacrifice, it is you. By the power of us all, we choose you. B- by our decree, it’s you.” Vinca’s voice was so fragile, precious breath given to form such a simple sentence. Her words skimmed across Rae’s lips, hot, laden with magic. The taste of smoke, destruction and sugary sweet. The tang of metal, but beyond the blood of Vinca’s lips brushing her own. No, it was as if she’d swallowed Vinca’s blades, as if they were running molten down her throat.

“Please don’t leave me.” It was weak, a pathetic plea half sobbed, half-whispered. The strongest words Rae could summon, the closest to truth she could give. Everything hurt. How her knees felt against the cold floor. How every gash had begun to scab over, only to break again when she moved too suddenly. How Vinca, normally larger than life, was brought so low… the knives within her body, that creeping, molten sense that sought out every pain and bolstered it. Vinca’s sad smile, an expression she felt tickle her own along with the bump of a sharp nose.

“I’m sorry… My soul to repair yours, Rae. My sacrifice.” Vinca gurgled, one hand sliding from Rae’s hair. The Chinese woman sobbed, a broken, bitter sob as one of her hands chased that hand, clutched just above the hilt of the dagger. The strength of Vinca’s grasp was surprising, holding Rae’s hand even when the Chinese woman tried to withdraw. There was something immobile between them, a texture too similar to the hilt of Vinca’s blades, yet so impossibly soft. Nothing she could identify. Nothing she cared to. Not now.

Suddenly, communication was clear, as if she’d gone through life staring at water droplets across the surface of a mirror, diluting the image, and finally, someone had come and wiped them away. Vinca had wiped them away, taken those naturally formed zig zags and streaks away and finally let Rae see everything. She could hear it, a thousand gripes and thoughts flickering around her, all laid out like candy behind the glass. All she had to do was reach for what she desired, and it was hers. No payment. No cashier to tell her no. She could delve into anything, into anybody, shove her grubby fingers into any pie and nothing could stop her. Nothing would ever be the same again. She was strong, unending power, a pillar of the human world and yet removed from it by her very existence. Only the most special would see anything beyond this, beyond the mantle she’d had thrust upon her. People like Vinca. Like Onyx… like herself. Just as she had the moment she’d accidentally said gay instead of Rae. Just like she had when she’d asked Vinca who she was, and meant it. When she’d not taken everything for granted, even though thinking like a mirror was so much easier than acknowledging the droplets she could never have erased… the moment she’d unintentionally stepped up and dropped her name into the hat. The only name Vinca had seen worthy, and the only name she’d never wanted to burden with her pride.

“No. No! You don’t get to do this! You fucking… you just, GAH! Stop sacrificing for other people! Stop it! Take it back, Vinc! T-Take it back!” Rae screamed; grief forgotten in her wrath. Fuck this. Fuck everything! Why was it always Vinca? What kind of world would do this to someone so generous? The world, fate, humanity… All of it was a cancer, devouring from the inside out, turning Vinca into a husk with air in her lungs. Rae refused. She couldn’t be another statistic on who’d taken from Vinca… but she was, wasn’t she? A kiss more metallic than blood has passed more than emotions. It’d been Vinca’s gift. Her everything, the transfer of her mantle. Of her soul… Rae didn’t want it. Not when the cost was so high. Yet, greedily, she cradled it to her chest, gathered the power internally even as she physically tried to gather Vinca closer, as if she might ward off death.

“Oh thank fuck. Thinking is so much easier than talking.” Even in their minds, Vinca sounded pained, a fading note Rae had just caught on the wind. The pulsing of beats across a chasm Rae could never cross. A beat she couldn’t tune out, couldn’t fully hear. Limbo. Imperfect nothingness, thus becoming something. Something which would soon be nothing more than the fading note in time, as all life truly was.

“Don’t you fucking DARE! Vinc, take it back! Y-you can’t!” Rae spoke out loud, refusing to accept, refusing to play. Could Vinca even read her mind anymore? Was she even..? There was a difference between them, a difference to Vinca. A difference to Rae. Suddenly, Vinca was no longer larger than life, no longer a sin incarnate. She was so… human. Completely. Rae knew, just as she knew she would take her next breath. Just as she knew another tear would fall, that even superhuman, she could never shed enough tears. Perhaps that was why she bled, her body letting her grief flow freely. A droplet of blood offered for a thousand tears. Her entire body sobbing, staining her hoodie, her shirt, her jeans. Was this why Vinca had always worn red? To hide the tears. To hide the blood she shed?

“I… won’t leave you. T-they can’t h-have my girl.”

“Vinca! Please! I love you, I ca-” Rae swallowed, throat too thick to continue.

“Let me save you… one more time, just let ME save you. Not Pride.” Vinca’s internal plea was soft, a million answers to the questions shooting around Rae’s subconscious. Another blow to the heart. Why now? She’d fought so long, loved so long to get even a skerrick of an answer from Vinca. She’d practically had to get a doctorate in psychology to even begin to understand the complexities of the human in her arms. Now, after all this, she was just being given the answers? Just given EVERYTHING? She had NEVER wanted everything. Never wanted something to just be given to her for just existing. She’d never wanted to be among the stars, not when she could turn and watch Vinca shine brighter. Now though… the stars were forced into her hands, life smiling as it snuck Vinca away, looking at Rae as if she’d gotten the better deal… she hadn’t. The stars, the depths of the oceans, the arcane. None of it was worth Vinca Wren. It was a cold comfort, to hold such power, when the hole in her heart was growing between the slowing beats of Vinca’s.

“This wasn’t how it was meant to go…” Rae whispered, her eyes sliding closed, eyelids only fluttering to let out her tears. She rested her forehead to Vinca’s, breathing in every gasp escaping the former Pride assassin. Dirty, tainted air, more precious than the gems of the world, the stars in the skies, than the mysteries of the deep. Treasure was not simply all that glittered, not when compared to a dying heart. Life. That was the true treasure, the soul the gleam or soot concealing the prize. And Rae had taken it, taken both so selfishly. She could feel it, an inexplicable sense of Vinca filling her lungs, patching the damages the demons had inflicted. Weaving into her being, until where she ended and Vinca’s patchwork begun was almost seamless within. Almost. Rae knew where to look, where to find every gnarled scar, every torment. She would always know those scars.

“I was meant to save you.”

“Right… cause loving me, treating me like a human, reminding me of who I was doesn’t count as soul-saving. In every cliché sense of the concept, Rae, you did. If I could… I’d smack you.  Just… stay with me.” Vinca’s internal snark was sharp, enough to earn a startled laugh out of Rae. A short burst of amusement and disbelief before it faded. Before Vinca let herself collapse, let her eyes drift closed, lips peeled into a tender smile.

“I don’t think I’m opening my eyes again, Rae… thank you, for a last laugh.”

“Vinc… No.  No, no no, stay with me!  Just a little longer, please.  I can’t let go.” Rae sobbed, her voice shattering, catching in the back of her throat. That one frustrating area, just behind the roof of her mouth, just at the beginning of the throat. It ached in that one stupid place, where no water could reach. Where no pain could truly be soothed. She didn’t want it to be. If soothing was letting go, she wanted to burn. To suffer. She’d live her life in this limbo, these few seconds that stretched for minutes. A novel to explain a single minute. She’d forever be an uncompleted story if she didn’t have to endure this. Didn’t have to listen to Vinca’s final thoughts trickle away.

“I knew. The moment you screwed your own name up and announced you were Gay, I knew… I’m sorry I wasted time being… It’s so cold. Death is fucking freezing, Rae… Please don’t leave. Don’t make me be alone again. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Never.” Rae vowed, projecting everything into the way she held Vinca’s hand, holding with as much strength as was left in her body. Hard enough to crush the bones, bones Vinca wouldn’t feel anymore. Her short nails bit into Vinca’s flesh, leaving little crescent moons, drawing more blood. It wasn’t enough. Never could it be enough. Her hands were too weak to hold a life from the claws of death, even with every power flooding her veins. All she had was a moment, a breath taken, one which she feared would leave her words falling on unhearing ears. It didn’t matter if Vinca heard them or not, whether she spoke in time with Vinca’s final moment of consciousness. It buzzed within her, within them, the sentiment. The magic weaving them together, a final mockery to every deal made with every devil. To everything Pride had forced upon Vinca from the moment love had made her accept the mantle… just as it had led her to lay it down. Just as it moved Rae to accept it.

“You’ll never be alone again, Vinca Wren.”

[lucian-ffxiv]

Trachyngeim Aerstwyda

thanks for the template @lizzy-frizzle​

Name:  Trachyngeim Aerstwyda

Gender:  Female

Age: 19 at the start of ARR

Race:  Roegadyn

Relationship: Single

Family: Pfardaeg (father), Thubyrthota (mother), Blauswys (sister)

Orientation: Bisexual

Nameday:  11th sun of the 1st umbral moon

Abilities/Talents:  The tallest person she knows (max height Roegadyn, after all), she can reach up to the top shelf like no problem. She’s not very good at most crafts, but is very adept at gathering. does giving me gender feels count as a talent

Job:  Dark Knight; also Monk, Gunbreaker. She’s dabbled a lot, though, in things like black magic, red magic, and the art of the dancer.

Appearance description: 7′6″ tall, with short red hair. Toned muscles, though she’s not as muscular as her strength would suggest.

Unique features (scars, tattoos, etc.): Red facial tattoos, symmetrical on both sides of her face.

Personal Beliefs (religious or otherwise): She used to think of the stories of the primals as nothing more than stories - boogeymen that kept children up at night. Her mother told her of Leviathan, while neglecting to tell her of the primal’s hand in the death of her parents. Needless to say, slaying the boogeyman has led Trachyngeim to have her personal beliefs thrown into turmoil, and they’ve been there for a while.

Residence:  Ul’dah is essentially her home. It was where she got her start as an adventurer, and despite her personal connections to Ishgard and Ala Mhigo, Ul’dah shall be where she considers home.

Birth place: On a boat to Limsa Lominsa, as her parents and elder sister made the journey.

Dreams: To repay the kindness of others that for so many years of her life she felt undeserving.

Fears: While not afraid of self-sacrifice per se, she is afraid of what would happen to those she cares about should she become unable to aid them any more. After all, if word got out that the Warrior of Light was all washed up, or dead, some of her past enemies would surely not hesitate to exact their revenge.

Introverted / Extroverted / Ambiverted  (bold what applies)

How do they handle stress?: At first, she would just go to the Pugilist’s guild in Ul’dah to see if anyone wanted a spar. Now that she’s famous, though, that’s not really an option anymore. So now, she’s tried to transition to less violent methods of stress relief. Really, though, she just wants someone she could spar with like the good old days.

What’s the state of their living quarters? (messy, clean, etc.): Clean. Cleaning helps distract her from how she feels sometimes.

How do they handle meeting new people?: Used to be that she’d meet a new person every once in a while, but now her... duties as international hero and savior ensure she is inundated with new faces. It can get a bit overwhelming sometimes.

When facing certain doom, what’s their outlook?: “Just a little bit further.”

What do they do to relax?: There’s a spot in the Coerthas mountains that is hard to reach. She uses a mount to fly up there and watch out over the snow.

What’s their favourite outfit?: Currently, a rather comfortable bit of formalwear she picked up in Kugane.

Traumas/Personality quirks: She can go from laughing with friends to being deadly serious in a matter of seconds. She’s trying to get better at managing these shifts in tone.

About Them as of Current story patch: N/A (not there yet lol - in the patch content quests of Stormblood rn)

History:  She never actually met her father, growing up. That also meant, though, that she never really had a last name, per se. This led to a fair bit of teasing from other Roe she grew up near. She took the name Aerstwyda, First Willow, in an attempt to assert herself as the beginning of something new, but this only led to further teasing. At one point when she was a teenager, several of her peers even conspired to lure her into the ocean and push her in - only to be rescued by a wandering Dark Knight who happened to be passing that way from Ishgard. It was they who first noticed the power of Trachyngeim’s dark side, though they were not wont to teach her such things at her age. It was this incident, though, that finally made her realize that she wasn’t undeserving of kindness, and that there were a great many debts that needed to be repaid. At that point, she decided to learn to fight, and utilized her impressive strength in becoming a skilled hand-to-hand fighter at a young age. Eventually she struck out on her own towards Ul’dah, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Feelings towards others: (add or remove as relevant)

- Yshtola –  She’s got a bit of a crush on Y’shtola, though she’s not good enough with her feelings to admit it. She’s come close a few times, but running in a sewer from people wont to kill you isn’t the best time for it.

- Alphinaud –  She’s friends with Alphinaud, but in that true best friend way where she loves to tease him about all the little things and laughs along with Krile, or Alisaie, or whoever else might be teasing him at the moment.

- Alisaie –  Definite friends here, if for no other reason than their shared past-time of poking fun at Alphinaud.

- Thancred –  He rubbed her the wrong way when they first met, this “handsome stranger”, but eventually grew on her. She felt really bad for not noticing how hard he was pushing himself until it was too late.

- Urianger –  She can never tell what he’s really thinking, and it concerns her.

- Tataru –  Would protect with her life.

- Papalymo - :(

- Minfillia -  :(

- Ser Aymeric - She fell for him, hard. She wouldn’t even think about saying anything - it would be quite a conflict of interest. But she’s sure she’s seen him do things to imply he feels the same way, so maybe, once everything’s over...

- Cid –  He’s like the cool grandpa of the group. She can’t wait to see what new amazing machine he and the Ironworks create next.

- Zenos –  Terrible human being. Killing him felt good.

- Gaius –  Killing him, on the other hand, felt hollow. He himself didn’t put up much of a fight - it was mostly the Ultima Weapon. She didn’t even really land a killing blow.

- Nero –  Why can’t this guy stay gone?

- G’raha –  She respects his sacrifice.

- Ascians - She wants to personally kill every ascian alive.

- Lyse - She laughed when Lyse challenged her to the fight on the Destroyer’s palm, but she put up a good fight. It was her first real chance to spar with someone else in a long time.

- The Grand Company Leaders -  Kan-E-Senna always calms her to be around. Merlwyb is someone she respects for her directness, at the very least. Being an Immortal Flame herself, it’s always surreal to have Raubahn treat her as more than just another officer.

- Magnai - She didn’t like him. While she isn’t one to scoff at religion, she does feel that the belief that every man has a woman especially made for him to be laughable.

- Sadu - Definitely someone to never cross. There was that time during the contest, but that was in the spirit of competition. As a fellow wielder of explosive magic on occasion, she knows how bad of an idea it would be to make her angry.

- Cirina - Could become a fearsome warrior one day, if given the proper training. She’d be glad to help train her, too.

- Yugiri - Perpetually impressed by what Yugiri can do with the ways of the shinobi. Beyond that, though, she trusts Yugiri to keep secrets more than some of the other characters.

- Gosetsu - Similar to Thancred, Gosetsu went from grating to endearing in her mind. She was very conflicted when he reappeared after the castle, though.

- Fordola - She knows what it feels like to be teased for something that was of no fault of her own. She wants to feel bad for Fordola, she does, but there’s always the legions of people hurt by her hand.

- Yotsuyu - She also feels bad for Yotsuyu, but not so bad that she won’t mind fighting her.

- Asahi - She would kill Asshat if she got the chance.

- Other Warrior of Lights -  She’s more than happy to step back into the shadows and let others have their time to shine.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Rhythm of War Review

PART 1

It feels a little separate from the rest of the book to me at the moment because I read it pre-release, but I think it did a good job setting up the rest of the plot. I greatly enjoyed Navani’s perspective and ideas throughout the book, and the first section established her much more firmly as a character than any of the previous books; her couple of chapters in Oathbringer were more focused on politics and her relationship with Dalinar, so it was great yo see much more of her scientific side.

When I first read Part 1 it felt very Kaladin-heavy, but after completing the book I see how it was necessary to establish his burnout in order to set up the rest of the plot. And Chapter 12 (A Way to Help), in addition to being our only chance in the book to see our trio together, did a great job setting up Kaladin’s later work with mentally ill people, both by establishing the need and showing what kind of help was needed. I was nonetheless quite frustrated by Kaladin reacting to Shallan’s DID with “that would be nice...”. She’s having serious problems, Kal! She’s your friend and could use support, not you regarding her issues as a neat way to take a holiday from one’s own brain! Kaladin’s very kind and caring with those he chooses to protect, as we see with Bridge 4 in TWOK and the mentally ill people in Chapter 25, but sometimes I think he’s not a very good friend. I know he was not in a good place, but in Oathbringer when they were in Shadesmar Shallan had just had a complete breakdown and she still went out of her way to emotionally support Kal, so it would be nice to see his friendships become a bit more two-way. (For similar reasons, I liked seeing the moments of Shallan-to-Adolin emotional support in Shadesmar in ROW, because a lot of their relationship in OB was her relying on him; it felt balanced in ROW as both supported each other.)

PART 2

I loved the Shadesmar arc! The emotional arcs for both main characters were very strong - I had been looking forward to seeing Adolin’s reaction to (in-universe) Oathbringer, and it did not disappoint; the conflict between genuinely loving Dalinar and being unable to forgive what he’d done was well-drawn. I was so pissed off at Dalinar in that last conversation! You burned his mom to death, you do not get to take the moral high ground and lecture him. And I do see a difference between killing innocents, as Taravangian does, and killing someone who’s effectively declared war on you and has a history of treason.

I also liked Adolin’s sense of being generally at sea with his purpose in the world. He’s been trained primarily as a warrior and general, and his combat skills have been made virtually obsolete by the Radiants. And at the same time, the reader can see what makes Adolin special, and it’s not combat skills - though those do give him a big heroic moment in a pinch - it’s his care and compassion for others. The way he interacts with Maya and slowly brings her life is absolutely beautiful. Chapter 35 was such a wonderful Shadolin moment (and starspren are amazing!); he really gets her and understands what she needs. Chapter 24 was sweet too, though super cheesy.

I spent the entire Shadesmar arc side-eying Veil and Radiant, especially with Veil’s takeover stunt at the start, but in the end they genuinely were supporting and helping Shallan. So in retrospect I do like scenes like the one with Veil trying to draw Shallan out by drawing Adolin badly.

Spoeking of drawing, I love the spren art, it’s some of the best art so far, and fascianting to see how they all look!

Kaladin finding non-violent ways to protect, culminating in pioneering Rosharan therapy - and Teft insisting on staying to support him - was everything I wanted for him. His arc could have just been that, and I’d have been perfectly happy. Chapter 25 (Devotary of Mercy) is still my favourite in the entire book.

Unfortunately, then Odium’s forces had to show up and SPOIL EVERYTHING. I’m rather appalled by how quickly Urithiru fell - the enemy forces were literally in the pillar room by the time anyone noticed them.

PART 3

Part 3 was a real slog for me, partly because it is a slog and partly because I hit it at the height of my sleep deptivation. (It’s really...not a good thing to be reading on zero sleep at the literal darkest-hour-before-dawn.) Kaladin’s arc in Urithiru is just so exhausting; he’s so clearly worn to the boneand everything feels so hopeless. Kaladin’s had bad times before - Bridge 4 in TWOK, for example - but then the reader could see progress even if Kaladin couldn’t. (Kaladin: I’m getting nowhere and failing at everything! Everyone else: Kaladin, you were literally just miraculously resurrected.) Here, though - well, I genuinely spent the whole book from Part 3 through to the climax thinking that they would lose Urithiru.

Navani’s arc, and Venli’s, I did enjoy.

The other section of Part 3, in Emul, just felt rather disjointed. It had some interesting moments, but it didn’t have a sense of cohesion or of where it was going. I was entertained by Dalinar’s musings on the merits of despositism and the need to free Queen Fen from having - horrors! - a parliament. (I wonder if the Fourth Ideal will be something like “I will recognize that it can sometimes be beneficial to have people oppose my decisions.”)

PART 4

Again, adored the Shadesmar arc. Really strong character arcs for both Adolin and Shallan, combined with excellent plots and a strong sense of momentum. I was pretty sure Maya would be crucial in the trial, but that didn’t make the moment any less powerful (though Sanders probably shouldn’t have tried quite as hard to replicate his “You. Cannot. Have. My. Pain.” moment from Oathbringer). I need to put together a proper post on the theme of choice in Oathbringer, because that moment - combined with Kaladin’s fourth ideal and the conflict with Lirin over the way he’s inspiring the resistance - really crystallized it for me. To treat a person’s choice and sacrifices as something done to them is to devalue their volition, their agency. Maya is put in the horrifying situation of being used as a prop and treated as evidence of a point that she is diametrically opposed to and turned into a weapon against someone she loves, and it’s enough to drive her to regain her voice and speak for herself. I am very curious to know what specifically led the spren to agree to the Recreance!

I did not remotely guess what Shallan’s secret was, even though in retrospect the Cryptic deadeye should have made it incredibly obvious. I think her fear that she’d lose Adolin if it came out was overblown - he already knows she killed both her parents, he’s not going to be fazed by “I was so distraught over having to kill my own mother in self-defence at age ten that I broke my Radiant oaths”. But obviously it’s not something Shalkan would be able to consider duspassionately. Her arc was rather terrifying once I realized that Formless was, well, basically her, but more specifically, Shallan’s idea of the monster that she was, and her breakdown was driving her to “accept who she was” as being that monster. I like Shallan and was never that into Veil - though she was fairly good in this book and went out well - so I’m not sad to see the back of her.

I haven’t managed to work through all the espionage/mole elements. Yes, Pattern used the box to talk to Wit, and Radiant killed Ialai so Shallan wouldn’t, but who’s Mraize’s spy close to Dalinar?

This arc ended too abruptly. I think Sanderson could easily have traded a Kaladin chapter in Part 3 for an extra chapter wrapping up events in Shadesmar; maybe one where Shallan first goes to see Testament.

I enjoyed the Urithiru arc in Part 4 as well. Switching to Bridge 4 points of view other than Kaladin was a good move - we already know he’s worn to ribbons, so we don’t need to be inside his head to see it. “The Dog and the Dragon” was amazing, and the most appropriate story ever for Kaladin. (I get how Wit’s schtick of telling incredibly topical stories and then saying “no, I don’t have a point, what point?” would be really aggravating in person.) It was nice to see him be gentle with Kaladin for a change, the way he is with Shallan - his two previous encounters with Kaladin read as rather baiting, which annoyed me.

Dabbid was - I don’t know quite how to say this, but his inclusion struck an amazing balance in this book. Navani’s arc is all about two amazingly smart people doing science and making incredible breakthroughs, and that is sincerely valued and given importance by the narrative, and then you get chapters like Dabbid’s and one of Taravangian’s emphasizing that a person’s value and ability to contribute is not determined by their intelligence.

Navani’s arc continued to be excellent. All of her research, and the way the story took you through the process, and her complex relationship with Raboniel, was great.

I loved Venli’s character development, and growing willingness to take risks for the sake of others. To me, her arc parallels Dalinar’s in the last book in some ways. If we can love the story of a bloodthirsty conqueror growing to become a good person, why can’t we equally love the story of a coward coming to become a good person? There seems to be a tendency to be more drawn to strength, even in its most terrible forms, than to weakness. To me, Venli’s confession to Rlain and acceptance of his disgust at her was one of the book’s great moments. (And I can’t understand people saying her arc took up two much space. She had 5 chapters in Part 3, and 4 in Part 4. That’s not very many! I’ll grant that the flasbacks packed less punch than some earlier flashback sequences because we already knew the main events - Brandon acknowledged that even before the book came out - but I still liked them well enough, and Venli’s present-day arc was excellent.)

Anyway, the amount of space I’ve spent on this section relative to Part 3 is another strong inducation of the differences in how I feel about them!

PART 5

I should probably start this section with a discussion of Moash. I’ll try to keep it summarized. here - I could, and may, write a short essay on his development through The Stormlight Archive. The first thing that jumps out about Moash’s arc in this book is his reaction to Renarin’s vision in Part 1. I think that vision is showing Moash who he could still be, in a similar way to Shallan’s inspirational drawings of people - both use the Surge of Illumination. So it’s not that Moash is irredeemable; Renarin is specifucally holding out to him the possibility of redemption.

And Moash’s reaction is to run away in terror. Because he desperately wants his decision to be irrevocable. He desperately wants there to only be one possible path forward for him. Because if there are alternative paths, it means he can choose them, and that would mean facing guilt, facing the fact that his past choices were wrong, and his current choices are wrong. And that is exactly what Moash sought to avoid by giving up his pain and sense of guilt to Odium.

Moash is, nonetheless, very much Moash and not Vyre, as evidenced by his continuing obsession with Kaladin. As with his above need to not be wrong, here he needs to feel that he’s right, and the only way he can feel that he’s right is if Kaladin - whom he still deeply admires - makes the same decision as him, and if Moash can convince himself that he’s doing Kaladin a favour in driving him to that point. It’s ironic that he’s given up almost all feeling abd become almost enturely detached, but his worst actions are driven by his attitude towards the one person in the world who he still does have very strong feelings about. By the end of the book, he’s comprehensively broken, to the point that even when his ability to feel is restored he’s unable to even feel genuine remose over the cold-blooded murder of a friend. I don’t know where he’ll go from here - it would be ironic if he was only ever really appealing to Rayse-Odium, and Taravangian-Odium found Moash too much of a flat villain for his purposes and cast him off.

As the plot climaxes go, I thought the ones for Navani and Venli were excellent and very satisfying. I enjoyed Kaladin’s as well and found it cathartic, but it a was moment we all knew had to come, so it didn’t have quite the kick of some of Kaladin’s other big moments. I did love his reconciliation with Lirin. One of the themes of the book was finding common ground despite deeply felt disagreements - with Navani and Raboniel, with Navani and the Sibling, and with humans and singers/Fused more generally - and Kaladin and Lirin’s reconciliation fit well with that. I am far more favourable to Lirin than most people - if you’ve lived as a pacifist in storming Alethkar, which values the lives of its people slightly more than it does crem, you’re going to have been right a solid 95% of the time, where everyone else was wrong. I can make allowances for the other five percent, especially when Lirin’s life lesson from the last five or so years has been “resisting oppression and standing up for what you believe in will destroy everyone you love”.

And on the topic of finding common ground, Leshwi’s reaction to the revelation that Venli was a Radiant was one of the single most beautiful moments of the book, and one of my absolute favourites. It’s gorgeous and moving, and at the same time rather tragic, because - what might have bern different if Venli had revealed herself to Leshwi at the start of the book? How much of the conflict could have been avoided. Singers don’t appear to attract spren as strongly as humans do, which makes Leshwi drawing joyspren particularly powerful. And then the bittersweet note from “My soul is too long owned by someone else”. (Come to think of it, this is another inverted paralell to Moash. This is someone realizing “I was wrong about everything and I’m so glad about that because it means I have a chance to be someone better than I was.”) Oh my goodness, I would love a Leshwi chapter in a later book, just to check in on her and see how she’s doing in her new life with the Singers.

I also loved the climax of Navani’s arc, and was so relieved, because up until that very moment I wasn’t sure if the Sibling would survuve uncorrupted. I know that some people weren’t pleased because the Sibling didn’t even like her, but to me that became a core part of the story, like I said above - people who deeply disagree finding common ground and common cause. That is a key element of being a Bondsmith - the process of bringing people together in spite of their differences - and something that fits Navani so well given the rapport she found with Raboniel. (Though I was conflicted about the latter. On the one hand, she made amazing discoveries that enabled her to save Urithiru. One the other hand, she...kind of collaborated with the enemy and gave them terrible weapons out of intellectual curiosity and a desire to prove herself?) I will grant that it makes the series, and the characters with the most crucial importance to Roshar, rather Kholin-heavy.

For Taravodium, all I can say is - YIPES. I have no idea how to process the implications of that, but I feel like it will be bad. Really really bad. (Taravangian is probably my least favourite character in the entire Stormlight Archive. The attitude of “I am so brave and selfless for doing evil things and look at how wonderful I am for sacrificing my own morality for the benefit of all, you petty selfish people wanting to be good could never make such a grand sacrifice” drives me absolutely nuts. It’s a complete inversion and twisting of morality, and intensely arrogant.)

Dalinar’s encounter with Ishar was fascinating, and I’m very curious to see where this goes. The spren experiments were deeply creepy! And the way Radiant Oaths can temporarily restore a Herald’s sanity was fascinating - I’m very eager to see where this goes in the next book. I suspect that Dalinar may have made a very serious mistake with regards to this trial my combat, and I have no idea how/if they’re going to fit Szeth’s whole arc into the ten days before the duel. I’ve been eagerly anticipating Szeth’s arc ever since The Way of Kings!