#ship: these twists and turns of fate (sound of chaos)

[behindthesoul]

Itching In My Heart (smut)

Havik x Bi-Han

Summary: Havik does his best to find an ally in Bi-Han in his search for chaos. Bi-Han does his best to not be easily swayed by temptation.

Word Count: 2,557

Warnings: Bottom!Bi-Han, top!Havik, handjobs, anal fingering, spit as lube, no anal penetration, slight overstimulation, not proofread, slightly AU-ish? this is kind of my own canon because I didn’t feel like rewatching Khaos Reigns to make sure the plot was “lore accurate”

A/N: Wrote this for a good friend of mine, it took some time for me to get this done because I’m not super used to writing less popular ships. I am happy with how this turned out, though! May or may not be a part two depending on reader interest. Comments appreciated!

—

A harsh wind blows through the desolate peaks of the Lin Kuei temple, alerting the world to find comfort indoors. The Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster remains awake, standing at the edge of the temple’s courtyard, his eyes narrow at the swirling storm clouds overhead. His breath frosts in the air, mirroring the ice that clings to his soul. No longer held back by the restraints of his family, Bi-Han begins to relish in the thought of finally shaping the Lin Kuei to his vision.

But a new force begins to rise, and it takes a new form – one that defines a sense of order, a form that Bi-Han simply cannot ignore.

“You seek freedom,” came a raspy voice, a voice that would no doubt harm the throat if it were spoken by an average person. It echoes through the courtyard, a twisting sound that seems to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Bi-Han’s muscles tense. His hands instinctively forming fists, a frost slowly creeping over them. He turns, icy eyes attempting to fixate on the figure emerging from the shadows. A gaunt, disheveled man. A mutilated face. A pair of cloudy, slightly opaque eyes. A presence that taints the surrounding air.

“Havik,” Bi-Han mutters, his voice cold, yet holds a hint of curiosity. He had heard whispers of the Titan, a madman who cared not for order and peace. His motives were always shrouded in chaos, and yet here he stood before the Lin Kuei Grandmaster.

Havik grins – well, attempts to grin – and his eyes gleam with a manic light. “You know me, Sub-Zero. And I know you. You seek power… freedom. The order you serve, the realm you protect – it’s a lie, a cage.”

Bi-Han’s gaze flickers with momentary doubt, though it’s quickly masked with his usual stoicism. “The Lin Kuei serve no one, we protect ourselves.”

A low, gravelly chuckle escapes Havik’s lips. “Is that so? Yet I see chains, invisible to the eye but no less real. You’re bound to the realm, to the destiny laid before you. But I can offer you something different… something pure.”

Bi-Han’s eyes remain fixed on the…thing before him, yet his thoughts churn beneath the surface. Power, respect, what he seeks – ultimate control over his fate, over the Lin Kuei, over those who dare disrespect him. But Havik’s words stir something in him, a strange allure in the promise of something so unknown to him.

“You speak in riddles,” Bi-Han says, his tone dismissive. “If you seek my aid in your madness, you’ll find I am not so easily swayed.”

Havik takes a step closer, his head tilted, his heart racing. “Not madness – truth. Order is the true insanity, the belief that anything in this universe can be controlled. Chaos is the natural state of things, the only true power.”

A gust of cold wind swirls around them, but Havik stands unfazed by the chill, as though it barely touched him. He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Imagine a world without rules, without being reduced to Earthrealm’s lapdog. A world where the strong truly prevail. You are already close to breaking free, Sub-Zero. Let me show you the final step.”

Bi-Han’s exterior cracks for a moment as he considers Havik’s words. He thinks back to past events – cursing Liu Kang, his brothers defecting from the Lin Kuei – ties that had been severed because they held him back, bound him to a code he no longer believed in. The chaos that Havik spoke of – a world without restraint, without rules – appealed to him more than he cared to admit.

And yet…

“You think I would follow you into this insanity?” Bi-Han’s voice was a low growl, not wanting to give in just yet.

Havik’s grin only widens, his hands slightly trembling with perverse delight. “Not follow, Bi-Han. Lead. Chaos is not about subjugation or surrender. It’s about liberation. You have the power to forge your path through the frozen wastes of this universe. Together, we can unshackle the realms themselves.”

Bi-Han’s eyes flicker to the ground, a move uncommon by someone of his status. He doesn’t respond immediately, but silence speaks volumes.

Havik lets out another low chuckle, knowing the seed he’s planted is already beginning to grow.

“Think about it, Grandmaster,” Havik purrs. “Earthrealm, laid bare. No Liu Kang to write destiny for you. Instead, the pen rests in your hands.”

And in that moment, Bi-Han’s mind churns with possibilities – the thought of forging his own path is something he couldn’t resist.

He doesn’t say yes.

But he doesn’t say no, either.

Bi-Han eyes dart left, then right, then back to Havik. Having someone like him out in the open where anyone can see? Not a very good look. He motions with his hand for the man to follow him before quickly walking out of the courtyard. The interior of the Lin Kuei palace is a sight Bi-Han is all too familiar with, yet his heart beats faster with every breath he takes. Havik’s thick scent floats through the air, contaminating anything in his path. Bi-Han refuses to turn his head and look back at Havik, instead focusing on the footsteps behind him. They’re heavy, a sharp sound that rattles the ground. Each footfall is disorganized, the lack of rhythm directly contrasting Bi-Han’s light, poise steps. Bi-Han mentally curses, hoping no one is alarmed by such a noise. He swears that he can feel Havik’s breath warming his neck, but the footsteps say that Havik is keeping his distance.

It isn’t long before Bi-Han reaches the destination: his bedroom, the most private place one could be. One hand twists the doorknob, while the other quickly grabs Havik’s wrist and forces him inside the room, eliciting a loud, annoying cackle. Bi-Han steps inside and quickly locks the door, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His room is dimly lit, a soft light from a candle immediately illuminating his face. Frost crawls up the stone walls like an ever-present reminder of Bi-Han’s power, chilling the air between them. Havik barely seems to notice, his vacant eyes focused solely on the Grandmaster standing across the room, his posture a mask of practiced calm.

Bi-Han clears his throat, breaking his silence. “Your proposal. Elaborate.”

Havik stands taller, excited to still have grasped Bi-Han’s curiosity. “Tell me, Bi-Han,” he begins – the sudden use of his given name not going unnoticed by the Grandmaster. “Do you know what it is like to be free? Truly free? Or have you always been bound by the Lin Kuei’s false honor?”

Bi-Han crosses his arms, staring Havik down with an annoyed glare. “Honor is a choice, Havik. Not a shackle. I invite you to choose your words carefully when you speak of the clan I lead.”

Havik laughs, low and guttural, his voice like gravel against stone. “Perhaps, but I wonder how much of that is a true choice, and how much are you clinging to what you’ve been taught – to your chains.”

A slight frown flashes across Bi-Han’s face, though he quickly composes himself. The way Havik speaks so casually, so provocative, as if the core of his being could be so easily dissected. Yet..he couldn’t ignore the possibility of a slight truth in Havik’s words. He keeps his eyes on Havik, hesitant to look anywhere else.

“What exactly do you want from me, Havik?”

Havik steps closer, an amused hum leaving his throat. His fingers trail lightly over a frost coated desk beside him, his gaze looking down to meet Bi-Han’s. “I want you to see chaos as I do,” he murmurs, tone surprisingly softer, yet still layered with its typical intensity. “Imagine a world without boundaries. Without restraint. Just power…and desire.”

Bi-Han suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “You’d think me so foolish to throw away everything I have built for some hollow promise of freedom? I have my own path, one that doesn’t require your madness.”

Havik’s face is blank, showing a lack of reaction to Bi-Han’s words. “Not madness, truth!” He corrects again. “Is there not a part of you that longs to let go of control? To let chaos in, even for a moment?”

The Grandmaster’s jaw clenches, wanting to deny Havik further, but something in the man’s gaze – a dark, pervertish desire – holds him in place. Havik’s cold, rotting, fingers make their way to Bi-Han’s arm, a slight touch, but enough to imprint the feel on Bi-Han’s mind forever.

“You do not have to be alone in this world, Bi-Han,” Havik starts, “there is power in chaos, yes, but there is also the comfort found in…connection.”

Bi-Han’s heart begins to increase in pace, though his face remains impassive. Havik’s gaze is still unflinching, his corpse-like eyes aiding him in hiding emotion. His fingers trace a line up Bi-Han’s arm until they reach his shoulder, then his collarbone.

“Is that your true wish, Havik?” Bi-Han’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “Connection?”

A silence stretches between them, the weight of the conversation thickening the air. Bi-Han considers stepping back, letting the previous, familiar distance reassert itself. But he doesn’t move.

Havik’s hand finally slides up to cup the side of Bi-Han’s face. “It is what you want, too. Let me show you what true freedom feels like.”

And then, before Bi-Han could respond, Havik leans in, gently pressing their heads together. The moment ends as quickly as it began, and Havik grabs Bi-Han’s hand, leading him to his bed. He pushes Bi-Han into the mattress with too much force to be considered gentle, but soft enough to be out of Havik’s norm. Bi-Han allows him to remove his clothing piece by piece, until nothing's left for the imagination. Bi-Han thinks back to intimate moments with past partners, usually the pace is slowed with kisses that express longing for one another. But with another quick glance at Havik – it’s obvious to see why this experience cannot be compared to others.

Havik begins to take off his own garments. Starting with his helmet, chest piece, then loincloth, carelessly throwing them across the room. He climbs on top of Bi-Han, hunger growing through him. His hands reach to touch Bi-Han, but he is interrupted before he gets the chance.

“You will speak a word of this to no one,” Bi-Han threatens, “do not make me regret speaking to you.”

Bi-Han expects a booming cackle, a snarky comment, maybe an eye roll – anything he’s learned to expect from Havik. But he gets a simple nod in response. Havik’s more focused on the nude form in front of him. He allows his hands to map out Bi-Han’s pale skin. They outline his chest, drawing a circle around a small mole above his nipples. Havik leans down, indulging himself in the taste of Bi-Han’s skin. His rough, almost cat-like tongue dances around the mole, before dragging down to Bi-Han’s nipple. Bi-Han’s back slightly arches at the sudden contact, and hisses as Havik invites his other hand to stimulate Bi-Han’s chest in tandem with his tongue. Bi-Han can feel himself becoming lightheaded once his dick begins to harden. He raises his hand to touch Havik’s dick, and he’s quickly rewarded with a groan and tug to his nipple. Bi-Han slowly moves his hand and familiarizes himself with Havik’s length, his breath hitches as he feels its girth. His mind drifts to the thought of it slowly stretching him out, knocking the air out of him with each thrust.

Bi-Han tries to lose himself in the feeling of Havik in his hand, but his partner has other plans. A frustrated huff leaves Havik as he suddenly loses interest in teasing Bi-Han’s chest, suddenly turning his attention to Bi-Han’s cock, perhaps grabbing it with a bit too much force, as a sound mixed with bliss and annoyance escapes Bi-Han’s throat.

“Finally,” ire laces Havik’s tone, “I want to hear you.”

Havik temporarily removes his hand to spit on his palm, then returns it to Bi-Han. His hand drags up and down Bi-Han’s dick, relishing in how Bi-Han’s brows furrow. Havik experiments with different speeds and pressures, desperate to find the correct combination to make Bi-Han’s head spin. Another blissed groan is how Havik knows he’s succeeded. By now Bi-Han has given up on returning the pleasure to Havik – not that the latter even cares. His cheeks are flushed, and his legs feel weak. He tries to level his breathing, but Havik’s hand working his body forces each sigh to come out shaky. Bi-Han’s fingers find purchase in the bedsheets below him. His strong grip almost steadying him as he melts into the sensation.

Bi-Han grunts and tenses as he suddenly realizes the existence of a spit covered finger dancing around his entrance. Feeling Havik’s eyes on him, Bi-Han tries to relax his body, giving a silent ‘go ahead.’ Havik takes the chance to push a finger inside Bi-Han, sighing as he feels the muscles tighten around him. Bi-Han feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, the dual sensations of Havik’s hand on his dick and inside him makes his body feel wobbly and weak. Not a single Lin Kuei would recognize their Grandmaster in this state: pupils blown, face red, slightly trembling. Bi-Han loses his last bit of control when a soft moan breaks out in response to Havik pushing in another finger. Bi-Han only wishes to tell Havik to fuck off when he hears the man cackle, but another moan leaves his throat before he can do so. Bi-Han slightly hisses in discomfort, wishing he had proper lubricant. He makes a mental note to be more well prepared for future encounters.

A sudden pressure is soon felt deep in Bi-Han’s abdomen, his eye twitching as he realizes what it is. His face scrunches up as the feeling grows, soon becoming unbearable. He reaches down to tap Havik’s hand – a warning. And with another, much louder moan, Bi-Han cums all over Havik’s hand and his own stomach. He pants, trying to find respite after such a huge feeling, but finds it difficult as Havik refuses to slow his pace. Bi-Han sharply exhales as sensitivity boils over, squirming as Havik’s fingers curl inside of him. He hisses right before the feeling has a chance to become uncomfortable, and smacks Havik’s hand.

Havik slowly removes his hands from Bi-Han, and gives the Grandmaster a positive, almost curious look – one that is not shared by Bi-Han.

“I do not wish to continue,” comes Bi-Han’s weak voice. He cringes at the thought of Havik inside of him without any form of lubricant, knowing even attempting to do so would put him out of commission for a day or so.

Havik doesn’t fight the request, instead getting off the bed in search of something to clean up with. He returns with a cloth, using it to wipe cum and sweat off Bi-Han’s body. The material is familiar, and Bi-Han promptly smacks Havik’s arm upon realizing his own clothing is being used as a towel.

Tossing the garment aside after finishing his task, Havik once again places his forehead against Bi-Han’s, content with how the night has played out.

“Rest, Bi-Han,” is all he says as he shifts himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “Tomorrow, we will discuss my plans in further detail.”

“And where will you be whilst I rest?”

“I will still be here.”

[moronkombat]

MK Shipping: Stryker X Havik Prompt:Kinky bondage,cop X criminal, arrested gone wrong,force sex bribe,tied up,in Living Forest

Well, this certainly now how this supposedly simply arrest meant to go. No, this meant to be a get in and get out. Cuff 'em and book 'em type of deal right? Wrong, horribly wrong. When Stryker had chased the chaos obsessed Havik, he never expected what to transpire on this so lively forest.

No he never expected to have arms chained together behind one's back. He didn't think there'd be any sort of debuachery transpiring. That was Stryker's problem though, he didn't think.

"Oh, looks like the big bad cop caught me" Havik had purred, cornered and trapped like an animal. But Havik was no one's prey. Not ever.

"What are you gonna do now, hm? Gonna take me off to a cell? Lock me away?" He had laughed then, low and purring. "No, you're not gonna do that at all are you?"

The grip on Stryker's weapon had faltered then and then whispers began and how vile they were. Stryker had the power here, didn't he? His superiors' eyes could not prowl here. There only him and this villain he hated so much. Yes, hated. He hated him.

That why Stryker has put his wrists around the other's? Was that the reason for Stryker filling Havik's mangled mouth with fingers that hooked and clawed? Yes, that must be it.

"How about this-" Stryker had finally responded, his fingers shaking. "You do something for me and I'll forget you were ever here." What was he doing?

Havik's tongue swiped across his bared teeth, wet and sloppy and Stryker detects the hint of a smirk. "And what would you have me do?"

With those words their two fates were sealed in this embrace that carried no tenderness. No, there would be no tenderness. Between these two bastards there only cruelty in it's most feral of forms.

A tongue had curled around the length of Styrker's length while a hand pulled at dark locks of ebony. Hoe licentious it was to feel the smooth of Havik's tongue trace along the veins that outline his length. Styker's spine curls and twists as that daring tongue so purposefully runs along.

A moan escape's the officer and eyes roll back into their skull but he can't finish now. Not yet. He would get his fill with his one. So when he shoves the mangled criminal against the tree, he doesn't hesitate to bite along a tempting neck. He doesn't wait to remove the clothes that kept them apart. He doesn't waste a single breath sheathing himself to the very brim.

The stretch is burning, gnawing and Havik relishes in it. Further and further Stryker reaches and Havik's hips twist and turn. He hums and purrs when he feels Stryker throb within him. Though his hands remain tied, Havik's fingers still flex and twitch. He wants to desperately to reach behind him and pull those dirty colored locks.

He will have to wait, won't he? Oh how he feels his wrists begin to bleed against those metal cuffs so how sweet it must look. He wishes he could see it but he must settle for being so roughly pushed against the bark of a tree.

These two will have their fun, won't they? The sounds of their sex carry through the leaves and their voices are the wind to guide them. What better night is there to be had than this?

[nxttheendxfthestxryarch2]

Tag Dump - Ships

[ohheyitsokay]

🎉Congratulations lovely! 🎊

The tattooed phrase trope is absolute gold in soulmate AU fics.

Am also a sucker for rivals to lovers ^^

Maybe a fluffy little piece between Poe and the reader with the Reader's phrase being "Well show me what you've got then, flyboy?"

hellooo welcome to the chaos (since you're new here!)

I'll do my best, I hope you enjoy!

warnings: I think this is just fluff, with vague mentions canon typical drama

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There was something about those hanger hallways, something that made it feel like you had to walk fast.

Maybe it was the clean sharp lines, and the regular announcements, and the smooth lines of droids on their merry way.

Maybe it was the urgency of saving the universe from pompous 'rulers' who thought they had any idea what was best.

Or, maybe you just liked to move quickly.

It was in your blood - not because you were born into it, but because you had shed blood, with sweat and tears to get to where you were. And because the universe had half dictated it that way.

"I hardly think it matters. Not that I dont think good pilots help, but I dont save lives," you retorted to the rebel beside you, her steps in pace with yours. "Not like you."

"Become a medic then," Jane rolled her eyes. Your mouth opened, words still forming on your tongue, before your friend stopped dead, hands on her hips. The hallway was forked, little labels indicating youd half pulled her in the wrong direction.

"Hush," she said. "I dont care what excuse you have this time. We both know you don't have a option." Eyebrows raised, and you sighed, dodging another hurried rebel as they almost tripped on a little mouse droid.

On your arm for years now were the words So, you're a pilot?

Long nights you'd spent arguing about fate with your friends - you loved flying, you really did, but-

"It's such a glory job," you always protested.

"Main characters are pilots," she would reply, her sturdy shoulders shrugging. Her agreement didnt make you feel better. If you were lucky, someone else would add, "But you're not like that."

Because you weren't. You were just... you.

"I just want to help people." And no one would argue because that was true, too.

It hadnt come upon awhile, fate, and short lived careers, and how infuriating it was when people held nations lives in their hands because they loved the attention. You lived with it, and kept your mouth shut. because General Organa needed all the help she could get.

And you couldn't deny that you loved it, and it was easier to bear the stress of reality when you didnt think too hard. But -

"Why is this coming up again?" A rhetorical question, delivered with a smirk, and responded to with a childish face.

Jane was pulling you down the opposite hallway, towards the bay, and your stomach twisted, despite the friendly teasing. He was there, you'd told her before, so she knew the reason you'd been antsy, looking for something to blame.

Poe Dameron.

A hotshot pilot, maybe the best in the galaxy. An infuriatingly handsome, ridiculously charismatic, obnoxiously smart, stupidly kind rebel who had nearly blown up your favorite x-wing.

You couldnt decide if he deserved an award or a good solid slap to his cheek. The favored option switched each day, but nothing would come from either - you had never actually talked to him, always too afraid of... what youd be opening yourself up to.

Becaus even from far away you saw him, late at night repairing that dumb x-wing with his bubbly little bb unit, talking to the little thing like he really was sorry. Because you saw him hugging a new recruit, talking to them for what must have been hours after their first mission. Because his smile, the same one that had captured the hearts of almost everyone around, was full of thoughtfulness and earnestness and confidance.

And if you didnt tell yourself that he was selfish, flying for all the wrong reasons, and that you were going to show him? If you didnt protest that your attention was solely in seeking pilot humility?

Then, Maker help you, you were in love with him.

"Shut up," you said sternly, as your friend grinned, and the two of you approached the ship you'd spent all morning checking and rechecking. Her response blew away, drowned under the noise of chatter and intercom announcements and the chaos of the hanger.

A hard hug, a fistful of fabric, and shouts to stay safe, and both her and her teasing disappeared, and your turned the the hunk of metal above you.

"So, you're a pilot?" It was the words, but the voice that made you flinch. You'd heard him before, voice like dark caf in mornings, sweetened at the edges with golden honey.

No way he was talking to you.

"I mean, obviously you're a pilot." Why was he here? Wasn't his ship... oh. Next to yours.

"And a damn good one, I hear," he kept talking. Your words were sticking in your throat, alarm bells screaming to tell him off, to spit out your righteous lecture or tell him to mind his own business or something. You unintentionally ignored him, but he just... kept talking, content to let you work opposite of him.

"I... I've seen you around." For the first time, your gaze snapped into his, wondering at the nervousness of his tone. Regretting it instantly, you turned away. His eyes were like his voice, dark and warm and bad for you. Bad, bad, bad.

"You talk about how we do this for others."

Hand on the top rung of your ladder, you paused, this time looking at him deliberately. He really wanted to have this conversation? And... Maker it felt like you'd hit an asteroid. All those walls, sharp and sturdy like tempered metal, crumbling around you.

He shouldve looked smaller, hanging from his own ladder like he didn't have anywhere to be, but he didnt. Of course he didn't.

"I agree," he said, awkwardness replaced with a resolute phrase. Almost a promise.

And you grinned.

"Well," you held his gaze as he pulled himself up another rung, to be even with you. "Show me what you've got then, flyboy."

And he grinned back.

He disappeared from view for a moment as you pulled yourself into the cockpit, and your mind, which had gone blissfully silent, abruptly began to scream.

Something - something just happened - but it was time to go, and you had a mission, and the coms were switching on, and -

Looking over you saw him, his beautiful eyes as wide as yours felt.

And then you got the all-clear for take-off.

-

He had searched for you the moment you landed. You knew he did.

But you had landed a row away from where he did and hunkered down in the cockpit and tried to breathe and process the mission - a resounding success - and the terrifying thought that you had maybe just found your soulmate. And been one slightly-less-perfect maneuver away from losing him again.

He - he probably got swept away int he rush of celebrating crowds like he always did. Not that you noticed.

The phrase, on your arm, it was... it was common, right? Anyone could say it.

The whole mission you'd shoved it out of your mind, only focused on getting everyone out of there alive, and now that it was over...

You didnt know what to do. The hanger was quiet, void of cheering crowds and pilots alike, and you climbed out, hitting the ground with a thud.

Poe was waiting for you, looking almost shy as he buried his hands in his pockets. Sleeves rolled up, you saw words youd never noticed before... words you'd felt in your mouth mere hours ago.

"How'd I do?" He asked, his smile small, dark eyebrows bending in.

Like before, the chaos of your thoughts stilled, storm waves settling to a gentle tide. You walked towards him, wondering at the feeling.

"Not too bad," you said, trying your hand at a matching smile. It came easy, easier than you were prepared for.

"Yeah?" Was he always so tall?

"Didnt get anyone killed."

"Good point," his voice sounded rough, and... he was close.

"I think," Poe wet his lips, and you could almost feel it, he was so close. "I think my soulmate prefers it that way." He was right.

Hand on that broad chest, flight suit streaked with who knows what, you kissed him.

He kissed you.

Warm and sweet.

And slow.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @pbeatriz @saradika @zinzinina

[jasmariswonderland]

🧚‍♀️Vidaria Cherith, Second Year NRC Student Twisted from Morgaine Le Fay of Arthurian Legend🧚‍♀️

Main Tag | Character Playlist | Ship Playlist | Alternative Ship Playlist | Overblot Playlist | Aesthetic | Personal Stories | Voice Claim | Cards | Inspiration

~~~~~

TW/CW:  Vidaria’s backstory includes heavy themes of warfare, murder, forced annexation, and other things that may depict some canon characters in…not the best light.

~~~

🧚‍♀️Introduction🧚‍♀️

Name: Vidaria Cherith

Other Names: Pearl of My World (her father), Ojou-sama/Young Miss (Sebek), Briar Bloom (Lilia, Heloise), Vidi/Vida Vidi Vici (Iman), Reine la Foret (Rook), Piranha (Floyd)

Age: ???

Birthday/Starsign: November 30th (Sagittarius)

Height: 152CM

Eye Color: Ocean

Hair Color: Charcoal Grey 

Homeland: The Land of Mists (Raised in Briar Valley)

Family: Unnamed father, unnamed mother, Felice Cherith (younger sister), unnamed older brother, deceased older brother, deceased uncle, two deceased cousins

Dorm: Diasomnia

School Year: Sophomore

Class: 2-A (No. 3) 

Club: Equestrian Club and Black Swans (main member)

Best Subject: Ancient Magic

Dominant Hand: Right 

Favorite Food: Nikuman

Least Favorite Food: Lilia’s cooking

Dislikes: Riding sidesaddle and violence of any kind

Hobbies: Horseback riding, fencing, studying, and long walks in the forest

Talents: Equestrian acrobatics

~~~~

🧚‍♀️Background🧚‍♀️

Vidaria is the first born princess of a very old royal house that no longer exists in a ruling capacity. Her father is/was the ruler of the Land of Mists, a secluded fae kingdom of the Seelie court rich in beauty and mystery. As a child, she was the darling of her family, wanting for nothing. In her relatively happy life, she only had two major concerns, weather the arrival of a baby sister would deplete her parent’s love for her and if she would grow to love the infant human prince that she would one day be betrothed to. 

While outwardly the Land of Mists appeared peaceful, the kingdom had been fighting for years against annexation by Briar Valley, which blossomed into full on war over time. As a Seelie kingdom allied with the Silver Owls, the Cherith’s were never on good terms with the Draconias and of the many fae kingdoms that once occupied the isle where Briar Valley is located, the Land of Mists was the largest and last to be conquered. While Vidaria was aware of the war taking place, her family saw to it that the fighting wouldn’t affect her or her sister. And when their kingdom eventually found themselves on the loosing end of the war, the princesses were still left blissfully unaware. 

Vidaria did not notice the worried looks her father and uncles wore on their faces, did not understand the large map in her father’s study scattered with black dots representing the enemy’s advancement coming close to their home, or see her mother weep at night with concern about bringing up her new baby in such an unstable time. Her life remained more or less peaceful but soon enough fate would force her to experience war firsthand when enemy forces made a surprise attack on her hometown.

That day, Vidaria was playing with her baby sister in the courtyard and actually mistook the sound of explosions for fireworks. It didn’t take long for the enemy to lay siege upon the palace. In the ensuing chaos, one of Vidaria’s brothers and two of her cousins were killed and she was separated from the rest of her family. She managed to escape the palace and was rescued by one of her uncles. He found refuge for them in the forest where he kept her safe, before they were discovered by an enemy general. Vidaria watched with horror as her uncle was murdered trying to protect her and after a futile attempt to continue running, she was captured. But to her surprise, instead of killing her also, Lilia ends up returning her to her parents. 

Somehow, Vidaria survived this harrowing ordeal and was briefly reunited with her family. In a twisted turn of fate, a ceasefire was put in place and her family was allowed to maintain their noble status. But with the understanding that Vidaria would be taken away from her home and raised by the royal family of Briar Valley and wed their crown prince when she came of age. At which time, her kingdom would be absorbed into his. Her father accepted these terms, partially out of maintaining peace but mostly to maintain the family’s status and not willing to continue fighting a war they couldn’t win.

Vidaria would never forgive her father for this and in an even more twisted turn of fate, the one placed in charge of her day-to-day upbringing was the very same who murdered her uncle in front of her. 

So Vidaria was brought to Briar Valley to be raised as a lady of the Draconia court. While the Draconias treated her very well, she found their ways terrifying and her caretaker doubly so. It didn’t take long before Vidaria tried to find some means of returning to her old life and began studying poison with the goal of murdering Malleus so there would be no reason for her to stay. Unfortunately, most of her attempts were unsuccessful and only resulted in her accidentally killing one of her handmaidens and Lilia keeping a closer eye on her despite her pleas for solitude. Over time, however, Vidaria has grown accustomed to life in the Draconia court and found a friend in another one of her handmaidens, a girl name Heloise. One of the defining moments of her captivity came when Lilia found Silver, whom Vidaria took an immediate interest in. After seeing how kindly Lilia cared for the boy, Vidaria came to see Lilia in a different light and slowly began trusting him. 

Many years later, Vidaria has more or less resigned herself to her fate and has found happiness where she can. Though technically a political prisoner, she lives like a princess and is still treated very well by the Draconias. Lilia has always treated her with tenderness, understanding the part he’s played in destroying her old life and ensuring her new one is as uncomplicated as possible. Her fear of him has slowly vanished and has even developed into a strange fondness. And she’s accepted that she will become the next queen of Briar Valley in time. She’s pretty indifferent towards her intended but she desires the position their union will bring so she can spare her people further violence. 

Her greatest solace is her friendship with Silver and Sebek. As they’ve grown older though, they’ve begun to drift apart due to the boys having a strong sense of reverence for her because of her background and future role. Because Vidaria is often the target of kidnap from resistant groups from the Land of Mists, the boys also act as bodyguards for her as well as Malleus, further distancing them.

~~~~

🧚‍♀️Appearance🧚‍♀️

Vidaria has pale white skin without a hint of color and eyes the color of the sea. Her hair is a very dark charcoal grey, almost black, that shines in the sunlight. Her hair is arranged in a side ponytail. Vidaria’s ears are pointed, like most fae, but her fangs are smaller and less pronounced (similar to Sebek’s). 

There are two deep wing slits in her back that are often covered by the clothes she wears. Her wings are semi transparent, iridescent violet and teal with a bright golden glow. This glow is more vibrant in dark and foggy weather (useful for getting around in the Land of Mists). However, Vidaria is extremely secretive about the fact that she’s a winged fae because she unfortunately cannot use them. As she’s aged, her wings have begun to heal and she is currently trying to learn to fly in secret. But she still has a long way to go before they are fully functional. 

She wears her school uniform with no blazer with black ankle-length boots and sheer black pantyhose. Vidaria is also the only student to have a completely unique dorm uniform without being a dorm leader, a symbol of her status and connection to her dorm leader.

~~~

🧚‍♀️Personality🧚‍♀️

Vidaria tends to close herself off to most people and is not the easiest person to get along with. There is a certain level of fear she carries with her that results from past traumas in her life. She can be snappish with people, mainly when she’s nervous. But she’s not naturally cruel, just very serious with this severity only melting away when she’s doing something she enjoys or surrounded by people she trusts and likes. When she does let her guard down, she’s exceptionally lively, witty and a little bit sly. She does have her childish moments, particularly when she feels like she’s been insulted, but she is reasonable for the most part. So much so that Queen Maleficia has even stated that between the two, Malleus and Vidaira, the latter is actually the more emotionally mature. 

Like most fae, Vidaria is far older than she appears though she is younger than both Malleus and Lilia. Sebek has placed her age as somewhere in the 200’s though according to Lilia, Vidaria is still quite young. Her age has given her a lot of wisdom and knowledge and she often comments on the youth of those around her, notably calling Sidonie a “silly human child” and Iman “little sister”. But despite her advanced age, Vidaria is still very much a teenager mentally and partially because of her friendship with Iman, she’s more knowledgeable about modern technology and slang compared to others from Briar Valley. Something she and Lilia share in common.

He still dotes on her, though sometimes his actions bring back terrible flashbacks. He’s always extremely remorseful when this happens but Vidaira will then self-isolate and cry until she’s calm again. One of the reasons for this is because she has poor control over some aspects of her magic and when she’s in a highly emotional state and not careful, she uses it rather recklessly and without realizing it. That she hasn’t overblotted is something of a miracle. School life has come as a blessed distraction from some of her darker emotions and she excels in most of her studies. 

On the back of a horse is where Vidaria feels most at home and she loves her activities with the equestrian club. She’s a champion show jumper and also loves racing but doesn’t do the latter professionally since the queen disapproves of it out of fear of injury. The queen also insists she ride sidesaddle but Lilia allows her to ride astride while at school, encouraging it even.  

Her best friend is fellow club member and sophomore Iman of Scarabia and she also has an academic rivalry with Sidonie.

~~~

🧚‍♀️Unique Magic🧚‍♀️

Vidaria has yet to discover her UM but it has been implied that it’s something terra-centric. While far more magically skilled than most at NRC, her magic is very unstable and she has poor control over her output. She does however have high magic reserve and has learned over time how to control her blot levels.

~~~

🧚‍♀️Other Skills/Talents 🧚‍♀️

🧚‍♀️ Cooking ~ Vidaria is actually a very good cook, a skill she picked up because of her distaste for Lilia’s cooking and her fear of poisoning in her earlier years. 

🧚‍♀️ Singing ~ According to Danica, Vidaria has a very enchanting singing voice.

 🧚‍♀️ Musical Instruments ~ In addition to singing, Vidaria is also skilled with the harpsichord and Lilia is currently teaching her how to play the harp. 

🧚‍♀️ Poison Crafting ~ Considering Vidaria began studying poison at an early age, she is highly skilled in crafting them and is currently one of the top poison crafters in the sophomore class. So much so, she is permitted to take the Poison Refinement elective normally reserved for juniors, much to Sidonie’s jealousy. 

~~~

🧚‍♀️Trivia/Lore🧚‍♀️

(A/N: This section will be updated over time)

Vidaria’s name comes from the god Vidar of Norse mythology, a son of Odin who is foretold to avenge his father's death at Ragnarok. 

Her horse was a gift from the queen of Briar Valley and is named General L, in not so subtle honor of her guardian Lilia.

Vidaria is the reason why Sidonie is banned from using her unique magic on campus. 

Vidaria is one of three twst ocs I’ve written a potential overblot plot for in the future. 

~~~

🧚‍♀️In-Canon Adventures🧚‍♀️

🧚‍♀️Prologue ~ Because Vidaria started her freshman year at NRC a little late, she never experienced the mirror sorting ceremony and was entranced by it. However, she was curious about Malleus’ absence and upon Lilia’s suggestion, went to look for him. She found him back at the Diasomnia dorm looking upset and he tells her he wasn’t aware the orientation was going on because he wasn’t invited. This slightly confuses her and Malleus implies that he envies Vidaria’s ability to make human connections and friends. She confesses that even if she can make human friends, she is still not without her own troubles trying to fit in. In a very rare moment of bonding between them, Vidaria ops to stay with Malleus and they talk amiably until Lilia returns with the new freshman. 

🧚‍♀️ Book 1 ~ Vidaria was unaware of what was happening at Heartslabyul and as of Book 5, is still unaware of Riddle’s OB. The only thing she took notice of was that one day (after his OB), Riddle just seemed less high strung than usual. But she didn’t think this was a bad thing and indeed since his OB, they’re friendship has greatly improved. 

🧚‍♀️Book 2 ~ For personal reasons, Vidaria chose not to play in the tournament for Diasomnia but cheered for her dorm from the sidelines. Though she was a little sad when Scarabia lost (Iman was playing on their team). She also helped Malleus tend to the injured after the stampede, resulting in yet another very rare moment of bonding between them. 

🧚‍♀️Book 3 ~ Malleus had previously warned Vidaria against Azul’s schemes so she did not get involved with him. She received high marks on all of her exams and even helped Iman with studying for some of them. 

🧚‍♀️Book 4 ~ While Vidaria was still on campus during the crisis at Scarabia, she and the rest of the Diasomnia crew stayed to themselves and she was not aware of what was going on until Iman confided in her. Before returning to Briar Valley, Iman convinced her to come visit Scalding Sands for a few days with her, which she agreed to enthusiastically. For more about Vidaria’s winter break adventures, read here. 

🧚‍♀️Book 5 ~ Vidaria auditioned for the VDC with Iman and both were accepted. However, there was slight drama between her and Malleus when she decided to give her VDC invite to Silver instead of him. For more about Vidaria’s Book 5 adventures, read here. 

~~~

🧚‍♀️Relationships (As Of Book 5)🧚‍♀️

A ~ Like Riddle, Vidaria has a deep respect for authority and rules and she also helps him with his ancient magic, a class he sometimes struggles with. Besides Iman (and Heloise when she was attending NRC), Riddle is Vidaria’s closest friend at NRC. Although he does chide her occasionally for her recklessness when they’re out riding. 

B ~Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader has always been kind to Vidaria and is quite curious about her. He’s aware that she’s a princess but not related to Malleus by blood and he wishes to know the connection between them. But Vidaria is resigning herself to her fate with the Draconias and doesn’t appreciate Rook trying to pry into her past. This was especially bad during Book 5 when VDC prep compelled them to be in close quarters with each other for several weeks. For the most part, Vidaria tries to avoid Rook whenever possible. Unfortunately, this has made Rook all the more fascinated with her and Silver’s amiability with him does not help matters. Rook is also the only one at NRC besides Lilia, Heloise and Iman who is knows that Vidaria is a winged fae. Knowledge he received without her consent. 

C ~ Vidaria’s relationship with Malleus is quite complex but surprisingly, is not very hostile. At least, not anymore. When they were first introduced to each other, Vidaria despised Malleus with valid reason and attempted to murder him more than a few times so she could be free to return home. Over time however, as she’s aged and matured, Vidaria has come to accept Malleus as a fiancé though she’s not really interested in him on a deeper level. Malleus for his part has always been kind to her, in a distant sort of way, but he’s pretty indifferent to their union as well besides the prospect of peace it will bring. To say nothing about the fact that Vidaria has begun developing feelings for Silver and Malleus is growing closer to Yuulan. 

D ~ Silver and Vidaria have been close friends for as long as Silver can remember and he’s always had a fondness for her that he could not describe. It is partially because of Silver’s presence is why Vidaria now has a kinder relationship with Lilia and Malleus. Before meeting him, Vidaria had never interacted with humans and took an interest in him right away. As he got older, Silver could see how unhappy Vidaria was and being adopted himself, could sympathize with her. When he was ten, he made a promise to her that he would always stay by her side and keep her safe. It is a promise that he has managed to uphold even to this day. Though they equally pine for each other, Silver is a little more distant about it since it’s been implied that Vidaria is intended to be Malleus’ bride and he be damned if he allowed personal feelings to come in the way of his duties to House Draconia. 

E ~ Vidaria and Sebek have a pretty decent relationship and he is as devoted to his duties to her as he is with Malleus. He has high reverence for her and while Vidaria appreciates it, she is also sometimes put off by just how devoted he is. She has often said to Iman that if she could learn to love Malleus at least half as much as Sebek does, her life as Briar Valley’s queen might actually be a happy one. 

F ~ Vidaria’s relationship with Lilia is another complex one and in some ways, is the most complex relationship she has in her life. On one hand, Lilia in some ways has been more of a father to her than her own father but on the other hand, he is also her sleep paralysis demon. For the longest time, she was terrified of him and avoided his presence whenever possible. Just looking at him was enough to make her burst into tears. Several unfortunate incidents caused by Vidaria’s distress has resulted in her requiring that Lilia maintain a five feet distance between them at all times and never touch her. Lilia has always honored these wishes and never forced her hand, understanding she is merely a pawn in fae politics and didn’t ask for any of this. It had been implied that Lilia regrets some of his actions in service to Briar Valley and not counting the period of time when Vidaria was trying to poison Malleus, Lilia has gone out of his way to not make her life difficult. It’s also implied that he maintains his childlike appearance as a way to keep Vidaria at ease since she is still terrified of him in his true form. His patient kindness towards her has been rewarded with her slowly developing trust and amiability. Unfortunately, Lilia has been less successful in trying to ingratiate Malleus with Vidaria and vice versa. 

🧚‍♀️Vidaria’s Relationships With My Other Twst OCs🧚‍♀️

A ~ Vidaria’s best friend at NRC. They first met a few months before they entered NRC. Vidaria was competing in an equestrian tournament that Iman and her family were attending and as a horse lover herself, she was in awe of her skills and sought her out once the competition was over. Iman is the first friend she has had outside of Briar Valley and in a way, she is her window to the outside world. 

B ~ Before Book 5, Vidaria didn’t really interact with Danica but that changed when she and Iman auditioned for the VDC and were accepted. Danica didn’t think much of their attitudes at first but over time, she found herself strangely drawn to Vidaria. She had previously heard many negative things about her from Sidonie but as she got to know her, Danica found that Vidaria was fun to be around and quite alluring. On stage, Vidaria brings an elegant and slightly dangerous charm to her performing that Danica finds irresistible in a way that’s not fully heterosexual. She would love to get to know Vidaria better as a friend but Sidonie’s hatred for Vidaria and Danica’s loyalty to Sidonie makes this difficult and likely impossible. 

C ~ On that same note, Vidaria and Sidonie have a very heated rivalry that has existed since both were freshmen. Initially, it began as one-sided jealousy on Sidonie’s part but it has since bloomed to full on hatred that is very mutual. For more detail about their rivalry, read here.

D ~ Heloise is one of Vidaria’s handmaidens and her closest friend after Iman. Currently, she is not attending NRC and as of 11/8/22, does not have a bio yet. She will soon, but for more info on Heloise, read here. 

E ~ Ayse is native to Briar Valley and holds a great deal of admiration for Vidaria, however a bit of that admiration has been peppered with Draconia propaganda. Ayse was born after the ceasefire and is under the idea that Vidaria personally chose to join the Draconia’s through marriage to stop the fighting between her kingdom and his. Despite this, Vidaria doesn’t think badly of Ayse for not knowing the truth and is fond of her in her own way. 

~~~

🧚‍♀️Cards🧚‍♀️

(Will be updated over time)

[merryfortune]

There Is Lead In The Paint Here

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt - #34 Lead

Title: There Is Lead In The Paint Here

Ship: Haruka/Yui

Fandom: Go! Princess Pretty Cure

Word Count: 1,696

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Not Canon Complaint, Alternate Universe - No Magic, Out of Character, Surrealism, Obsession, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Unreliable Narrator, Twist Ending

   Noble Academy had the best facilities, the best staff, the best resources. It placed young girls and boys on the world’s stage and prepared them not only for the real world but how to make it theirs. Thirteen year old Nanase Yui was desperate to become a student of Noble Academy and have a fabulous, even magical adolescence as one of its high schoolers.

   That was not the fate meant for her, unfortunately. Her application was rejected and it devastated her. She felt that shock strike deep to the soul as her dreams shattered. Or at least, tried to shatter, she took it on the chin and figured she was just average. She was never meant to be strange and unusual, a celebrity or a scientist. She was just plain. Mediocre. Middling. 

   With her first school of choice denied to her, that meant Yui had to go to the not quite so fantastical Yumegahama High School. It was not the worst of the worst, it was merely adequate. Only fine. Yui tried to convince herself this had to be a blessing in disguise, better to be a big fish in a small pond as they say. Whoever they were, they were right, of course.

   Three years later, on the cusp of graduation and a few months short of her seventeenth birthday, sweet sixteen year old Nanase Yui had become the crown jewel of the Yumegahama High School art department. It mightn’t be the most prestigious of studios or galleries but Yui felt very beloved for the attention and validation that was brought upon her because of her paintings. The art room had become her home away from home. She loved it dearly and it loved her back.

   Every scrape on the cracked floors, the blotched and splattered paint on the windowsill, the paintbrushes that were fuzzy and needed replacing, the first year’s clay creations and abominations that sat in every nook and cranny forgotten. It was all so unique and eclectic, Yui truly felt at peace amongst the chaos and eccentricity and lack of budget. She spent lunch time after lunch time, afternoon after afternoon in the inner circle of tables set up in the art room.

   Not alone, of course. Believe it or not, though she was a solemn and serious child, she did have a friend. Someone more than a friend, actually, a muse. Her name was Haruno Haruka and she was Yui’s best friend. Haruka was a recent transfer from the bright and marvellous Noble Academy, but she felt burnt out by the course load that was expected of her there and so, had come here. 

   Her wistful tales of Noble Academy validated Yui’s bittersweet feeling that being rejected from their school had, indeed, been a blessing in disguise. Haruka spoke of nights that she spent crying under the pressure and the wounds of her body as her own hobbies turned against her when she tried to monetise or hustle them. It sounded dreadful, made Yui’s skin crawl but to her, ultimately, they were just stories of something that happened to someone else. Even if that someone else was Haruka, dear and beautiful Haruka.

   But, they talked about loads and loads of things. Happier things, too. What models in the magazines were pretty, what flavour of doughnuts were du jour at the moment, and of course about Yui’s art too. They spoke lots and lots about Yui’s art because she was always in the middle of making something and Haruka found that exciting.

   Yui just made painting after painting, it brought her all the deepest joy. She learned something new from each and everyone of them, both the failures and the masterpieces alike. She fancied herself quite flexible when it came to styles of art in her body of work. She had been more stubborn in her younger years as a tween, getting in trouble for doodling cartoony little things in the margins of her various school books but putting her head to grind, she had learned some other styles. Realism, mediaeval, surrealism, cubism, that of the Fauves, ukiyo, and more. Yui tried them all and she liked the dreamier styles best. They best suited her ambition of becoming a children’s book author but for her personal interest project, she wanted to showcase the one that meant the world to her.

   She was doing a series of portraits. She had meant to do one of herself, one of Haruka, one of her favourite teacher, one of Haruka, and two of her parents but they all turned into portraits of Haruka. Yui was hopeless. She supposed it was a symptom of being in her springtime of youth as what wasn’t there to love about Haruka?

   Haruka was simply ethereal. She was graceful and dorky, delightful and well mannered but she could take a joke, often being the butt of it, even. She played the most wonderful songs on violin and could dance ballet, too. Everything she touched, she turned it into something fun and vivacious. She lit up every room with just her smile alone, it would be more difficult not to be captivated by such a blithe spirit. Especially one with as majestic and unrealistic a dream as Haruka: she aspired to be a princess and to her, princessliness was all of that and more. It was jubilance and amity, it was hard work and determination and Yui admired that.

   She admired everything about Haruka. Her ruddy-brown hair, her round cheeks dotted with freckles. Every stroke and brush that Yui painted of Haruka, it was painted with the most awestruck expression upon her own face and motions of love all down her arm, from where she held her paintbrush to her trembling shoulders. She loved painting Haruka above all else. She used to experiment more - garden scenes, still lifes, different studies of different people - but it all became Haruka now.

   Haruka, Haruka, Haruka.

 Even though all Yui thought about and made paintings of was Haruka, she never brought it up. She was a good and delicate friend like that. She even seemed demurely flattered by the notion, even when it tipped very much into the realms of crushes and pining. It was just that Haruka was to Yui’s heart like a bow was to a violin’s string, she elicited the most beautiful music and art from Yui, it flowed freely like nectar and ichor.

   Yui was all thankfulness for her dear friend and muse Haruka. She was waiting. She had to be. Waiting for Yui to find the courage the same way she could find the colours of the oil paints that she used. Yui was determined to pluck up the courage to confess her burgeoning feelings that were full and vibrant, like streaks of sunset over a field or like fruits just before harvest in the agricultural terraces.

   “What are you working on today, Yui?” Haruka asked sweetly as she sat beside Yui.

   It was just another day in their precious home away from home: a world all of their own, looking like a mere underfunded public high school art classroom but it was theirs. Every inch of it was memorised and mapped, slowly changing and ebbing, giving way to entropy as various classes came and went but at the end of the day, it was theirs and only theirs. 

   Haruka sat primly on the edge of a plastic, ergonomic chair, matching Yui’s but the scrapes and scratches were completely different. She had her hands on her knees and was watching intently as Yui painted onto the prepared canvas. She had begun the silhouette of a person and that person, was of course, her beloved.

   Yui giggled, “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, blushing. “It’s you. Or, well, going to be you.”

   “You’ve been painting me a lot lately.” Haruka commented, demure.

   Yui’s blush deepened. Her eyes skirted around the room. Her paintings were in places of honour and it was true. There were hung portraits of Haruka in every blank place, variations upon variations of each other, some still drying and some which had dried long, long ago. They were portraits of Haruka with the most sweet smiles upon her face and others were dreamy, blurry candids that were friendly, as though she were saying hello to the viewer and plenty more in between. They were utterly worshipful of the subject but there was something eerie to those bright colours.

   “Yes, I have.” Yui agreed and she shifted as she sat. She held her paintbrush tightly and turned her head. “It's because I’m in love with you. I have always been in love with you since the day we met and you became my muse.”

   “I know.” Haruka said. “I’ve loved you always, too, since then.”

   Yui leaned in and Haruka mimicked. They kissed one another and it was a slow, sloppy kiss. Yui had never kissed anyone before and she had only ever dreamed of kissing Haruka. She didn’t know if Haruka had ever kissed anyone before, she hoped not, but her technique seemed experienced, or at the very least everything that Yui had ever wanted and more.

   She felt her heart race inside the cage of her ribs. She held even tighter onto her paintbrush and she sighed at the end of that kiss. She inhaled the fumes of her oil painting and she felt the soft wetness of Haruka’s lip balm on her lips. They paused, they breathed, and they kept kissing. Kissing until the illusion was shattered and until the door to the art classroom opened and the sounds of various gasping awoke Yui from her trance.

   She turned her head, her eyes bleary and her lips slightly parted, dripping with fresh oil paint. She blinked, she stared, she cared not for what was happening around her. Yui only cared for her oil painting of her muse, her best friend and lover, her imaginary creation, smeared with her kiss and oil paints. Hazily, Yui listened as her teacher spoke so far away about how there had been a production recall on the art supplies - specifically the oil paints - that they used here, how there was lead in them.

[readerinsertfanfiction]

It has been a while since I wrote anything this long for fanfiction. o7

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Motonari Mouri

Prompt: Enemies to lovers (implied) + Soulmate AU (the first word/sentence your soulmate says to you is etched into your skin.)

The tides of the waves and the soft shaking of the boat was a lullaby to the body and mind, comforting you into a sweet lull that you found hard to fight off. But you were on a mission and you couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when the sea's greatest treasure was so well contented for and the map so near but not in your hands. Yet.

"Raise the sails! Rival ship signalled!" someone called from the crow’s nest, and you knew that to be your cue. For days the ship had been tiding the open sea, its captain too afraid to board now that he finally had the map. A coward’s decision with insight, you knew, for it had cut you off from any escape route, or room to act. It forced you to be patient, to wait for the wave to come. But with a rival ship in sight this changed, this could be your wave. And as the rest of the ship jumped into action you quietly slipped out of sight, carefully making your way down towards the captain's room; the place where the treasure map would be.

Whoever manned the other ship had a bold captain. The crash you heard, followed with the shock that threw you off balance on the stairs, signalled as much. A mixture of screams, war cries and fear alike, told the rest of what you needed to know above as you hurried yourself along the wall, knowing there was little time.

"Fire!" a voice cut above the rest of the chaos. It was the only warning you got as you were launched into the wall again. A sharp burst of fire and gunpowder followed. The attacking ship was out for blood and the cannon that had blasted a hole in the captain’s room did the rest. The smoke, thick at first, slowly faded revealing a tall figure stepping through without fear or care and in full confidence.

A showdown, you determined. For now there were two of you in the room. Though the winner between both ships was already decided the contest for the map had just started. You were determined to make yourself the winner, but knew that you weren't alone in that idea. A smile curved along your lips as you wondered if you would have to jump ship. It mattered little with whom you were, as long as you stayed afloat. Security first, you could always swipe away the treasure later.

The ship shook once more. Violently like a summer storm brooding, and a noise accompanied it along with more screams and yells incomprehensible from above. The fight had officially started as the sound of iron and steel clashed. The time to move and get your map was running out. And with the stranger already at the captain’s desk you knew you had to act fast.  

"Best give that to me," you smiled, a gun clicking in your hand as you aimed it at the figure from the smoke. A man, you recognised him, tall and dark with a mop of white hair. Handsome, you determined next, but nothing that could help him convince you to give up. Bold, just like those red coloured eyes that snarled at you with a wicked smile before pulling a weapon of his own. "Motonari Mouri," you named the man, a smirk on your face as you circled around the infamous pirate, "finally we meet." You had hoped for a showdown with the pirate before. There was a bounty on his head and you valued your bounties just as much as you loved your treasures. It had been inevitable for the two of you to meet, for the seas weren’t endless and the treasures few.

"Just give me that map," Motonari spoke, and somewhere you could tell that under all that rough exterior and slang there was a well-educated man. Someone that grew up within the upper class. It wasn’t his accent that got your attention, however. It was the sentence itself as you felt the back of your shoulder burn, the words imprinted there calling, snarling. You grimaced at that irony as you rolled your shoulders, slowly stepping around to face the man, a smile etched on your face when burnishing red eyes met yours, a scowl on his face.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate," you calmly responded, placing an emphasis on the last word as you watched Motonari click his tongue. "You will need me to be able to read the map," you stated confidently, and your newly found soulmate narrowed his eyes.

"Don't think that being my soulmate will save ya.” His tone is sharp before a confident smile finds his way, "or that I need ya.” And you could tell from that crazed smile that your soulmate meant every word. He would feed you to the sharks before taking you in.

A voice calling “halt!” followed by a warning shot had the two of you duck on the floor as you switched your target, your weapons aiming at the captain in distress who had originally hidden the map. “Don’t think you can get away alive,” the man blusters and you snort, pitying the fellow as you eye Motonari in mutual understanding.

"A shame, I could be useful," you shrug, trying not to seem daunted or worried. It was ill business to show any form of intimidation, not in a world where only the boldest could survive. Diving you roll underneath his arm, swiping the map out of Motonari’s hand as a pair of shots are released, only one finding its aim.

Throwing the scroll up in the air you give the pirate a whimsical look, ignoring the shot captain on the floor. "We only get one soulmate, after all." And with that dramatic claim you jumped through the hole, leaping over to the attacking ship. Another shot could be heard, followed by an order barked towards the remaining crew on the ship. Motonari’s ship.

The sails of the ship billowed and the low thud behind you amongst the rest of the leaping figures signalled the departure of the ship. It had gotten what it aimed for and so did you. Turning around you eye your soulmate, his eyes set in a deep frown before turning into a broad smile, a flash of his canine teeth flashing handsomely, "we only get one, right?" and you return the cheek, deciding that the pirate was worth the interest for more reason than simply fate.

But nothing was ever easy with Motonari and within your wandering life there was little room for ties and commitment. The map had been acquired, but there was only one treasure and it was one that you weren’t willing to share.

"Are you leaving?" his voice sounded harsh in the dark and you could tell that he was pouting underneath that harsh exterior. In the while the two of you had been partners you had come to know the man. The one that had been betrayed too often, the one that couldn't trust, the hurt child and the feral cat within. He who would hurt you before you ever had the chance of hurting him. The one who was as unwilling to share as you were.

The breeze that night smelled of salt, harshly whipping against both your faces, promising a storm. It felt like an apt moment to leave, you thought, but you weren't sure. You just had to leave, you felt.

"There is only one treasure," you answered, and the fiery red in Motonari's eyes took the same bluster as it had the first time you met, his lips pulling taut as he stared you down. For months you had followed while he had warmed up gradually. There was little to no change in his hostility, but you knew why, and you knew you couldn't ask for it. Not from him. Just as that your soulmate had known that you would leave his side one day. You were a wanderer, a treasure hunter, never to be tied to one place, or to a ship even. Your loyalty couldn't be tied. Not even to him whose fate was intertwined with yours.

"Ya can do whatever ya want, but the map stays," you heard him growl and a wry smile escapes you, having always known that sharing was not an option with him. It was something you had learnt not to ask for either. It wasn't selfishness, you knew. Not from Motonari. It was why you couldn't ask him to change, just as he couldn't ask the same from you.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a flick of your wrist you throw the map over. "I copied it, just so you know," you tell him honestly and the flicker in his eyes tells you that he had expected it, but appreciated your openness nonetheless. It made you feel braver and bolder for what was to come next, that which you knew to be the hardest part.

"If only you could ask the same of me." The words were out before you had a chance to review them yourself, your expression twisting as Motonari's brows raised, surprise painted on his face. Neither of you had expected an expression of your sentiments, not now when you were so determined to leave.

"Would ya?" he throws back at you and you laugh, at the informal tone he has taken with you, at the whole ordeal between you two. Soulmates, yet miles apart and it was so evident that both your hearts, or at least yours, wanted something that wasn't the reality now. Men paint their own tragedy, no matter how free their souls are believed to be.

"Can I?" you ask and you see a flash of irritation on the pirate's face, his nose scrunched up in that disapproving manner when things didn't go his way. The answer was already obvious, it had already been known for so long, but you wanted it out of him, you wanted Motonari to say it.

But he was as stubborn as you were and neither of you were willing to change. Not in nature, nor in life, or in style. "Whatever," his answer sounded and you knew this was the best you would get. The topic of soulmates still far away and undiscussed, the phrase 'I love you' even further away.

You knew that you both cared for the journey more than the result, for at least the both of you were adventurers at heart if there was nothing else you shared but fate.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Maybe We Meet Again

My Masterlist

In Another Life (prequel to this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: The first part (of two) of the sequel of In Another Life, set in a Modern!AU.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death (past), nothing else I can think of.

A/N: Hi, idk what you guys were expecting when it came to the follow up for In Another Life, but I hope you like this. Thank you so much for your support in that work and all the others, none of this would be possible without you guys keeping me sane motivated. Love ya.

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​

Ivar’s gaze is focused on his phone, awaiting his brother’s answer to finally know how much longer will it be before he gets to the café, but something makes him lift his gaze, looking out the window.

He sees you looking positively overwhelmed on a street corner, eyes squinting at a sign, trying to read the name of the street.

Ivar doesn’t know what it is that makes him adjust the crutch in his left arm and stand up to approach you. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t deny the pull, the whisper that if he doesn’t at least learn your name he will regret it.

“Do you need help?” He asks as pleasantly as he is able to, and based by the grateful smile you offer, even if twinged with embarrassment, he isn’t quite the mannerless grump his brothers make him out to be.

“Is it that obvious?” You huff a laugh at yourself, and continue, “I’m trying to find…”

Your eyes lower to your phone, and with an adorable frown in your nose, you give up on whatever it is you must say, and just show him the screen. The name of the university is familiar, but you are very much lost, it seems, for it is almost on the other side of town.

He tells you that, and tries not smiling at the expression on your face. Gods, you are cute.

“You are not from here.” He states, and you shake your head.

“Here on a scholarship, I’m going to be an assistant investigator in…” Your words die again, as you seemingly try to remember the name of the place you are supposed to be at. But you shake yourself out of that soon enough, and offer a smile, “I’m Y/N.”

The name makes something in him react, awaken. For a moment he tries to remember why, to understand, but it feels like trying to run in a dream, in feels strange and hopeless and out of his reach.

Before you can think him too strange, he tells you his name, and desperately tries thinking of something to say in the awkward silence that follows.

He finds himself asking if you have time for a coffee, motioning absently to the shop behind him, and by some turn of his luck, you say yes.

Ivar finds out soon enough that it is incredibly easy to get you to talk. It works for him, he doesn’t always know what to say, and he knows to most people he seems cold.

But you, you are warm and alive and expressive, and soon enough you are moving your hands excitedly, speaking of finally being granted the opportunity to assist in a dig on a ship burial site. Ivar frowns, and interrupts you with a mumble of your name, still not over the strange thrill that goes over him when sounds out the syllables.

“There’s no sea nearby, how w-…”

“A ship burial doesn’t mean one at sea,” You interrupt softly, eyes shining. After a breath, where it seems your smile trembles on your lips, you add, “Things are not as literal as you think they are, Ivar.”

He tries returning the smile, but his lips part and his breath stutters out.

Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something?

He shakes himself out of it, and leans forward on the table, resting his elbows on it and looking into your eyes.

“So, why all this? Why chase a love story all the way to Bække?”

You shrug your shoulders, a smile that Ivar tries not finding devastatingly adorable playing on your lips, “I don’t like secrets.”

“I don’t think they are keeping it particularly from you.”

“Still. I…it’s a story no one else knows, something that can change how we see the world.” Your eyes are shining in a sort of wonder, of excitement, he has never seen before.

Still, because he cannot help it, he reminds you, “How we see one man.”

“A man that changed the world,” You argue without hesitation, gesturing with your hands as you continue, “Strip away the atrocity, the cruelty, the…otherworldliness of those who are remembered as monsters, and the tale we tell changes, the world changes.

You place your hand over the worn book he saw you carrying, that when he asked you told it was your favorite copy of historical and archaeological records detailing the last years of the Golden Age for Vikings, your eyes fiery as they meet his,

“All we have to remember him by is the legend, the war stories, the chaos he sowed and the death that followed. Even his grave is one of magic, of superstition.”

“But not this one you are working on.”

“Not this one. If I can prove that she was his wife…” A breathed laugh leaves your lips, and Ivar clings to the sound. You bite your lip before insisting, “I just need her name to be the right one.”

“The right one?”

You shrug your shoulders, moving both hands so they are wrapped around your cup of coffee, though your fingers are anxiously tapping at the plastic covering. “His last breath was a whisper of a name. It may not mean anything, but it’s the one lead I have. He may have been a monster, but…he died with a name on his lips.”

“The name of his wife.”

You correct with a shake of your head, “Presumed wife, Rus records only speak of a shieldmaiden that was found dead in his room, before he tore the Rus apart from the inside. Sentimentality makes you think he was avenging her. Logic, on the other hand…”

When your words die with a gesture of your hand, Ivar finishes for you,

“Makes you realize he killed her.”

You nod, a twitch of sadness, a shine of grief in your eyes, before you shake your head at yourself with a sigh.

“The night the world ended.” You quote with a smile that trembles on your lips.

____

If someone were to ask him how life turned out this way, how he got to be here with you and have you love him and let him love you back, Ivar wouldn’t know how to answer.

He’s told you before that maybe it is Fate, that maybe, just maybe, you two were meant to be. Each time he speaks of it, you smile softly, usually shaking your head or kissing him to shut him up, but he sees the tremble in your smile, the curiosity in your gaze, the wondering.

Regardless of how he got here, he for once refuses to overthink this, refuses to let himself be twisted into knots by his own thoughts.

So, because he finds himself missing you -because he wants to, because he can, because he asked you to move in and you said yes- Ivar goes in search of you.

He finds you on the couch, your eyes closed and breathing deep even if your laptop is still open on the coffee table, expecting you to continue work you probably fell asleep doing.

More than a year you’ve dedicated to this dig of yours, this investigation. More than a year, you’ve A part of him torments him with thoughts that you may look elsewhere -both when it comes to a home and when it comes to him- when it is done, but he tries not dwelling much on it.

He whispers an endearment as he presses a kiss right under your ear, a gesture and softness a year ago he never would have believed himself capable of.

“C’mon, wake up, Princess. I can’t exactly carry you to bed.”

“There’s a…bed right here,” You make a vague gesture to the tiny space you leave for him to apparently sleep in, “And there’s a me, and a you.”

Ivar tries replying with a whisper of your name, but Gods, you have him wrapped around your pinky, and your smile stops whatever he was going to insist with.

With a sigh, he sits on the small space you leave, and discards the crutch on the floor at his side. Trying to move you so he can lay down and have you rest on his chest, he once again meets resistance.

“No, no, no,” You mutter sleepily, and stiffen so he can’t maneuver you. “I’m comfy. You leave me be, Lothbrok.”

Our arms lift weakly, inviting him to lay partially over you with his head on your chest. It is inviting, especially with the promise of your fingers running through his hair.

So, he desists and settles in place, pressing a kiss to the center over your heart and laying his head on your chest, his arms going underneath you and wrapped tightly around you.

Ivar closes his eyes, and he can hear it beating under his ear, can hear its rhythm as if he could know it by memory.

He turns his head, and presses another kiss to the skin over your heart.

What he wouldn’t do for that heartbeat.

____

You wake him in the early morning whispering excitedly about the chance to finally go to the site, and insisting that he has to come with you.

“It’s her.” You whisper, and your smile is fucking blinding. When he apparently dwells too long on the warmth of that smile, you insist with an excited pitter-patter of your feet that he gets up.

He does, and gets in the car with you, around curses about the cold that you giggle at, an annoyed furrow in his brow you kiss away, and grumbles about how far away it is that you soothe away with soft kisses.

You get ahead of him when you walk towards the stones embedded on the ground you said are in the shape of a ship, and Ivar limps behind you as you approach the biggest of the stones.

Your hair flows everywhere in the wind, and your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself to ward off the cold.

“The one thing that made him human is here,” You say, and he watches as your left hand raises as if to press your palm against the old stone, before you stop yourself. “The one proof that he wasn’t a…a monster. Just a man.

You chuckle, but it is bitter, sorrowful, pained; and your gaze lowers to the ground.

“Or…he was, until he killed her.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, to that look in your eyes, to that pressure he feels deep in his chest. So, Ivar grabs on tighter to his crutch and moves closer to the pillar.

“‘She will return victorious’.” Ivar reads slowly, feeling a pit of dread at the base of his stomach, like he’s at the edge of a cliff and about to fall, like he knows what it feels to have the world end, like…like he-��

Those that followed him, those that chose their Viking roots over Oleg’s Christian ways, stay quite a distance away, they know better than to approach.

Ivar doesn’t know how much time he has spent sitting on this cold grass engraving with shaking hands the words he tries remembering how to spell.

He knows he’s lost a lot of blood, can feel it, sticky and colder by the minute, pooling underneath him. The one blow that managed to land on him, he wishes he could remember who it was, how it happened.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened between your lips breathing a last kiss over his and the light dying in Oleg’s eyes as his body surrendered to the torture.

Even his hand is bleeding, Ivar notices. He remembers faintly of holding on to a small statue when he was told his father died, he remembers the feel of it breaking the skin.

He could die here, he knows.

If he doesn’t let them approach him, if he doesn’t let them stop the bleeding, he will die here, tired and worn and alone, under a pool of his own blood before a monument of his worst mistakes.

He can close his eyes and he can still feel the fathom touch of your hand on his cheek, can still taste the warmth of your smile pressed against his own lips, can still see your gaze filled with love and the promise of forever.

He can still hear your voice, soft and gentle, the whispered hope that maybe Valhalla is another chance to meet again, that maybe in another life there’s hope for…hope.

He finishes the last of the letters, and he sways forward, brow resting against cold stone.

It would be easy, he gathers, to close his eyes and give in to the lull of the memory of your voice, your touch.

But he refuses to.

Because he can also feel your hand giving one last caress before you sentence you both to die, can still taste the tears in your lips as you promise only death will stop you against his own, can still see your dead eyes staring back up at him, his knife deep in your heart.

And so Ivar drops the blooded iron tool before the words he will pray to his very last breath are true: She will return victorious.

He vowed once he would make the world remember him, but the world ended the night he put a knife through your heart. The world -his world- ended, and he finds with cruel clarity that he wants them all to know what it feels.

He will still be the most famous Viking who has ever lived. He will make them all suffer and pay and die. And they will remember the pain and death and chaos. And he will be a legend, if only one they will whisper in fear for the rest of time, if only the legend of a monster in a man’s skin.

Ivar crawls away from the boat made of stone, certain many will try to stop him, even more will try to kill him. Certain they will fail.

They can’t kill him, don’t they know who he is?

“Are you okay?” Your hand on his back, touch making him realize how quickly his breaths are coming out of him. Bu the can’t-…he can’t get his breathing back under control, he can’t…

He moves back, away from the stone -the monument, the grave- and his hand doesn’t grip correctly at the crutch on his side. Almost all his life with these things, he’s never failed to use them, they work as an extension of him by now.

And he realizes with dawning horror he wasn’t reaching for the forearm crutch he’s used to, he was expecting to find a rougher one, wooden and metal and…Gods, he can feel the pain of those iron braces, he can feel the pressure of the bones that try to break under unfitting contraptions.

He cannot keep the scream from leaving his lips when they set the bone back into place, the pressure building from the inside of his leg and the pain threatening to pull him under.

He feels faintly of your hand on his face, trying to help him feel anything other than pain; hears choppily of your voice by his ear, trying to drown out the beat of his own heart.

He can’t tell how much time passes, all he knows is that your touch and your voice prove to be the only thing keeping him conscious.

“I hate those things.” You mutter sometime in the night, and he opens bleary eyes to watch you gritting your teeth at the iron braces that lie somewhere on his left.

“Necessary.” The word leaves him in a gasp, and is all he can say. Still, the Gods would sooner sew his mouth shut for him to refuse arguing.

You have the look of wanting to argue, he knows it, he knows that fire like he knows himself; but you say nothing.

The fire is a different one, but still scalds, when you press your hand over his chest.

He hears you say his name, or…or he thinks he does, and when he looks at you, your eyes are the same. And…how didn’t he know?

His lips form the shape of your name, but he only rasps out grief, horror, regret, his regret.

Your expression falls, your eyes fill with tears. He knows that look, that shine of devastation in your eyes.

You look at him and he sees it written in your eyes, the plea that he doesn’t ask you to make this choice.

But he cannot go on while the threat of them taking you away from him looms over him. Either he loses you for good now, or they do.

A part of him dreads your answer, and another is already certain what your choice will be.

“I’ll stay,” You sentence, and it feels like breathing for the first time in a century, when he fills grateful lungs with air. “Out of love for you, not for the world you want to build.”

But he cannot keep the coldness of his voice, he cannot keep the venom from his lips. Because even if your choice was to stay, he wants to punish you for even thinking about leaving him behind.

“A world where you happen to be one of the most powerful women. Convenient, isn’t it?”

But even as ice cuts and bruises and breaks the skin, your smile is warm.

“I choose this world not for power, but because I cannot fathom a world without you in it.”

“You remember.” Is all you whisper. And he recognizes that expression in your face too, all he knew was the feeling behind it once. You have the look of someone whose world just ended.

____

Sooooo, what do you think? I’m sorry there isn’t much fluff, I’m not good at it. And I’m sorry it ends in a cliffhanger, that isn’t nice, but the last part (which takes place from the Reader’s perspective) will hopefully come soon.

Thank you so much for reading, I would love to know your thoughts on this one!! Love you!!

Maybe Death Gives Up On Us (sequel to this)

[omnicat]

A Brief Summary of More Seasons of “Timeless” (Inevitably Leading Up to Gladiator!Flynn)

Hey @ununpredictableme, here’s that thing I promised to show you! :D (Again with a delay, but better late than never, right? /o\ )

The thing about time travel was, it was just too damn tempting for its own good. The whole “doubling back over your own lifetime will kill you” thing was an effective deterrent to whims like “that date was a disaster, let’s go give my past self some tips to improve the experience” and “we’re going to try this specific evil plan over and over until it succeeds, dammit!”, but as it turned out, that still left plenty of bigger ambitions.

First, of course, there was Rittenhouse and its covert world domination schemes: the very reason time travel managed to be invented in the first place. Briefly interrupted by Garcia Flynn’s roaring rampage of burning Rittenhouse to the ground and/or saving the wife and daughter they’d murdered. (Preferably both at the same time, but when push came to shove he would’ve settled for going down in a blaze of martyrdom, survivor’s guilt soothed by the knowledge that he’d at least tried.)

/S1; Flynn

Then back to Rittenhouse, their plans by that point out of the development phase and being implemented by a visionary with more flair and philosophy than common sense, but plenty of dangerous ideas either way. Though it didn’t take long for Rittenhouse’s deplorable recruitment practices to come back and bite them in the ass, resulting in a coup by one of its lowest-esteemed members.

/S2; Rittenhouse

Emma Whitmore, driven by nothing but a bitter desire to thrive over the backs of anyone who had ever harmed or held her back with even so much as their mere existence, but no longer knowing what thriving meant after the decades of pressure and manipulation and isolation Rittenhouse had subjected her to, turned the time machine into her personal pirate ship. She looted and pillaged her way through history, taking treasures and torching everything that pissed her off. And there wasn’t much that didn’t piss her off. If Flynn’s strategy had been to blow up especially fishy-smelling rocks and see what Rittenhouse filth came scurrying out from underneath, and Nicholas Keynes’ had been to repaint history in his own image in intricate and meticulously crafted brush strokes, Emma’s was to punish those in history who disadvantaged her and twist the arms of those who could elevate her in the cruelest ways she could think of. It was no wonder Jessica Logan had turned on her, in the end. It had only been a matter of time before Emma would have turned on her – and her baby.

/S3; Emma

For a short while, they thought Jessica’s change of heart was the end of it; Rittenhouse was in ruins, Emma dead, and Flynn mostly well-behaved as part of the Lifeboat crew. The antagonist bench was empty, the heroes no longer constantly preoccupied with defending themselves. The team finally had the time and opportunity to piece their timetravel-mangled lives and families back together. Lucy un-erased Amy, and their parents along with her; Flynn found a way to save Iris and Lorena without erasing all the victories their deaths had led to. Wyatt and Jessica took the Lifeboat to the 1400’s to raise their little family and clear their heads for a while. That while turned into forever. In the end, instead of disposing of the Lifeboat somewhere no modern villain would ever find it, as the initial plan had been, their grandson returned the ship to the 21st century, to a date mere weeks from the day they’d departed from. Sherwin was a bright, eager young man with Jessica’s eyes, Wyatt’s smile, an insatiable desire to see everything the past and future had to show him – and his best friend, Willard, in tow... who proved startlingly quick to be corrupted by the power of time travel.

Willard stole the ApocaLifeboat (thanks, Lucy Croft and Bearded Wyatt, that autopilot was just what they’d needed to make time travel even more of a crapshoot) and jumped from time period to time period, looking for a place and moment where he could install himself as the next best coming since Jesus, and revealing future technology and knowledge everywhere he went. He altered history with reckless abandon and relocated dozens upon dozens of bamboozled followers to eras they had no business being in.

While the team struggled to deal with Willard, Sherwin got attached to the 21th century, Lucy figured out how to deal with her restored family now that she’d uncovered the sordid truth of their ancestry, and Flynn wrestled with the self-hatred and guilt that threatened to tear his own newly-reunited family apart. And after the team returned from a jump with a damaged ship to a timeline where Connor was dead of a disease that didn’t exist before they left, taking his vital expertise and resources to the grave with him, Jiya and Rufus had to A: figure out how to undo his death, and B: develop a way to keep anybody else they cared about but who couldn’t come on a jump from being lost or critically changed by random divergences to their personal history, poofing out of existence because of family tree disruptions like Amy, or being hijacked by the enemy like Jessica. Objective A was accomplished with another jump, and objective B with what Rufus, who had the crucial eureka moment, got to dub the Wellsaday Cage (a portmanteau of Faraday Cage and H.G. Wells, the author of the first ever time machine story). The Cage ensured that everybody inside it shared in the temporal bubble that made it so the team didn’t get swept up by the effects of their actions while they were on a jump and always came back to the altered present as their old selves. BOOM. So many problems and four-dimensional puzzle induced-headaches solved.

/S4; Willard from the 14th Century

No sooner did the team stop Willard and start bickering among themselves about how – if at all – to fix the mess he’d made of history, than the remnants of Rittenhouse (their cult annoyingly unscathed by what Willard’s had wrought) reared its ugly head again. The remaining followers, a motley bunch who had rearranged the once unassailable hierarchy with blood and backstabbing in the wake of the purge of all Rittenhouse’s biggest and most actually influential figures, fought with a zeal only found in true believers who had seen their cult’s long-awaited judgement day pass by without so much as a lightning strike and doubled down on their faith regardless. Nothing the Time Team did could stop them – until finally, after an inexplicable delay of four seasons, they returned to David Rittenhouse and smothered the entire organization in the bud by killing him before he could start spreading his ideology in the first place.

/S5; Rittenhouse Redux

Preventing the birth of the Rittenhouse cult altered the history of the USA beyond recognition and, since it was Rittenhouse’s relentless urging and unlimited funds that made time travel possible, erased everything that had occurred because of it in the previous seasons. The team made a number of jumps to win some lotteries and make some jackpot investments to help themselves and the loved ones they’d saved with the Wellsaday Cage start over, and everybody set themselves to the task of adjusting to their new reality and dealing with the scars left by erased timelines only they now remembered.

Then time-travelers from centuries into the future started showed up. The team hadn’t had to wonder who the good guys and the bad guys were or what side they should be on since they cottoned on to the truth of what Flynn kept saying in S1. Now they were left questioning everything again. Who were these people from the future? What did they want, and could they be trusted to tell the truth about that? When they started contradicting each other and the cracks in their initially united front started to show, who could the team believe? And what would happen when the team fractured along long-dormant fault lines of trust (among themselves, and toward the future travelers) and philosophical disagreements over what time travel should or shouldn’t be used for and allowed to cause??

Much tension, very suspense. Wow. They figured it out eventually, though. And hey, guess what? Flynn’s inexplicable inability to come up with a sensible Plan B to kill David Rittenhouse all the way back in S1 wasn’t so inexplicable after all! Turns out it was a remote intervention by a distant-future scumbag – let’s call him Gabmucs – who read about the dude’s many different deaths in a history book about the Time War Era and the development of the tech that would come to shield The Future He Comes From from being affected by all that temporal chaos from the past. (Based on Jiya & Rufus’s Wellsaday Cage, but applied to the whole solar system past a certain point in time.)

Gabmucs thought all those ideas about oppression and suppression and world domination sounded right up his alley, and set up some kind of outcome enforcer tech (derivative from the Temporal Shield just like the Temporal Shield was a derivative of the Wellsaday Cage) around David R’s life to ensure only one specific fate from the many timelines centered around him would come to pass, and so his ideas would come to fruition no matter what. When the team first discovered David’s existence, Gabmucs’s technology had detected Flynn’s intentions and befuddled his senses until he just couldn’t think straight enough to kill the guy anymore. The eventual failure of this tech was what prompted Gabmucs to manipulate a team from his own time to go back and help him intervene in person. And while he was there, he might as well take some crucial steps toward disabling the Temporal Shield, so he could go home afterwards to a world steeped in glorious Rittenhouse-flavored evil tailor-made to his tastes.

He just wasn’t very honest to most of his team about the motives or objectives of their mission, and they didn’t take kindly to finding out the truth. Especially when one of them (let’s call her... uh... Niwrehs? /o\ I hate character names almost as much as fic titles) had fallen in love with Sherwin. (In the end, Niwhrehs stayed in the 21st century. And my wish of having both a distant past and a far future member on the team was fulfilled! Also, this season definitely has the modern team visiting the future AT LEAST once!!)

/S6; The Future

And just when they thought that was finally the end of it, Stanley Fisher arose from his ever-worsening stupor of visions and turned out to have become a temporal eldritch demi-god. A bored temporal eldritch demigod. Having seen literally everything there ever was to see, in every timeline that had ever been, he started changing things with the biggest impact possible, purely so he could experience something truly new again. And he didn’t need a time machine to transport himself to the past.

Which is what finally brings us to antiquity, and the massive, unimaginable changes he could cause by knocking history off course that far back... AND GLADIATOR FLYNN! :D The special effects budget goes through the roof! Old Rome! Ancient Egypt! The Aztecs! Atilla the Hun! Cavemen and Medieval knights and pirates and samurai and and and... WOOLY MAMMOTHS!! Good thing the far future guys left universal translator tech behind!

Wait, wait, back up, whaaaat?? WELL, you see, because of the accident that gave him his visions, Stanley was never affected by the timeline changing the way the rest of reality around him was. Even though it seemed like he was at first. But actually, every time the timeline changed, he instead absorbed the quantum imprint of the new version of himself and all the memories, visions, viability, and temporal capability that came with it. This slowly drove him crazier and crazier with every edit to the timeline, the human brain utterly unequipped to handle so many realities crammed into one mind – until the last jump of S6. That one tipped him over a critical mass of timelines into near-omniscience, and rearranged his physical and psychic being to finally accommodate it all.

(Look, no time-travel story can be called a real time-travel story unless everything goes batshit insane at some point, okay?)

Jiya had been experiencing the same thing, just on a much, much smaller scale, since she was shielded from most of the timeline changes by either being part of the jump team or being safely ensconced inside a Wellsaday Cage. But when it became clear that the team didn’t stand a chance against Stanley, she made a desperate gamble and told her past self what happened to Stanley... and how she could replicate it in herself. Jiya expected to die when she returned from this jump, but instead of being absorbed by the new timeline’s eldritch Jiya, that Jiya made sure they remained two separate entities. Girl Jiya rejoined her team, Eldritch Jiya transcended into Demi-Goddess Jiya, and between two time machines and a walking force of quantum nature, they kicked Stanley’s ass. Demi-Goddess Jiya absorbed his temporal whatever and became full-blown Time Goddess Jiya, who then merged with the timestream itself and ensured that all the time travel fuckery was finally, FINALLY, fucking over, and this season finale would be the definitive show finale. And everybody lived happily ever after.

EVERYBODY.

Yes, even if they were erased three hundred timelines ago. Yes, even if nobody was supposed to remember them anymore; she’s god now, she can fix that. That and so much more. And she does! Because she’s nice like that. Fuck ‘fate’ and ‘destiny’, the Goddess Jiya’s in charge now, and she makes sure time travel will not continue to or ever newly hurt her friends and family again.

/S7; Temporal Eldritch Demi-God Stanley Fisher

THE END

(Sorry Paulina, your scribbles will never come to anything. Or maybe they will, but your results will be relentlessly trolled by time!Jiya.)

[eraserrhead]

List of BNHA Fics That You Should Read

a twisted fate never alters destiny - Big brother Aizawa who gets adopted by Inko during his high school years. Lots of manga spoilers but sticks pretty well to a lot of canon elements. 100k, incomplete.

hero’s shadow - Vigilante Izuku who gets unofficially adopted by like 4 different dads. Very chaotic and has a decent amount of angst. Sensitive topics covered too but has warnings in chapter notes. 179k, incomplete.

A deadman’s gun - Stain takes in Izuku to train him. Vigilante Izuku. LOTS of angst. 65k, complete.

Lavandula Somnambulist - Izuku is Midnight’s biological son (and very pretty). So far fic is about Izuku trying to get into the hero course through the sports festival with a quirk very similar to Midnight’s but with a few other elements. 33k, incomplete

Throw A Chair Through A Window And Call It A Day - Fairly new fic but SO well-written. Nedzu leaves town for Official Business and hands the school over to Aizawa for a week. Aizawa makes Izuku his secretary. Izuku is crazy smart and Aizawa goes full chaos dad mode. 47k, incomplete but updates pretty frequently (about once a week I think?). 

The Capture Scarf Caper - Super new fic (like 10 days old new) but so far it’s really well-written so I’m adding it anyway. Quirkless Izuku finds a capture weapon after Eraserhead accidentally leaves it in an alleyway after a fight. Proceeds to think “.... This could be a quirk.” 9k, incomplete. 

Viridian: The Green Guide - Make sure to read the tags on this one for warnings. Vigilante Izuku (but technically not) becoming the local hero’s mascot. Dadzawa. One of my fav fics. 79k, incomplete.

throw me a goddamn rope - just enough to hang myself with - Aizawa goes back in time after the future is Super Fucked Up. Accidentally meets Izuku and Inko and is dragged into their family by the scruff of his neck like a disgruntled cat. Some dark topics so read the fic tags. 63k, incomplete.

I Never Told You What I Do For A Living - Izuku has a Death Note quirk. The villains kidnap him for this quirk and use a collar that forces him to follow their rules/orders. He has to find loopholes in those rules to try and alert the heroes all while playing a double role as a detective trying to crack the case of the mysterious murders he’s committing. Lots of angst. 52k, incomplete.

Izuku Eats His Problems - Izuku is a flerken (like Goose from Captain Marvel). He had to hide his species in fear of discrimination his whole life and has no McFucking idea how to control his powers. One of my fav fics. Pretty heavy shindeku so if you don’t like that ship you probably won’t like the fic, as a warning. 173k, incomplete.

Complicated Creation - Quirks are the work of magic spirits. Izuku is pretty much the only one who can see and interact with these spirits. Everyone thinks he’s lost his mind. 112k, complete.

Powerless - Crossover with the DC Universe. Batman finds a nervous quirkless Izuku and decides “yes. this is my new son” and trains him to kick ass without a quirk. Not much knowledge about the DCU required because it’s explained but better if you know at least a bit. 163k, incomplete.

did i even make a sound? - Izuku asks Present Mic for help to train his quirk and Present Mic accepts because he sees himself in Izuku. 30k, incomplete.

BREAKING NEWS: Actions Speak Louder Than Words - Izuku never goes to UA and instead starts a blog to reveal hero’s scandals. Heroes aren’t a big fan of this. 31k, incomplete. 

Apex Predator - Izuku enters UA expecting it to be like his prior school experiences. He hates bullies so he establishes himself as the “apex predator” of UA to prevent bullies from picking on those weaker than them. Then proceeds to have no idea that people are intimidated by him. 82k, incomplete.

Problem Child - Aizawa and Izuku both die. Somehow this isn’t the end and Aizawa is reincarnated as Izuku. 21k, complete (I think there’s gonna be a second part tho)

Sky’s The Limit - Izuku discovers his quirk through a suicide attempt and turns into a bird. He’s pretty much chill with being a bird. Dadzawa. 15k, incomplete.

The highest achievement - God fucks off somewhere so the angels look at Izuku and go “yeah, good enough” and give him god powers. Izuku goes “yeah alright” and proceeds to cause chaos. 24k, incomplete.

With Great Power - AFO takes over Japan. Then immediately retires and hands the entirety of Japan and its government over to Deku. Deku has no idea what he’s doing and has to try and reform the Japanese government, the hero system, and all of it’s laws. 54k, complete.

Class 1A’s Misadventures as Vigilante Influencers - Class 1A realizes that the hero system is corrupt and some heroes can get away with anything. To save someone with their life on the line, they go rogue. Two parts before this fic to get the full story but this is the longest one so I’m linking it. 29k, incomplete.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Walls You Built

Cassian Andor x Reader

Words: 3339

Summary: Unwilling to admit their feelings for each other, Cassian and the reader spend their days wanting for more than the partnership they’ve built in the Rebellion. Their fear of their feelings, however, leads to almost losing everything. 

Notes: So this ended up taking different twists and turns as I wrote it, and I hope that you guys like them! As always, let me know what you think!

-

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept in past sunrise. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept. But after returning from a month-long mission, all you wanted was to stay curled up in those standard issued blankets forever. Dreams played across your mind and made your heartache at the sound of his beautiful accent or the feeling of his rough, warm hands on your skin...

You jerked awake and sat up. No. You rubbed your eyes. You didn’t have feelings for him. You couldn’t. As if your thoughts had conjured him, you heard a quiet knock at the door. You brush off the tunic that you’d worn the day before- you hadn’t bothered to change after submitting your mission report- and opened the door just a crack. 

“Morning.” Cassian greeted, awkward as usual. You opened the door fully and let him brush passed you into your quarters. He carried a small package in his hands. “You slept through breakfast. I was able to sneak you a portion.” He handed you the parcel. “You’re lucky the servers like me.” 

“You’re lucky anybody likes you.” You playfully snapped back. You, needless to say, were not a morning person. He shrugged off your insult and leaned against the wall. Cassian was not the most well-liked person on the base. He was brisk and professional and kept to himself. But he was different when he was with you. He was more open, his inner wall breaking down just enough for you to get through. You could tease each other and make each other laugh when you needed it the most. But you could also let your emotions crumble without fear of judgment. Many nights, Cassian had been there for you after losing a friend or a comrade. 

“I heard your mission was successful.” He noted, trying to take a piece of your breakfast ration. You nodded, swatting his hand away. 

“We got the information we wanted.” You sat with your legs crisscrossed beneath you on your bed. Quietly to yourself, you added. “Minimal casualties.” Cassian raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?” He’d snuck a peek at the reports. No one from the team of rebels had even been injured. You shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He sat down next to you, his eyes intense. 

“Y/N, what happened?” Another thing about your relationship with Cassian- he could always tell when something was wrong. 

“We ran into a group of radicals.” You started slowly, trying to keep the memories from getting into your head. “Once they discovered we were part of the rebellion, they gave us no trouble, but they wreaked havoc upon that town. There was this young boy who was with them. Just as we were escaping the chaos, I watched him- he couldn’t have been more than six years old- I watched him walk into a building. It blew up just seconds later.” Your eyes glazed over, but you quickly blinked the tears away. “It just made me wonder if this is all worth it.” He nodded thoughtfully, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Is it?” He wondered. Sitting there, looking into his eyes and hearing his voice, you knew the answer. 

“It is.” For a moment, it felt as if you were being drawn together. You were no longer in control of yourself as you leaned towards him and he leaned towards you. Your faces grew impossibly close until, for the briefest second, you thought you felt his lips brush gently against yours. You pushed away hastily, crossing the room to catch your breath. When you finally looked at each other, there was a silent agreement never to talk about what had just happened. 

“K2 will be wondering where I am.” Cassian muttered, standing up. His heart was pounding in his ears and his mind reeled. “I’ll see you later?” You nodded, still unable to breathe. The door closed and you fell back against it, gasping for air, unaware that Cassian had his forehead pressed against the cool metal on the other side. The two of you stayed like that for what felt like forever- you desperately trying to keep everything locked out of your heart as Cassian desperately wanted to get in. 

He walked carefully and quietly so you wouldn’t hear him leave. He was a practical man. Cool and calculated. He never let his emotions get the better of him. But when he was with you… the walls he worked his whole life to build around himself fell. As he turned the corner into another corridor, he cursed himself for being so careless. If he let anything become of his feelings that he harbored for you, there would be no going back. Once Cassian committed to something, he would carry it to his grave. 

The rest of your day was standard procedure for a day on the base. You filed mission reports and met with other members of your team to go over the information you had learned. Once the sun started to set, you went to the training centers. There were fewer inhabitants at night and you preferred to train without the crowds of other Rebels giving you strange looks when you broke the punching bags.

You were making your way through the obstacle course, twisting through the forest, ducking under branches and dodging the training droid’s stun shots. Sweat dripped down your forehead and your mind focused only on the course. You didn’t allow it to travel back to the little boy. You didn’t allow it to think about Cassian or the dream you had had the night before. You focused on your burning muscles and beating heart. You sprinted through the leaves, the cool night air blowing through your hair. 

Cassian sat on the steps leading out to the course, watching you dart in between the trees, a strange feeling rising in his chest. The moment from that morning still replayed in his mind. The feeling of your lips against his, even for only a moment. It made him think of everything between the two of you. Every joke that only he understood. Every fear that you’d shared with each other. Every side glance or small smile meant something different. He knew what he felt. Now he had to face it. 

“I didn’t see you there.” You greeted casually, dabbing the sweat on your forehead with a towel. “Is everything okay?” He bowed his head, stumbling over his words. You’d never seen him nervous. At least, not around you. “Cassian, what’s wrong?” 

“We kissed.” He finally blurted. You couldn't remember seeing him blush before, but sure enough, his cheeks were slowly turning a deep shade of pink. "I need to know what that means. Y/N, I-” He almost found the courage to say it. Those damned three little words. But you interrupted him before he could. 

“Cass…” You didn’t know where to begin. You wanted to tell him the truth. That it meant everything to you. That your world completely turned upside down and that you never wanted to go back. But that truth scared you more than any Stormtrooper. “I-I can’t.” His face fell and you felt a piece of your heart snap. “I’m sorry… I just…” You couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. If you stood there any longer, you would break completely. 

You quickly brushed past him and practically ran through the doors, disappearing down the hall. Cassian just stood frozen in place, his brain unsure of why his heart stopped beating. Then, slowly, the bricks of his wall began to fall into place, surrounding his heart with a cold barrier. 

-

Days passed. You kept to yourself while Cassian did the same, accompanied only by his trusty droid. You had to force yourself out of bed every morning, constantly distracting yourself with training or with making reports. It was as if your soul ached, every step away from his side stiff and unnatural. Of course, you couldn’t avoid each other forever. You were assigned to a reconnaissance mission on a planet in the Outer Rim to gather information on weapon suppliers to the Empire. You had a contact in the business who was willing to hand over some records. As fate would have it, Cassian led the mission. 

The other rebels on board could sense the tension and kept a safe distance away from both of you. Cassian resided in the cockpit with K2 while you stuck to the arsenal towards the back of the ship. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” K2 scoffed, noticing the way Cassian gripped the controls. 

“Don’t start.” He had to focus on the mission. Get in, gather information, get out. Why did it have to be her contact? While his wall held strong when he was around the base, it crumbled when he was alone. It was even worse every time he saw you. Just knowing that you were on the same ship chipped away at the cold, hard stone he’d built. Clear your head, Cassian. Now is not the time for such foolish ideals. His feelings didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. 

You buried yourself in checking blasters and shock grenades. The trading post that your contact worked in was known to host some unfriendly customers and you needed to prepare the crew for a fight. Your hands were steady with each motion while your heart beat wildly in your chest. The sudden tall figure behind you made you gasp. 

“Dammit, K!” You exclaimed, nearly dropping the blaster in your hand. 

“I was told to check the inventory of weapons even though it was gone over multiple times before we left Yavin 4.” K2’s annoyance was clear in his robotic voice. 

“I’ve already checked everything.” You stood up, uncomfortably running your hands over your arms. “So you go and tell Captain Andor that we’re ready in case we run into any trouble.” 

“Uhuh. Well if the two of you want to start acting like logical human beings, I’ll be going over the plan with the others.” You could feel the droid’s judgment as he stomped back to the cockpit. Logical. You scoffed. You were only being logical. You pushed everything you felt behind the walls you built and kept them locked uptight. The squeezing feeling in your chest was only a side effect. 

The ship landed and the team of three other rebels got off into the frigid, snowy air. Usually, an intelligence-gathering mission didn’t have a team of this size, but General Dravin suggested back-up in case things get hairy. The trading post was surrounded by ships of all different sizes, some notably marked with symbols of the most notorious gangs in the galaxy. Yup… you’d definitely be needing backup. 

“I think I should go in alone.” You suggested to the crew. “I know Maddux and she doesn’t tend to take kindly to strangers. Especially well-armed ones.” The other three seemed to agree with your plan, but Cassian shook his head. 

“No.” He snapped, grabbing everyone’s attention. “We can’t risk you getting caught in there alone.” At the risk of sounding too sentimental, he added a logical reason. “There are probably dozens of enemies to the Rebellion in there that would turn your insides out for information.” 

“I suggest that Y/N and one other go in for the information,” K2 added. The others all nodded, but none volunteered. 

“Alright.” Cassian gave you a hard stare that gave no invitation for argument. “Let’s go.” Your heart dropped, but you didn’t show it. You walked side by side into the trading post, opening the door to loud music and shouted conversations between drunk men. In the back of the post, Maddux ran the bar. You brushed past fur traders and weapons merchants until you reached your contact. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She hissed, pouring a large creature a pint and sliding it down the bar. 

“We got caught in the snow.” You shrugged. You feigned a laugh and jutted your thumb towards Cassian. “Poor thing was complaining about frostbite.” Maddux didn’t laugh, but she gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

“He should try living here.” She motioned for you to follow her into the backroom. Cassian kept a cool head, despite the looks the two of you were getting from some unsavory characters in the corner of the bar. He’d seen them watching you since you walked in. 

The back room was filled with bottles and plates, along with a few bundles of what you assumed to be spices. It was small and Cassian stood so close to you that you could feel his chest against your back. Your breathing hitched as you felt his heart beating as wildly as your own. Not that he showed it. He was the king of the stoic expression. 

“So what have you got?” You started, the casualness in your voice faded. Maddux looked at Cassian with distrust so you stepped in between them. “He’s with me. I trust him.” 

“Because you’ve always been such a great judge of character.” She scoffed, referencing herself. 

“We take the friends we can get.” You gave her a convincing smirk and she pulled out a notebook filled with logs. 

“An Imperial worker was mugged here a couple of weeks ago. Thugs killed the bastard and left this notebook. Didn’t think it was worth anything until I opened it.” You held out her hand for her to give it to you, but she just shook her head. “That’s not how that works cupcake.” 

“We give you the credits after we have the records.” Cassian interjected. You shot him a look to back off. 

“I’ve got plenty of other bidders who would be more than happy to take this off my hands-”

“Here.” You exclaimed, handing her the pouch. She grinned. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She handed you the notebook and the two of you quickly got out the door. 

“We need to get out of here.” Cassian whispered, eyeing the corner where the group had now disappeared. 

“If we run, we’ll draw attention. Just follow my lead.” You ducked in between tables and creatures, keeping your head down and not making any eye contact. You almost made it to the door. Almost. 

A hand latched onto your arm and Cassian was no longer by your side. You were yanked into a rack of strange meats, all scattering to the floor. Your attacker loomed nearly a foot taller than you, but you were quick on your feet and slid under his legs. 

“Y/N!” Cassian’s voice broke through the chaos, trying to warn you as a new assailant locked your arms behind you, another landing multiple punches to your stomach. You used all the core strength you had to swing your legs up and send the creature soaring back into a couple tables. You ducked, flipping the one holding you over your back, hearing something crunch as she hit the ground. Your hands found your blaster and shot her through the chest before she could try and get up. You frantically looked around through the brawling crown. Where’s Cassian? And you felt a crack shoot through the wall around your heart. Through the panic and the heat and the noise, you saw him, battling with a man with blue skin and sharp teeth. 

Without hesitating, you shot through the crowd, tackling a person before they could land a hit to Cassian’s jaw. Blaster fire shot above your head and the blue man fell to the floor. Any peaceful inhabitants of the trading post had fled while the rest either attacked you or brawled with each other. Your lip had split from a successful punch from a horned woman with golden eyes and Cassian’s cheek had a large cut just above his jaw. You were busy fighting golden eyes and you didn’t notice the dark-clad figure aiming their rifle at you from across the room. 

“Get down!” Cassian shouted, pulling you down to the ground and the shot missed the two of you, hitting the woman right between those sinister eyes of gold. Cassian shielding you with his body, hovering over you. At this distance, you could feel each other’s hearts beating ferociously. Looking into your eyes, all of the emotion Cassian had tried to keep out slipped through the cracks. He smiled, relieved to see you unharmed. That brief moment of hesitation allowed for the cloaked figure to reload their weapon and take a new aim. 

You saw the flash before Cassian did and for a brief moment, it felt as if the shot had ripped through your heart rather than his chest . And just like that, the wall you had so meticulously built brick by brick through years of emotional distancing, shattered and crumbled into oblivion. Fury controlled your actions as you rapidly fired your blaster until you watched one lucky shot enter Cassian’s shooter’s skull. You hooked your arms through Cassian’s, earning a pained cry as you dragged him across the floor, most of the other attackers too distracted fighting each other to notice you. 

His blood seeped into the snow and the rest of the team rushed to help get him onto the ship. Luckily, you brought one of the best medics in the rebellion and she acted quickly. As he lay there, half-delirious with the pain, he gripped your hand, not letting you out of his sight, not that you could have been pried away anyway. 

“Please be okay.” You begged, holding his hand up to your tear-stained cheek. You lowered your voice into a whisper so soft he could really only feel the words move against his palm. “I love you.”

-

Recovery was not easy, though he was lucky. The blast had missed anything vital and nerve damage would only cause limited movement in his shoulder. Discomfort, really. Nothing that the Captain of Rebel Intelligence couldn’t handle. The medic team said he should be able to complete missions normally. What hurt him the most was that you still kept your distance. Every time he saw you, you would turn the other direction as fast as you could. 

In truth, the guilt had been driving you mad. Sure, you had made it out with the record intact, thus completing the mission. But you’d nearly lost the one thing in the galaxy that you loved and now that the fortress keeping your emotions locked away was destroyed and they were eating you up. 

It was the middle of the night and you were training like you had been since you got back. It was rare to find you anywhere else. Cassian was worried that you hadn’t eaten, so he used it as an excuse to confront you. He brought you a portion from the mess hall and stood at the end of the obstacle course. 

“What are you doing here?” You muttered. It looked the same as the day you’d left him standing alone. But you didn’t have the strength to leave him again. 

“I heard you.” He said slowly and softly, treading lightly. He stepped towards you, slowly like his words. “On the ship, I heard you.” 

“Cass, I-”

“Don’t.” He took both of your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N, all this time we’ve been trying to hide behind the years of fear and of solitude to avoid confronting what we truly fear- the love that we feel. That we have both felt for a long time.” He now stood so close that it took all your strength not to collapse into his arms and let him hold you forever. “I’m tired of being afraid.” 

“I do.” You choked out. “I love you.” His hands moved to cup your face and pulled your lips to his. This time, the kiss was sure and unfaltering. You would face the hurt and the fear together. For the love you shared could shake the galaxy and it would not be caged away behind a wall.

[c-is-for-circinate]

“What the Fuck is Up with the Elves” (or, more worldbuilding for C’s D&D game)

So the thing is, I call myself an ecologist, and I am, really, or at least I’ve been working as one when I’m not working as a general all-math-and-science teacher for the past ten years.  But that’s not, quite, technically, what my degrees are in.  Technically, as per my master’s thesis, I’m an evolutionary biologist.

Which means that when I run a D&D game?  We start from a place of hominid evolution.

Gnomes and dwarves evolved on the continent of Nokomoris, where most of our game takes place.  Some 50,000 years ago, humans came up out of the neighboring continent (which has a dozen different names, but we can call it Kekiris, that’s as accurate as any) and joined them, and together the three races learned to master fire and metalwork and gods and demons and the four Great Schools and the two Minor Schools of arcane magic (for those were the days before the elves, before the discovery of abjuration, when it was thought that only the gods could conjure and transmutation was limited to minor tricks and divine crafts).

Elves, and their cousins the orcs (though no elf alive today would admit that they are cousins in truth, and the orcs themselves have all but forgotten it) evolved side by side on the continent of Priyl, a fifteenth the size of Nokomoris and isolated in the middle of the ocean, beset by storms and reefs on all sides.

Well.  The elves of the Ascendancy call it Priyl, and so does everybody else, these days, in respect to them.  The orcs and half-orcs remember that it was Getirka, and still is to those of their brethren still living there.  The people of Nokomoris have all but forgotten the days when they called it Thidoris, when it was nothing more than a myth.

(There are other continents, beyond those three, of course--but time enough for that later.  Nobody on Nokomoris remembers the continent of Calladia these days, and that might be for the best, for now.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.)

Six and a half thousand years ago, the continent of Priyl, called Getirka by the orcs and Thidoris by the gnomes and humans and dwarves, disappeared from the ocean.  Five hundred and twelve years it appeared again.  And that was enough to change the world.

.

Priyl, then, because we’re talking about elves.  Priyl is such a small continent, really, surrounded by such very storm-like oceans, full of so much desert and so many mountains and so very, very many things with sharp teeth and venom spines.  The spiders and snakes can kill a beast a thousand times their size.  The fish on the reef around the continent, who look like stone or coral or sand or squirming tentacle-beasts, have spines and teeth with venom that can kill ten times faster than that.

Half of Priyl is worn thin between planes, or at least it was so many hundreds of thousands of years ago, when lithe thin agile elf-ancestors took to the trees and the mountains to run from their fierce unstoppable orc cousins.  They were barely more than beasts themselves, either of them.  The elves were perhaps a little more clever, but perhaps they were only quicker, lighter, lither in the branches of trees.  The orcs were more determined.  They invented fire first.

Fire doesn’t mix well with trees, particularly not in the long dry drought of a Priylan summer, and the elves died, and died--and survived, some of them, always.  Through trickery and luck, some elves always survived.

And the fey noticed.

There are a thousand different ways planes can brush up against each other; a million years later, in the present day of 512 HA, the scholars of Nokomoris will have names and categories for half a dozen.  One of those is what they call a seep--a place as small as a few square yards, as huge as a dozen square miles, where two planes wear as thin as over-used linen cheesecloth next to each other, and ooze one into the other in bits and pieces and fragments of magic over years.

It’s not meant to be possible, for an entire continent to be a seep, but many things that are not meant to be possible are nonetheless true.  Priyl was thin before the elves and orcs even came to be there.  Fey roamed the lands, called them home, before they ever took forms with two legs and two arms and a face that could speak a language of people.  They noticed the thin little cousins-of-orcs fleeing through the trees, and they saw the invention of fire and the forests that burned, and a few of them decided--well.  There’s a game worth playing.

Half a million years ago, the fey taught the first True Elves about magic.  Nothing has ever been the same since.

.

Fifteen thousand years ago, when dwarves and humans and gnomes were only just learning to turn stone tools into plowshares and turn goats and sheep and aurochs into tame animals, the elves of Priyl had cities that stretched halfway to the sky.

They made war, of course, of course they did.  They waged it against each other, because nothing else was worthy of their conquest.  Ten generations of orcs could live and breed and die before an elf could even count themself arrived at adulthood.  The world beyond Priyl was strange and distant, far beyond notice or care.  The vast universe of the planes, and beyond--that drew the elven attention far more than anything on the world of Onde.

There were in those days two kinds of elves, or perhaps three, or perhaps a thousand.  In fact, perhaps the easiest way to divide the elves of that time is by how many sorts of elves they themselves believed existed.  In that case it was the three-sort elves who were correct, which makes their fate even more dark irony in the end.

They were the Day Elves, the Night Elves, and the True Million; High Elves and Bad Elves and those fuckers in the woods, I guess.  They were, according to a third of their number, the elves of Sun, Moon, and Twilight; and this is how the self-styled Moon Elves would explain the difference:

During the day, with the sun bright and desperate overhead, it is easy to believe that light and dark are opposites, the only two options.  It is easy to believe in sun and darkness and no other in-between.  It is easy to believe in Your Own and then also The Rest Of Them.  It is easy to believe in your own power.  And so the day elves, the sun elves, as silver and gold as though no other color existed in the universe, studied the foundations of their own powers and ignored all else.  They were wizards and full of magic, and they built the cities that towered to the sun, and they wrote the laws and warred each other, and they gave polite nods to the fey if they passed but they did not bow to them, for they accepted only the opposing ideas of Subservience and Mastery, and they refused to be servants.

At dawn and dusk, with all the shadows grown long and small lights flickering from every direction, it is easy to confuse lies and honesty everywhere, to lose sight of any firm reality.  It is easy to believe that nothing is quite real in the first place and anything is as good as anything else.  It is easy to believe in tricks and riddles, and to toss aside that belief a moment later, to cling to nothing but artifice and bargains and boundaries on trust.  The twilight elves, the wood elves, red and green and brown and gold and silver and white and black and gray, ran with the fey who’d once taught and married their ancient ancestors.  They were warlocks and full of trickery and half-truth, and they studied math and logic and ventured from city to city slipping in between the bounds set by the daylight elves as though they had not spotted them in the dark.  They wrote contracts and twisted reality around themselves, for they believed in everything and nothing, just like their masters, and could not see far enough to grasp the reality of anything.

At night, in clear moonlight, it is easy to see the truth: there is light, and there is dark, and there is everything in between.  There may be master and servant, and that may be firm and unchangeable, no matter how the shadows hide it--but for every servant on his knees in the dirt, there is always one more, lower still than them.  Every master lording over her servant has yet another master.

So it was that the moon elves discovered the gods.  Priyl was not a good land for gods, with the blurring of its boundaries, its fade between reality and not.  They did not often feel welcome there.  Still, in the middle of the night, with one or two or all three moons full and bright overhead, they could find their way down.  Even the fey had to be overmastered by someone.

There were three gods that the Elves of Night found, as they searched and studied and prayed, there in the moonlit dark on the continent of Priyl, where the smallest creatures were full of venom and might.  They found the queen of spiders, and the king of serpents, and the prince of fish and tentacles and uncharted depths.  The elves of the moon went to their knees and prayed.

.

In those days the elves had boats, of course.  They had not quite mastered the art of teleportation that would join their cities in the future, and they did not most of them quite care about the world beyond the boundaries of their reefs, but curiosity has always been an elven trait.  The moon-elven worshippers of the god of the sea, and the twilight adventurers whose fae patrons implored them to spread chaos and wonder, they learned to sail and venture forth.  They mapped the world of Onde while the humans and gnomes and dwarves of Nokomoris were still just learning to put stylus to clay and charcoal to tanned leather, while the humans of someday-Calladia were singing their sky-song and building empires of ritual and sound.

(Orcs invented boats first.  Orcs have been on Nokomoris for tens of thousands of years, coming few by few, interbreeding with humans until barely any sign of them was left to meet the next ship to arrive.  Few enough of them ever made it back over the reefs to return to Getirka, even before the High Elves Ascendant erected the Stormwall.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves again.)

.

Here is the thing that every elf known on Nokomoris today will say, to anyone who asks them, about their history: 6,703 years ago, by the calendar reckoning of humans, gnomes, and dwarves, the Elven Ascendancy rose to shepherd all of the elves of Priyl, and closed the continent away from all the world to protect--

And that’s where the story will pause, because what protection could the elves ever have needed from the rest of the world?  The elves appeared in Nokomoris five hundred years, and shook the world on its foundations.  Every kingdom on Onde was tumbled before their power.

‘To protect you all from us,’ so many elves would say.  They would be correct, of course, and altogether wrong, all at once.

.

Spiders are not evil.  Neither are serpents, or stonefish, or krakens.  Neither are the gods of them.

They shed their skins, though, all at once or piece by piece.  And sometimes they demand the world do the same.  Sometimes they demanded apocalypse and rebirth.  It wasn’t such a very far stretch, really, after all.

The dark elves of black and white and gray believed in nuance as an article of faith.  They also believed in duty, and truth, and fortitude across an ever-changing night.  They believed in a lot of things.  That was, a little bit, the point.

It took a thousand years of war for the cities of Sun Elves to come together to agree, at the very last, that even should it take all their power they must see the Night Elves driven entire from the continent of Priyl.  They must see it done, and they would unite themselves to do it.  It took another century of war first, with all the united might of the Elven Cities bent against the god-worshippers, the moonlight elves with their huge pale eyes and their unglowing skin.  It could be their only salvation, before the gods of venom and rebirth called for the destruction of everything they loved and knew.

And so it was, 6,602 years ago, that all of the very most powerful wizards of the Elves of Day, the Sun Elves, high and ascendant and triumphant, joined their power as one to join nature and force and illusion all bound together in one great wall.  The Stormwall, sixteen thousand miles long, encircling all of Priyl in its arms.

(Did the Wild Elves, the twilight elves, the forest warlocks, did they help?  Oh yes, my friend.  Oh yes, of course they did, for the Sun Elves--they only ever saw two sides, don’t you remember?  Two sides, dark and light, and the twilight elves trapped on the in-between--well.  They always did know how to deal oh-so-very carefully with a master that little bit stronger than them.  So the wild elves helped, and the Stormwall--the Stormwall worked perfectly, to keep anyone outside of Priyl from venturing in.)

6,703 years ago, the Empyrean Ascendant became the very first sovereign on the seat of the Elven Ascendancy.  6,600 years ago, the elves of Priyl found peace.  More or less.

.

And what became of the moon elves, the night elves, the elves of the dark?  What became of them, and their spider-queen, serpent-king, fish-prince?

They went to Calladia, of course--though it was called Thiel then, once upon a time.  They went to Thiel-that-would-be-Callida, and Thiel found itself unmade.

There is a great deal to say of old mythical Thiel, and the lands it became and then unbecame again, and again, and again, cycling once and twice and more and more over the thousands of years between now and then.  There is a great deal to say, and some of it is about the elves that live there, and some of it is about the humans they found when they arrived, and some of it is about the changelings that sprung up between them, faceless shapeshifters learning to live just as everyone else.  Right now, in the year 512 HA, five centuries after the fall of the Storm Wall, the continent is nothing but a thousand-island archipelago.  It remembers, barely, that it was Callida nine centuries ago, and had merchant ships and commerce to the east and west, with Nokomoris and Kekiris and beyond.  It remembers being shattered to pieces in hopes of rebirth.  It does not remember that it ever was Thiel, not in the deepest dimmest history, save in the oldest of records.

There is a great deal to say, but what I will tell you now is this: the fish around the continent that once was Thiel do not sting with venom spines that kill in the space of a breath, and the tentacle-armed creatures that swim their bays are small and soft and cannot kill at all.  There is very little for the Prince of Depths to do here, little space for him to make himself known.

There are frogs here, instead.  They do not bite except ants and flies, but they glow bright, red and yellow and violet and blue.  They poison nobody except the unwary hunter who does not leave them as they sit.  (The unwary hunter, they will kill.  The wary hunter learns to use them, instead.)

They change, from fish-spawn to frog-grandmother, to eggs, to spawn again.  It’s easier to believe in the Frog Daughter (who is also the mother of all, wide-mouth frog devourer of all) than any unfamiliar lord of depths and venom.

The Frog Daughter is, perhaps, a kinder god than her predecessor-brother.  There’s some kindness in all three of the dark elves’ gods, if you know where to look.  They’re all three of them gods of transformation, and that can always be a kindness, for some.

.

And what of Priyl, then, in their absence?

The Ascendancy has held strong for six thousand years and nearly another thousand after that.  Eleven elves Ascendant, after the Empyrean, each of them chosen and sworn to the good of all before more than two centuries of life have passed them by, each of them sworn to rule for a thousand years if they can.  Each of them have made that oath, and under them the Ascendancy has flourished.

Throughout Priyl, throughout its mountains, there are the Cities of the Ascendancy, and each city is vast and towering, halfway up to the skies, and each city is within itself world and shining garden.  Each city is full of sparkling crystalline fountains and waterfalls, parks and fresh water to drink, home to a thousand sparkling silver fishes that are art and food and life all at once.  Vines climb up the dazzling towers from terrace to terrace and grow fruit and berries and grain.  Shimmering pigeons of red and purple iridescence bred for perfect accent color beauty soar between golden bridges and balustrades, and lay their eggs, and nobody in an elven city ever goes hungry.

(And what became of the twilight elves, then, when the sun elves rose up on high and claimed their world?  They retreated to shadow and stayed in the in-between, of course, just as they always have.  Their feytrap labyrinths deep in the mountains and deserts and woods of Priyl are sprawling and inescapable temples to artifice and knowledge and math, and their acolytes strike deals and take powers from their Lady Whispered and Lord Gloaming, and their children grow in the shining towers of the cities of the ascendancy and pay their dues to the elves on high.  The warlock elves, the fae-friends, the elves of the woods, they have always understood the needs of survival.  They remember the dark elves.  They remember the price of loss.  Even if the high elves themselves won’t.)

And so it was for six thousand years, until the Halcyon Ascendant rose to power, five hundred and twelve years ago.  And the Halcyon Ascendant, who was wizard and diviner, who was young and brave and as wise as she was clever, who looked into the world and saw the future--

the Halcyon Ascendant said, it is time to lower the Stormwall and venture forth to know the world.

.

Nobody knows, exactly, why the Halcyon Ascendant gave such an order.  Few elves know exactly what it cost to fulfill it.  Fewer still would ever admit it.

What is known, by everybody on Nokomoris, is this: the elves appeared on their great silver ships out of nowhere at all, five hundred years ago, and changed everything in the world.  Cities and nations rose and fell.  The elves knew magic nobody had ever heard of before.

The elves brought transmutation and conjuration and abjuration that could be studied and learned from books instead of summoned from gods and the incomprehensible overwhelming power of nature.  They brought potions and alchemy and science.  The elves brought to Nokomoris the very first teleportation circles (and Nokomoris as it is now, with the Nine Cities and their reign, could not exist without teleportation circles.)

Today, the elves live in every major city on the continent.  They live west of the mountains of the Western Wall, and in cities on the continent of Kekiris.  Always in sweeping, curving, tall shining towers, in their own elven enclaves, part of every city but not beholden to it.  Always full of wonders to sell, perhaps, if their leaders in the Ascendancy deem it proper; always rich with the wealth of their nation, which is free to all elves, and nobody else.

There are elven advisors and elven investors and elven ambassadors.  There are elven students in the universities, and professors there, as well.  There are no elven kings or governors or lords, of course there aren’t--no elf could truly be a citizen of Nokomoris, not honorably.  Every elf born is a subject of the Ascendancy. 

.

And finally, here is what the orcs know of elves.  The orcish story is their own, and long and varied and rich, the orcs of Getirka-called-Priyl and the orcs of New Gettik on Nokomoris, and it is also long, full of diaspora and resilience and art and culture and many, many thousands of generations of twins.  It is another post for another time.

But what the orcs know of elves, for they do come from the very same land, from its opposite sides, is: there are whole universes beyond what the elves consider worthy of their attention.  It’s true that no ship or desperate swimmer arrived on the continent of Getirka or Priyl for all the six thousand years that the Stormwall soared.  It is not true that no ship ever left.

The orcs say it, and the orcs know.  The orcs of New Gettik and Clure, here on Nokomoris, know it especially.  They were here before the elves arrived.  Even the rest of Nokomoris realizes that.

Every gnome, dwarf, and human on Nokomoris knows that all elves everywhere in the world belong to the Ascendancy.  Every orc knows that there are worlds below the elves’ notice, that they forget about conveniently, that they pretend not to see.  Some orcs may think to wonder whether they’ve forgotten about other elves, too.

[galaxysedginess]

The Lawful

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Satine Kryze, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul, Bo-Katan Kryze, Ursa Wren

Additional Tags: Satine Kryze Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s05e16 The Lawless, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Romance, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Questioning the Code

Ao3 Link

“Attachment, Rang a pesky voice in his head. He was unsure whom it precisely belonged to, but for that matter of seconds, as he drank in the sight of seeing and feeling her alive, he shoved away his doubts."

Or, what if Anakin came along to rescue the Duchess of Mandalore?

The blood was pounding in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ears as they bounded by means of jetpack through the skies of Sundari, smoke and blaster bolts streaking the once pale beautiful horizon. Not for the first time since their capture and subsequent escape, he wished he still donned the Mandalorian helmet that he’d “borrowed” earlier. He rapidly blinked, trying his best to avoid running into one of Mandalore’s grandstanding skyscrapers or any of the ex-Death Watch warriors that escorted him. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

As Bo-Katan narrowly avoided collision after Obi-Wan had veered a bit too far to the right in attempting to evade shrapnel from another explosion, he deduced from her clipped tone that he may have better luck with the former as opposed to the ladder.

“Watch it, Jetii .”

“A bit tough to do with the change of scenery.” He countered back, managing a level tone despite the twist in his gut at seeing the seemingly utopian landscape reduced to yet another war.

The part of him that would normally take the moment to question the Death Watch’s motives was subdued by the situation at hand, which seemed to position them as allies in a turn of fate. Thank the force for that, because had it not been for their intervention, this would not have gone nearly as smoothly as he would have liked.

A blaster cannon soared from behind them, barely missing in part due to Bo-Katan’s unwavering determination to whip them every which way to shake off the enemy. He was grateful for it, but that didn’t stop the grimace that rose in his throat as they barrel rolled yet again.

He really hated flying.

He forced his eyes to remain forward and called on the living force to guide them through the despair, pulling from the light. He had to admit that it was difficult, surrounded by such destruction. Beneath them, a hospital was destroyed. To their left, a school and onwards, a market place. All were casualties in a needless fight that was orchestrated from the bloodthirsty dark side.

Who could want any of this?

If there was one thing Obi-Wan had learned through the countless tragedies from the Clone Wars, was that maybe, there was no such thing as true peace. Not the lasting kind, anyway.

Despite the chaos and mayhem that quite literally engulfed them in their haphazard attempt at an escape, topped off with Maul’s squadron of Mandalorians in tow, he still couldn’t find it in himself to wholly believe that. Not when there was still a chance.

Not when even through the smoke and the blood that polluted the once regulated airflow, he could make out the distinct and faint scent of water lilies brushing against his nose. Regardless of her several days of encampment and near-death, Duchess Satine Kryze still clutched onto him with the strength of a stubborn Tooka cat on its favorite scratching post, even if properly strapped to him prior. Obi-Wan could hardly blame her though, seeing as he was also determined to not allow something as frivolous as a faulty harness to be the cause of Satine’s demise.

Not when it seemed far too achingly close just minutes before.

He didn’t so much as have a moment to consider if she was truly alright, but he guessed that time would have to be for later. They had to move .

“Kenobi! Up ahead!” Ursa Wren shouted above the sounds of blaster fire from the treacherous crimson-colored warriors at their tails.

He did not need to see the ship to know that Anakin was close, the warm bond that had been kindled and strengthened after years of training. It felt a bit like a light at the end of a dreary tunnel. Anakin had not been keen on Obi-Wan’s direct orders to stick with the ship, but he’d hesitantly relented after it had become obvious, try as he might to deny it as he may, this was personal for Obi-Wan.

He would not be dragging Anakin or anyone else down with him on this mission.

However, in this present moment, when all he could taste was smoke and stray wind-beaten blonde hair, he was relieved for his former apprentice’s decision to stow-away (even if it had caused him grief earlier). The ship was beaten to a pulp, but it looked like in Obi-Wan’s absence, Anakin had made some modifications to it.

“Always on the move.” He internally chided, but again, could not stop the flush of elation that permeated across his chest, freeing some of the tension that had been knotted there ever since he first received Satine’s distress call.

That reprieve, unfortunately, was instantaneously cut loose when he felt himself whipped backwards and away from the ship that they were heading towards. Bo-Katan turned, mid-air and despite not being able to see her facial expression thanks to the mask on her head, he knew what she saw was far from good.

“Leaving so soon?” A raspy familiar voice shouted from behind them and Obi-Wan cursed.

He cocked his head over his shoulder, noting that none other than Maul stood on top of a speeder, darksaber drawn and ready, two of his faithful warriors at his side. His eyes perfectly matched the roaring fires that burned behind him. Obi-Wan did his best to shield Satine from seeing him, squeezing her tighter to his chest.

“You should know about running away.” He goaded, though Bo-Katan grunted in disapproval at his banter.

“You cannot run from destiny, Kenobi.” He said almost softly, gritting his yellow teeth as he stretched out in the force to attempt to pull them in as though they were caught in a ship’s tractor beam. “I have taken your master and now, I will have your beloved too.”

Obi-Wan resisted to his best ability without dropping Satine, placing them in what felt like a reverberated limbo, dangling above her people who cried for help as their newly “pledged” leader strove only for his own gains, which evidently included making Obi-Wan’s life as difficult and miserable as possible. On one end, there was victory in the form of retreat, with the engines running the promise for what would hopefully be a new tomorrow for Mandalore and its people. On the other, a painful and torturous end.

The aching in his bones and muscles said otherwise, but he knew, deep in his soul that this wasn’t the end.  

He meant it earlier when he’d insisted it took strength to resist the dark side and he hadn’t just meant from the moral standpoint of pushing against darkness, but the sheer physicality of warding off Maul’s strangling grasp. Slowly, but surely, the jetpack began inching forward yet again and Maul released an infuriated scream, no doubt channeling the deepest of anguish to overpower Obi-Wan.

“But you won’t have Mandalore.” Came Bo-Katan’s grated voice, not muddled with resignation, but resolve, as she and her fellow “deserters” charged forward in an attack sequence that was clearly rehearsed beforehand.

“Bo!” Satine’s voice broke through the disarray for the first time in anguish.

“GET HER OUT OF HERE!” Bo-Katan shouted with only a single glance backwards before throwing herself directly in front of Maul and his readied blade. She parried him, prepared for the strike, but it was unclear how long even someone as strong as herself could hold off against the former Sith lord.

Cold realization settled in to Obi-Wan as he felt Satine’s pain through the force. This was her sister.

Once again, he regretfully didn’t have time to ponder this news. Maul’s cronies, dead set on appeasing their new leader, shot skillfully at Obi-Wan, and managed to scuff the left turbine engine, sending sparks as he and Satine briefly wavered. There was a single second where time passed terribly slow until Obi-Wan used everything left in him to push them forward through the force, throttling through the small entryway of the ship and skitting to an ungraceful landing across the durasteel floor of the ship. He didn’t release the breath he’d unknowingly been holding until the thrum of the ship indicated that it had launched into deep space.

They laid there for an uncertain amount of time before the shock of their own escape settled into their bones. It was Satine, who raised her head first, looking fearful at what she might find in his gaze, but for once, he did not hesitate or subdue himself when he reached forward and framed her face in his gloved hands.

Her alabaster skin was dusted in soot and her eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and immense sadness, making the intensity of their azure depths all the more captivating. He couldn’t remember last seeing her hair absent of any regality or so wind-swept, but the image reminded him painfully of a different time when Mandalore had been on the brink of swallowing itself whole and when they’d stolen glances and held hands beneath a shared cloak. Except this time, he came so narrowly close to losing her, that the weight of that guilt nearly crushed him.

“Attachment .” Rang a pesky voice in his head. He was unsure whom it precisely belonged to, but for that matter of seconds, as he drank in the sight of seeing and feeling her alive he shoved away his doubts.

She was alive. Right here in front of him. Closer than she’d been in years.

He also had to force away thoughts of when he’d last held her.

She opened her mouth to speak before closing it, taking in his face with her eyes with the same line of reverence that he felt.

“I’ve loved you always. I always will.” She’d said that. Those had been her chosen final words and he winced at how little he deserved them. How he didn’t deserve her or this moment of reprieve.

At the reminder of her close-call, he perked up instantly, feeling a bit ridiculous not to have immediately addressed her wounds.

“The darksaber.” Was all he could blurt out as he tenderly inspected the patch of exposed skin on her torso.

“It’s just a graze.” Was all she said in a hoarse voice, eyes still glued to his face as she reached out and smoothed what would likely become a scathing bruise across his cheekbone.

“A bump.” He said gently and held the hand that touched his cheek, feeling queasily reminiscent of when he believed for a moment that she was to die in his arms. She had literally met the blunt of the darksaber and yet she could only think of him. Both were of equal standing in terms of colloquialism, but neither were too fond of words at the moment. Obi-Wan didn’t have any for how he felt. Jedi weren’t supposed to, anyway.

Even that thought didn’t yet shake him as they still sat tangled together, simply amazed that the other was here.

“Ben.” She said gently, hardly above a whisper and the resurrection of the old nickname both tickled and pricked something soft in him that he believed had long since been put to sleep.

“Satine.” He said, trying to sound level, self-assured, but feeling none of that. “I thought…”

“I did too.” She swallowed and nodded before pressing her forehead to his. “I did too.”

“I wanted you to know-” He began speaking before his mind could catch up with him, paranoid instantly where his words would lead him without abandon, but showing no signs of stopping as he felt himself melt into her.

“-Well, don’t everyone thank me at-” A smug and approaching voice cut off surely at the sight of the uncharacteristically vulnerable scene he’d unknowingly interrupted.

“-Once.”Anakin winced as he leaned against the hanger door, shrugging in apology to Obi-Wan, who was trying very hard to give him a disapproving glance that was supposed to convey that nothing was happening, even if, Obi-Wan, himself wasn’t even sure if that were true. He just couldn’t tell whether he was grateful or wistful at his former padawan’s interference.

For Satine’s part, the bubble had been effectively popped as she straightened and stood to her feet, somehow looking regal even in the same clothes she’d worn for well over a week and with the dark circles under her eyes. There was still immense sadness there, no doubt for her people and for the sacrifice of her sister, but she’d returned to being the leader again.

“I am eternally grateful for the assist, Master Jedi.” She said in an even tone that didn’t dare suggest she’d been so close to crying.

Anakin nodded stiffly, shooting a brief glance at Obi-Wan to try and get a better read on the room before deciding it was best not to pry too much… Yet.

Obi-Wan grimaced as he knew what unrelenting teasing was heading his way once they were out of harm’s way.

“We’ll get you to safety, Duchess.” He said kindly. “You can count on us.”

She seemed to bristle at that and Obi-Wan could see the argument forming on her tongue about how cowardly she was being or that her safety would be a price she was more than willing to pay for her people. However, she swallowed them and nodded curtly instead. The exhaustion seemed to weigh on her for the first time as well as real dread. He wanted to probe for more, to try and help, but he knew this wasn’t the time. Satine would need and want space, which he would certainly give her.

He would also do everything in his power to get Mandalore back for her again. For the galaxy. Surely, that’s why.

“Yes, I can.” She finally said smoothly, sneaking a look at Obi-Wan that made him question for the millionth time in knowing her if she could read his mind.

And as Anakin retreated back to the cockpit and implored Obi-Wan to follow to discuss what half-truths they would tell the council as to why they broke rank to rescue Satine, Obi-Wan knew he was lying to himself.

[aki-draws-things]

NaNoWriMo2020 #07

Not my best one and definitely shorter, but it sprung another idea that I know I’m gonna use again and I’m definitely gonna regret.

Day: 07/11/2020

Prompt: Branding

Ship: none official

Word count: 1011

The Scorching Sun.

That was how Wen Chao called the hot iron he passed from one hand to the other, almost like considering what to do with it, how and where. Bending the Nie Sect to his power wasn’t enough, he wanted more, he wanted to show his father he was just like his older brother, if not better. Subduing the Lan Sect hadn’t been easy, he knew that, but the Nie Sect was different. While the Lans hid away as Wen Xu burned Cloud Recesses to the ground, the Nie Sect picked up their sods and fought. This time their father had to admit he had been better.

Even more because he brought Xe Yang back to Qishan. Even more because he forced the Nie Sect Leader on his knees. Even more because he would make him beg.

That was the idea at least, it seemed like Nie MingJue had suddenly gotten mute, even as Nie HuaiSang got dragged in front of them, even as his robes were tore open and Wen Chao hovered over his chest with the hot iron. His eyes told a different story, but Wen Chao wanted to hear him beg.

“What do you think? Would here be a good place for a little mark?” Nie HuaiSang squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t move, held still by strong hands, he couldn’t escape and he definitely couldn’t fight back.

Hey had lost. Qinghe was lost. Qinghe now belonged to the Wen Sect like it happened to Gusu and to smaller sects already. Qinghe, proud in its strength, had lost to a cruel and spoiled young man. When Nie HuaiSang Saw the hot iron getting closer to his chest he turned his face away trying to hide.

Subduing the Nie Sect and taking control over the Unclean Realm had been strangely easy, Wen Zhuliu wondered. He fought with Nie MingJue personally, he had been close to brush against his golden core, felt his power, his strength, the link between him and the saber he held. He was clearing the path, making sure no one got out —

“Zhao ZongHui.” The man freeze on his steps, he mentally cursed for not having been faster, for not getting away when Nie MingJue forced him to. He had to reach for a stronger sect, the Jiangs in Lotus Pier perhaps, and return with aids to reclaimer the Unclean Realm. But he stayed behind, his heart conflicted between duty and loyalty. When he saw Nie MingJue fall on his knees he choose duty hoping it wouldn’t be too late.

It was.

“It’s Nie.” He specified turning and staring at him. It had been so long since the last time, he changed, they both changed, they chose their loyalties, the chose who to follow and who to die for.

“It wasn't, once.” Wen Zhuliu took a step closer and ZongHui put a hand on the hilt of one of the sabers on his back.

“Neither was Wen for you, Zhao Zhuliu.” It was risky to wait longer. Risky for MingJue's survival, for HuaiSang's, for most people in the Unclean Realm. And it was risky to try and fight Wen Zhuliu, fully knowing his specific ability, especially after coming from another battle.

Wen Zhuliu lifted a hand before changing his mind, he turned and waited. After a couple more of seconds Nie ZongHui nodded in a short, hidden gratitude gesture and sneaked out of the walls. They chose different, opposite sides, and the rest of the world had no reason for knowing their past, but sometimes blood came before loyalty. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been if he didn’t ran that day.

“No one’s trying to escape.” Wen Zhuliu said a moment before the hot iron touched Nie HuaiSang's exposed skin. There was no reason for Wen Chao to even begin to doubt him, he just nodded and turned back to the younger Nie.

“Where were we?” He asked, the he looked back at Nie MingJue. “It would take so little to save him, you know? Just beg. Beg me to spare his life, to spare him from that pain. I’m a man of word, - He placed a hand over his own heart, like to prove he wasn’t lying. Both Nie brothers knew better than to believe him. - you beg, I let him go.”

Nie MingJue remained silent, Wen Chao waited almost expectantly, he had been told that the greatest weakness of Sect Leader Nie was his little brother, that for him he would do everything, even bow to the Wens. Perhaps his informant were wrong, perhaps he didn’t care at all, he didn’t look like he did in truth.

“You asked for it.” He said finally. Wen Chao turned to HuaiSang, a crooked smile on his face. “Seems like your older brother doesn’t care for you. What a sad fate we have to bear.”

Pain lasted for a minute at most, the screams echoed in Nie MingJue's mind for hours, he was sure he would never be able to forget them completely, he will never forget the sounds, the smell of burned flesh, the tears down his brother’s face as he fell unconscious. He could have begged of course, he could have give in and did what Wen Chao told him to, but that wouldn’t have made HuaiSang safe, nothing would have made him safe as long as they stayed in the Unclean Realm in their hands.

He crawled toward Nie HuaiSang, his own chest now on fire too, the mark in the shape of the flaming sun of the Wen Sect burning on his chest too, blood dripping from the wound. He would find a way to save him, to get him out and away from them, the farther the better.

“Burn him.”

As he thought of making up a plan an intense pain fired from his back, spread over his body, his Golden Core twisted and pulled and felt on fire. Nie MingJue fell next to HuaiSang's body. Wen Zhuliu retracted the hand from where he touched him, fingertips burning.

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

twenty-one - a family’s legacy

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again

THE ADRESTIA'S CREW encircle Alexios and Irene on the deck —Barnabas and Herodotus watch from the helm. As of late, they all have started making bets on who will win the sparring matches between them. The Eagle Bearer wins most of them, but that doesn't stop a handful from always betting on the princess. All it takes is for the commander to get distracted by a wayward smile or salacious glint in Irene's sapphire eyes and he is on his back.

She dodges his swing, slips under his arm and lands a blow to his back. He grunts, spinning around and finds she is already gone. The princess hooks her leg around his, throwing him off-balance. Alexios begins falling backward, but he grips onto her chiton and twists. Irene lands on her back and he catches his weight on his forearms. "You almost had me," he breathes, a slight smile playing on his lips. She is pinned beneath him on the ship's deck —chest heaving in exertion. Alexios hovers above her —his breathing coming in soft pants. It had been a good match.

Several of the crew toss drachma to one another, grumbling as they return to their tasks. "Not going to finish me off, commander?" Irene asks, fluttering her lashes.

Alexios rolls his eyes as he stands, offering her his hand. "Later," he promises, pulling her up from the deck with a wink.

The remainder of the day is uneventful —a pleasant change from the usual chaos. A warm breeze fills the sails and the crew sing hymns to Poseidon and Ares. Eppie and Barnabas are deep in discussion about myths and old legends. Herodotus transcribes his work onto papyrus scrolls. It's but a preview of a simpler, more peaceful life.

By sundown, everyone has gathered into small groups of four or five around the braziers, sharing wine and stories. Ikaros perches on Alexios' shoulder and the princess spoils the golden eagle with strips of fish and pieces of fresh fruit. "If you keep feeding him, he'll be too fat to fly," Alexios chides, and Ikaros squawks his disagreement, hopping from foot to foot on the misthios' shoulder. Irene laughs and ruffles the eagle's feathers the way he likes, silently promising him a few more treats the next time Alexios looks away.

Silver moonlight reflects off the dark surface of the water —a hundred stars are shining down as though the gods are smiling upon Alexios and Irene. The princess settles back, and Alexios wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Ikaros circles high above them in the night sky. "Do you think strangers will hear our names long after we are gone and wonder who we were?" She asks softly.

Alexios traces a faint line connecting freckles on the inside of her forearm, deciding it looks almost like one of Artemis' arrows. "People will remember us," he assures her, placing a quick kiss to the corner of her jaw, "what we are doing will echo across the ages." Irene shifts in his arms to face him —he looks at peace, though she knows a storm is brewing within him the closer they sail to Thera.

The pad of his thumb traces the fading scratch on her temple. Her eyes slip shut and reopen when his touch fades only to be replaced by his lips pressed to hers. Alexios pushes the fabric covering her shoulder aside and follows with a line of open-mouth kisses. Ikaros lands on the sternpost of the ship and looks down at the pair then screeches. "I don't fancy an audience tonight," she breathes with a soft laugh.

Alexios tries to shoo the eagle away, but Ikaros' call is louder this time and now he can see burning braziers moving closer, illuminating a black sail with a dragon's head. "Malákas pirates!" He curses, springing into action —regretting having ignored Ikaros' first warning.

"Pirates!" Irene calls and the crew begin to spill out on the deck —most are half-dressed with little armor and by the time everyone takes their stations the galley as turned. The bronze ram glints in the moonlight, pointed at the Adrestia's flank, oars diving into the water propelling it across the water.

"Brace!" Alexios shouts —crouching with Irene under his arm. The impact almost knocks them off their feet. Several of the crew are launched into the air and sea. The churning waves settle and then it becomes a race. The Eagle Bearer leads the boarding party with a fierce shout, Irene and several others join him. It's a quick and bloody affair —they leave none alive. Alexios searches the deck and finds the princess kneeling next to one of the deckhands.

Thekla pushes Irene's hands away. She already knows this wound will be fatal —not even Hippokrates himself could repair the damage the pirate's blade had done. Alexios kneels next to the woman and grasps onto her hand in camaraderie. "A quicker death is all I ask," she chokes, blood trickling from her mouth. He frees the broken spear from the sheath on his back and Irene rises, turning away —unable to watch. Eppie pulls her into an embrace and watches over her shoulder as Alexios slips the spear between Thekla's ribs. A soft gasp escapes her lips before unending serenity overtakes her expression. The crew wraps Thekla's body in a cut of the old faded sail. They will bury her once making landfall.

A THICK SULFUROUS haze lingers over the Volcanic Islands. Thera is the largest of the three islands and desolate, though ruins of a once-great people remain. On the dark shores, the crew takes a moment and lays their fallen companion to rest in a pit of black sand. Most return to the Adrestia after the short ceremony, but Irene and Alexios search the ruins for any sign of his father. They come to a gateway nearly identical to the one on Andros, but this one is larger. Recalling how he'd opened the gate, Alexios frees the broken spear from his quiver and touches it to the dark stone —nothing happens.

Something behind the door draws Irene closer. She lays her hand flat against the smooth rock and warmth spreads over her limbs. "The light," she says stepping back then pointing to one of the reflective mirrors at the pinnacle of the southernmost ruins. A puzzle. 

Aligning the mirrors does not take long, especially since Ikaros had taken care of the snakes littered about the ruins. A focused beam of light shines on the gateway, illuminating a blue-white triangle before the stone starts grinding. The triangular entrance gapes open, leading into darkness. "I don't even know if I'll come back," he admits, looking into the depths of the dark passage. Alexios is not one to show or admit fear readily, but Irene knows him well enough to spot it, and there is no point in trying to conceal it.

The princess guides his dark gaze back to her. In comparison to the black volcanic rock and ruins, she is a ray of light. "This is not where your journey ends, Alexios," she assures him. Deep down, Irene knows fate has more in store for both her and Alexios. Their fate does not end here in the ruins of Thera. "Nor where our ways part," she adds.

A smile crosses his lips. "You sound so certain," Alexios breathes —he wants to share in her optimism, but the unknown keeps him from doing so.

"I am," Irene says, placing a short kiss to his cheek. For a moment, he gapes at her —if this is to be his end, he wishes for her fair face to be the last thing he sees before the Keres take him. She nudges him toward the door, breaking him from the trance. Alexios disappears into the ruins —the gateway closing behind him— and Irene wanders along the barren and destroyed streets of Akrotiri.

Light breaks through the haze and catches something both crystalline and metallic. The object is heavy in hand given its size and reminds Irene of the metal of Leonidas' spear. She reaches behind her back for the broken spear. The tip of the blade begins to glow as it nears the ingot. At the same time, the strange markings she's seen before surface on her skin, though this time there is no pain.

Irene takes the opportunity to look at them closely. The lines and smooth curving arcs are a mix between silver and gold and run from her fingers to her toes. They are smooth but feel warmer than the rest of her skin. A part of her is tempted to ask Herodotus what these markings mean, but after a moment of silent thought, the princess decides some questions might be better left unanswered. Still, she cannot help but wonder if this has to do with her father.

A hand falls onto her shoulder, and instinct takes over. Irene lashes out, sweeping her leg around and knocking the would-be assailant to the ground. He falls to his back with a groan —he should have known better than to sneak up on the princess. "Alexios!" She reprimands, offering him her hand. Alexios takes hold of her hand, but tugs her down across his lap instead of rising to his feet.

There's a distant look in his eyes. "Atlantis is real," he breathes. Irene isn't sure she'd heard him right. Atlantis is just a children's story. Hydarnes used to tell her stories of the lost city when she was a girl. Before she can say anything or question him, he meets her gaze and recalls what Pythagoras had told him. "My father is down there," Alexios whispers and he is less than happy with the revelation.

WAVES BREAK AGAINST the Adrestia, rocking the ship as a mother rocks a babe in her arms. On the horizon are dark clouds, though. It will be a stormy night. Irene is left to wonder if the gods can sense the storm growing within her.

Alexios has been nigh silent since returning from the depths beneath Thera. It is clear the weight on his shoulders has increased tenfold. He sits atop the sternpost watching the last of Helios' light disappear beneath the waves. Irene is speaking with Iola —a former smuggler and Barnabas' new flame. The two women laugh, though when the princess shifts her gaze up to him her smile fades.

Nearly the entire crew goes below deck, urged quietly by Herodotus and Iola to give the commander and princess a moment of solitude. It's obvious there are things between them that need to be said and are not meant for the ears of others. Alexios jumps down from the sternpost, comes to stand next to her at the helm. "You're troubled," she notes gazing at the blackened horizon. He does not bother denying the accusation.

"I just-" Alexios tilts his head back, looking to the heavens and draws in a deep breath "-have a lot to think about." I was never going to raise you. Anger pulses through his veins at the thought of Pythagoras. An obligation to preserve the bloodline. He drapes his arm over Irene's shoulders and presses his forehead into her temple. Right now, she is his anchor in the calamity of life. "I'm glad you're with me," he breathes.

Irene steps back. "I know you're hiding something, and I won't press you to say anything-"

"I don't know how to tell you," he says in turn, cutting her off as he starts to pace the deck with arms crossed and a pensive expression. It should be easy to say, and she needs to know.

Irene steps into his path and presses her hand against the center of his chest. His arms uncross and his shoulders fall. Irene knows he is not a wordsmith and does not expect an eloquent verse. "Just say it," the princess tells him, voice just above a whisper.

Alexios grips onto her arms and meets her gaze —stormy like the sea around them. "You're a demigoddess." A playwright or poet would have fashioned the words into art. He is neither. Even Pythagoras managed to word the revelation more adroitly before he spoke of the princess as a broodmare for the bloodline. Alexios watches her expression, but she has always been able to mask her inner thoughts —it's what made her a skilled orator and politician. "Apollonides was a guise for Asklepios," Alexios explains. "Your father is the God of Medicine."

People called him a demigod, but his is not the blood of Olympus. Irene though is truly descendant from the heavens. She suspires, turning from the helm and takes a seat on one of the benches at the stern. Alexios follows and kneels in front of her. "I always believed he was just an Asklepiad." Irene absently touches his cheek, fingertips ghosting over the stubble on his jaw. Her soft laugh is filled with bitter emptiness. "He must be ashamed of me," the princess notes, "all the lives I've taken." Instead of saving people from Hades, she sends them to him.  

[snidgetsafan]

Flash Burn

Happy Birthday @kmomof4! Hope you enjoy this humble offering amid all the wonderful gifts you’ve already gotten, you deserve it!

Rating: T for swearing

Summary:  Emma Swan doesn't have a soulmate. Until she does. Emma Swan is used to the cold. Until she isn't.

On AO3

Emma Swan doesn’t have a soulmate. That fact was made painfully clear when she’d been met with police sirens instead of Neal’s grin, and cemented in her very soul when she’d learnt that an anonymous tip was what had brought her to a cold interrogation room to face an even colder police lieutenant.

Not that she hadn’t known that before. After all, that was what had brought Emma and Neal together in the first place – their supposed freedom from fate, their freedom to choose who to live with (who to love).

Well apparently Emma had shit taste.

Emma Swan didn’t have a soulmate, not until her own cries of pain stopped to let her child’s – her son’s – voice sound for the first time. In the midst of the pain of giving birth (and the agony of giving her son up, of giving him a better chance at life than she had), she doesn’t notice the burning sensation that lights her right wrist on fire. Even if she hadn’t been drowning in grief, she’d probably have thought that it was the metal handcuff chafing her wrist, or the I.V. having moved.

She doesn’t notice her mark until a few minutes before being discharged, when the nurse removing her I.V. comments on it. 

“Well that’s uncommon, having your soulmate already know your name.”

Emma blinks at her, not understanding until the kindly woman raises her wrist, showing her black words that were definitely not there the day before.

Emma’s heart stops, then beats double time. “Are you Emma Swan?” is scribbled in choppy letters. Her son will find her again, he will look for her , she thinks with hope, a small smile stretching her lips for the first time since Neal had turned away from her for the last time (though she didn’t know it at the time).

The smile disappears, however, when she remembers that though her son may be her soulmate, she may not be his. 

  She’s her son’s soulmate too is what runs through her head on a loop as she hyperventilates in her Boston bathroom. As soon as he’d stepped in her flat (in her life), he’d proudly shown her the mark on his right wrist, her chicken scratch spelling out “Can I help you?” and turning her life completely inside out.

(Henry – his name is Henry.)

Those words are what make her go to Storybrooke with him (what kind of a stupid name is that), but more importantly what makes her stay. She’s just lived through ten years of loneliness and cold, and now that she’s found her warmth once more, she’s not about to let it go, sociopathic mayors, weaselly journalists, or obnoxious writers be damned.

  Delusional writer, really, with all his talk of magic and fairy tales and saviors. She’s nobody’s savior; how could she be, when she can’t even save herself? She almost leaves, but she won’t subject Henry to the cold and the loneliness she’s had to live through for the last 28 years. Plus, Regina is fucking crazy.

  How can she be everyone’s savior, when she can’t even save her son? She tried, oh how she tried to save him, going after a dragon of all things, but she’s too late, his little body laying there, lifeless and so so small. She kisses him, trying to infuse his cooling body with all the warmth he’s gifted her over the last few months, all the love he’s brought into her life. 

And for once in her life, fate smiles on Emma Swan. She is suddenly drowned in a wave of pure love, every cell in her body lighting up as a pleasant wind blows her hair from her face. She never wants to surface.

But surface she does, and reality is even better, as Henry’s eyes are open and looking at her in pure joy. She has no idea what just happened, but she’s willing to accept her son’s mentions of True Love and magic if it keeps him talking and happy.

  A purple cloud engulfs the whole town, making Emma’s skin tingle as she holds Henry tight, shielding him with her body from the flying glass that hits her in the shoulder, leaving behind a searing heat that is soon forgotten when Regina fucking vanishes into thin air.

  She meets her parents – Prince Charming and Snow freaking White – and she’s engulfed for the first time in her life in her parents’ arms. It’s not the first time she’s hugged her mother, though at the time she had been Mary Margaret, her friend (her best friend). Finding her parents brings a sense of loss. not only does she lose her best friend, but she realizes that Emma Swan, lonesome orphan, is gone forever too, reborn as a new Emma, one she doesn’t know yet.

Her parents have her words on their left wrists, but she doesn’t have theirs.

  When Emma woke up in the morning, she expected to go to sleep in her own bed that night. She certainly never expected to learn that magic was real, and to be sucked down a magic portal into the world where fairy tales actually happened. Instead of her comfy bed in the loft, she falls asleep on the cold hard ground under a giant tree, hiding from giant ogres while her mother – Snow White , in case anyone had forgotten – and freaking Mulan stand guard.

She prefers falling asleep to dealing with the utter and complete chaos that her life has become. All that counts is getting back to Henry, and being warm again. 

  They find a blacksmith at the heart of the massacre, hiding under a pile of corpses. His hand burns her when Emma takes it to help him up, the heat running up her arm all the way to the back of her shoulder. His story doesn’t add up though; how could one man survive such carnage? 

Emma calls his bluff, but he doesn’t admit defeat until the earth starts trembling as the ogres approach. “Good for you,” he says in a completely different voice, no longer the meek blacksmith he’d played at being. “You bested me.” Emma stops walking, her triumph at being right (and besting him) igniting her body, making her shoulder tingle in a strange way. She frowns slightly; this isn’t the first time that part of her body has acted up. She doesn’t have time to focus on it too much, the pressing matter of ogres, beanstalks and outsmarting witches and cunning pirates demanding all of her focus.

 It isn’t until she’s back in Storybrooke and brushing her wet hair after a blessedly long and hot shower that she catches sight of her back in the mirror. The brush drops from her hand as she sees very familiar words etched in an elegant loop on her shoulder blade. Good for you, you bested me. It can’t be, she thinks, twisting to get a better look at them. Not him, surely?

She quickly puts on a pajama top (a long sleeved one) and goes to her room, stroking Henry’s hair before slipping under her covers. There’s no way he can be her soulmate, is there? Those weren’t the first words he spoke to her after all, and he had never mentioned anything; surely he would have used such a weapon, if only for shock value? 

Anyway, she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore, does she? He’s back in the Enchanted Forest, and she’s safe in Storybrooke with Henry, the only soulmate she needs. She’s already tried giving her heart to a thief after all, and look where it had gotten her: in a cold prison cell for eleven months.

(In Storybrooke, with a son, and friends, and a family.)

  Exhausted, Emma falls asleep quickly, merely shifting as her newest soulmark flares again around midnight – just as a maelstrom forms, unseen, in the middle of Storybrooke bay. And just as unseen, a pirate stands among the rigging on his ship, far above anyone, thinking about the mark he’d discovered on his shoulder while cleaning the grime and sand from his body in his cabin. The words “An island full of corpses, and you’re the only one to escape” are seared into his skin, and definitely were not there the last time he bathed, before the curse was lifted, and Cora’s spell with it. For the first time in centuries, Captain Hook has a new objective beyond taking his revenge on Rumplestiltskin.

He has a crocodile to skin and a Swan to conquer, it seems.