#that’s unleashed the bitterness! that’s here in the midst of this!

[lady-stormbraver]

jason and bruce + “forgiven” by relient k

[popawritter12]

Yandere! Lin Kuei clan x Fem! Reader

Author's Notes: GUYS I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY EVERYONE LOVES BI-HAN (Yes, probably because he has terrible tits- BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT). I think that he is bitter from start to finish but IDK there are colors for tastes.

Also, this one-shots is from a Wattpad request

(Don't let my favoritism towards Tomas be noticed jsadhjasfa <;3)

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Yandere Characters: Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, (mention of Sektor and Bi-han, Kuai Liang and Tomas's father)

From the video game/manga/anime/series/movie: Mortal Kombat 1 (World of "the new age" as I investigated)

Case: Confinement, forced adoption, unhealthy obsession, extremely strange "family" relationships.

Warnings: NO, SUB-ZERO'S FATHER AND DOES NOT WANT TO FUCK THE PROTAGONIST, HE WAS OBSESSED WITH HAVING HER AS A DAUGHTER (I'll clarify just in case)

Finished: Yes

-

You still had vague memories of the last time you were free, or the last time you were with your mother. For many nights the question of your mother's whereabouts echoed in your head. However, it wasn't that long before your father's disappearance knocked on your door.

In the middle of the night, a group of warriors from the Lin Kuei clan found your dying father, who only had one last wish; Let the men who found him take care of his little daughter.

He didn't know them, he didn't even know their names, but something in his heart pumped in such a way that it only announced his time, and only "Protect my daughter" came out of his mouth.

He didn't even know why he said it, but in his heart there was only the desire to protect that little girl that he adored so much.

The warriors who were in charge of burying your father had to notify you of your existence, and the existence of a now orphaned girl generated some curiosity in several warriors.

And when the leader of that generation of warriors learned who the man who had died was, he only generated some surprise and anger.

It is there that, after asking the universe so much and mainly asking himself what he should do, he decided to call a clan meeting.

In the midst of all the doubts about why the leader called all the Lin Kuei, there was only one sentence which unleashed the beginning of chaos.

—One of my best friends, one of the people I loved most in my life, died in the hands of some thieves —The man began —, and his daughter, (Name) (Last name), is lost in the middle of the crowd, in "A town not far from here." The man looked up, the crowd realizing the seriousness in his words. His last wish, as the father of a little girl, and of a warrior who once belonged to this clan, is that we take care of his first-born daughter.

All the men and women present noticed that, amidst all the façade of concern for a friend's last will, they noticed that there was a hint of insecurity behind his words. It was a sensation that generated some intrigue as to who this young woman was.

—I strongly request that you investigate her whereabouts, and bring her to be part of the Lin Kuei from now on.

The chaos had begun, and the woman behind the mirror only longed for one thing from the bottom of her soul; May she find an escape from the chaos that was to come.

Even Liu Kang himself had a bad feeling, which heralded a change in the most powerful clan in the entire land. A change which began a breakdown in the clan's principles.

-

The dawn marked her presence in an imposing manner with its tormenting solar rays, while the crowing of the roosters echoed in all the nearby fields, a harmonious song that seemed to strain their vocal cords just to cause such a noise. And it was a noise that was as annoying as cutting onions.

The glass of the window collided with the first rays of the sun, and the temperature of the room began to rise where the solar lights shine. And just as those lights collided with the fabrics covering the young woman's body, a grunt of protest came from her, her body moving off the mattress, the friction making soft noises throughout the room as she felt the cold of the dark wood against her. the transparent fabrics.

Even with the discomfort of the floor, her heavy, closed eyelids refused to move even an inch, and her muscles only relaxed against the coldness of the wood.

Three soft knocks against the wood sounded from the other side, while the young woman only pressed her face against her wrinkled pillow.

—(Name), Are you awake?

She pretended not to know anything, and her head was cradled against the soft, cotton-filled fabric. Her fingers approached the fabric that covered the rest of her body, and her nails dug against the loom, only dragging to cover a part of her jaw and leave the soles of her feet. in the air.

—(Name), I'm going to pass.

The screech of wood opening and old metal moving invaded the woman's ears, generating a certain tremor in her eardrums. But even then, pr

He continued without separating his eyelids.

The man moved quietly, the softness of his steps at the same time as he tried not to move too much to the bed. The soft aroma of the lavender scented sheets and the sound of the leaves moving to the sound of the wind, gently colliding against the wood of the house. With each step, he just tried to see throughout the room some trace of disorder, but he was all pretty well done to make a complaint.

Since the girl took charge of issuing a complaint when she felt how her only free hand was suppressed against the ground.

The man took several steps back, now giving more firmness to his posture in his final retreat.

—What the hell is wrong with you?!

The brown-haired man's gaze lowered gently, noticing how a figure emerged from the ground, barely lifting his body. A sudden movement of the woman's wrist was heard as more moans came from her lips.

—That hurts… —she whispered with her voice barely high-pitched.

The man noticed the mistake he had made in taking steps, and only gasped angrily, lowering his shoulders along with the tension in his body.

—Are you sleeping on the floor again?!

—Stepping on my hand again, Liang?!

The two exchanged glances after a few seconds, a stinging pain spreading tension and burning through the skin and muscles of her injured limb.

—How many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn't sleep on the floor? —The man in yellowish clothes complained —, it's not healthy, and you leave everything lying around as soon as you get up.

—Yes, yes, yes… Whatever you say —The woman clicked her tongue, —, not even your dad was so complaining about me sleeping on the floor.

The man rolled his eyes, before kneeling on his feet. His gaze was fixed on the injured skin, and the circular movement that (Last Name) exerted with her wrist, trying to keep her body from focusing on the stinging burning in her hand. A somewhat heavy sigh left him, before her hand took his hand, her fingers taking gentle walks over her skin.

—It hurts?

A question so stupid but so loaded with worry that he asked her between nausea and wanting to jizz in her face, but he just shook his head, taking her wrist now. The man, even with his muscular build, allowed himself to be manipulated by the woman's soft movements.

—Yes, you idiot —she joked, before releasing the wrist of the man in front of her —, but I just need an ointment to calm the pain."

The look of doubt on her face didn't leave her grimace, but she just accepted her hasty excuse.

—Why did you come so early? —The woman asked, before taking the pillow and placing it on the mattress again.

Liang wasn't specifically someone who liked to interrupt people, especially her, so the few times he did, it wasn't especially for pleasure.

—Things happened, —he whispered, before moving from her position to get back up. —Can you go to the living room? Tomas wanted to tell you something.

The woman's face scrunched up a little, confused as to why the gray-haired man wanted to talk to her, but she assumed it was some kind of warning or something.

—Alright.

She gave gentle tugs on her muscles before moving her feet to stand up. The woman looked quite overwhelmed by the lights coming from her window, but she just ran her palms across her eyes, her back leaning back solely to stretch her lower back muscles.

It had been some time since the war, and she heard only prattle of the events of the great war that had been fought between this world and others. For some reason, a deja vu passed through (Name)'s mind after hearing what happened during those fights, as if in her soul, she knew something about the events of the war.

However, she just shook her head. The grimace on her face changed to a gentle smile as she greeted some newcomers from the clan, while her rigid body became accustomed to moving around the large place that until that day you dared to call home.

And at one point, she ran into someone particularly well-known, mostly because of her distinctive hair color. She smiled, giving a gentle click of her tongue against her teeth as her steps quickened a little, but maintained a certain stealth.

(Name), being close enough to the man —Particularly a couple of centimeters from his body, or rather her back—, she almost jumped on top of him, wrapping her arms around the edge of the waist of her. A soft gasp came from the man, his body generating some tension as he felt her hands so close to the gray garments, gently squeezing the fabric against his skin.

The man smiled after realizing who had made such a 'deadly attack', and her shoulders released their tension after a few seconds.

—Hello, (Name) —The man greeted.

The woman smiled, before walking away from him.

—How have you been, Tomás? —The woman asked, now located next to him.

—I'm better than I expected, luckily, —he replied, his gaze escaping to rom where he was looking to admire the girl next to him.

The two exchanged words, a conventional conversation typical of two people who had known each other for years that resembled a sibling relationship more than anything else. However, that was the thought the woman had about how they both looked in the eyes of other people.

He told her what the end of the war was like, and the "extra jobs" that both he and his brother did after said event. Even as boring as what he explained to her was, you just nodded silently while he continued talking to her.

But, to (Name)'s surprise, the people that she previously found everywhere around the house began to leave, or rather, began to stop appearing in her circle of vision, but the woman was not very focused.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a vast place full of plants and flowers, the bright colors spread harmoniously throughout the place, with a table in the middle of the grass. From the warmest colors to the coldest and dullest adorned the place, while the metal table and chairs of the same material with a spongy padding on the part where the weight of the body rested.

It was a special place for her, being one of the few outdoor places that she could access without having to ask the grandmaster for permission, and one where she hung out the most with your best clan friends.

When you sat down, Tomas sat next to her, his words pausing for a second as both of them gazed at the soft colors that adorned the garden.

—(Name) —He called you.

—Yeah?

—There's something I've wanted to tell you for a while —the man said, —, it's something I wanted to tell you but I never found the words to say it correctly.

—Well, that's new. —She leans back gently against the chair —, so, tell me.

—It's… complicated, you know? After so long of us being friends.

Her words seemed to take a very obvious direction, but the young woman did not seem very excited, just curious about what her best friend wanted to tell her.

—It sounds like something important, may I know what it is?

But there was no response, and not specifically because Smoke wanted it that way.

—Smoke! —A scream was heard in the distance.

Both of them looked at who called the man near them, turning out to be the young man that you and Smoke had known for a long time, but never as well as Smoke or Bi-Han, or his brother.

—Sector? —Smoke asks, intrigued —what's going on?

He stands up from the chair, moving to stand in front of she. She didn't notice it because she only saw his back, but there was a serious grimace on his face, knowing that a bad event was approaching.

—I need to talk with you.

His brow furrowed, as that feeling in his head that something bad was about to happen grew like a graph rising exponentially. The gray-haired man asked her to go to her room, which confused her, after all, why did she need to get away from someone she knew as well as Sektor?

She shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment before she snapped back to reality, and decided to get up. Obeying the request—although it was more like an order—from her best friend, she couldn't even say goodbye to Sektor, because the tension in the air didn't allow it.

She left the garden, getting away from everything to be able to access her inner thoughts, which you always kept locked in her room. In her face, which was always that of someone carefree, dropped to a thoughtful grimace; It had been several weeks since she stopped seeing Bi-Han, and both Liang and Smoke refused to talk to her about him, dodging your question almost in an Olympic manner.

You shook your head, trying not to go overboard with her thoughts, so as to vent the darkness of her soul on pages full of ink in Morse code. However, when she opened the door, she was surprised that someone was already waiting for her.

With his characteristic bluish clothes accompanied by his hair tied up and a permanently serious face in any situation —which he did not let her see because he had his back to you—, she saw him, the man from whom she heared so much expected even to know his whereabouts.

—"It is then that, by mere self-awareness, I notice that nothing is the same. For a long time I mistakenly thought that they were only kind to me, but inside me, very buried deep in my soul, I knew that the lie was extensive, a which had invaded my life and brought me to a point of no return, now I ask myself, over and over again, what can I do to escape them?"

A noise of piles of pages suddenly colliding with others in a book is heard. It is then that he extends that dusty book into your range of vision, allowing you to see where he had gotten those words from.

—I always figured you weren't as dumb as the former grandmaster led us to believe, —Bi-Han explained, his serious voice sounding surprisingly relaxed —after all, you were going to be my wife one day.

The woman shook her head, her jaw rubbing against her bottom and top teeth.

—My father taught me that I should get a woman who had a lot of intelligence, one who could help me and that I would give her the same help in return —He began his explanation—, and when he picked you up from that house, I thought you were going to be that woman.

He got up from the ground, while (Name) stepped back, but the moment she wanted to open the door and leave, she realized that it was closed, and locked. When trying to push against the door, someone responded by exerting much more pressure against the wood to prevent it from being opened.

—But, I was unpleasantly surprised that he didn't want you for that —The man threw her book on the bed —, he wanted you for himself, he wanted you to be his perfect daughter, the girl who was destined for a life of her own. , or rather, to a life with him.

She shook her head again and again, her gaze dropping to the ground, fixating on the remains of destroyed metal on the ground in front of the window.

—He wanted you for himself, he wanted you to be just his daughter until the end of his life, and that when he died, you would be left alone, taking care of this place as if it were yours —The man gritted his teeth —, and he became obsessed with the idea that you really were his blood daughter.

The woman's heart palpitations were such that it seemed like it was threatening to break the bones in her chest, she felt as if the air did not seem to reach completely into her lungs, as if it had stopped in the middle of the breath. veins of her.

—Kuai Liang and Smoke believed the same thing, that you were destined to give them orders, and they took care of you in a cradle of gold —He continued, now taking slow but forceful steps towards her —, you grew up away from the world, and they taught you what was necessary to that you could do everything from here.

She shook her head, her hands going to her ears, applying pressure, as if she wanted not to hear the reality behind the man's words, however, he took the woman's hands, easily forcing them to stay in her ears. shoulders.

—And Liang and Smoke became obsessed with the idea that you were weak, that you needed protection, that you were destined to lead from this damn room while they risked their lives for you—He press her hands against the wall—but I know better than that. You deserve so much more than that, someone like you needs much more than these four walls.

Her cries of denial echoed through the room, a wish that someone would magically appear and save her from Bi-Han's words. But she knew it was reality, that she couldn't deny the fact that she was like a bird in a cage full of harmless traps to keep it locked there.

—I will give you the life you deserve, and I will not let either of these two interfere in our destiny —He brought her face closer to her neck, pressing gently—. I am not alone, both Sektor and other Lin Kuei know what your destiny is, and they are willing to do everything to make it come true.

The poor woman sobbed, her arms too weak to fight someone as big as him.

But then, an explosion of smoke covered the place, while both of them heard the door being torn out. One arm took hold of her waist, taking hold of her body and stepping back with her in her arms.

—I knew they were up to something, —Liang whispered, before setting her down again —. Don't you understand that this is not right?

Smoke took her into her arms, pressing her face against her neck, while her hands clung to her body.

—You speak as if you know what she wants, —Bi-han replies, leaving the room —. Do you really think that someone like her deserves to be locked up in this place forever?

—Shut up now!.

It was the first time in a long time since she had heard Kuai Liang respond with such aggression, and in fact, she had never heard him speak with such expressions of anger.

—You don't know her, you just made yourself sick with the idea that she deserved to be by your side —Liang says, taking the blade out of his pocket —You already betrayed all of our father's will, what do you think gives you the right to also kidnap our future leader?

It was strange to hear him use that word, being that the idea that she was secretly in charge of keeping the clan alive in the new generations, but now that that idea had become a reality, she just wished it was a lie, an ugly one and horrendous lie.

Smoke walked away from the fight, carrying (Name) in his arms to safety place.

She knew the truth, she knew she had to take a path, one that was always going to be linked to obsession, and a sick feeling of horror invaded her chest at the idea that, wherever she went, it would always be the same.

Sorry if it took me too long, I was working on some headcanons that I had pending on Tumblr, soon there will be more one-shots and headcanons <3

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hey!! Thanks so much for writing my previous request! I'm so glad you liked it. I was quite nervous requesting it because I didn't know if you'd like the concept or if it would make sense or not but I'm really happy that you did. And I absolutely loved it!! Made me incredibly giddy to see that the prompt struck you! I'm wondering if you'd be open to me requesting another piece for Alfie using the general concept below? (Again, no pressure what so ever):

Alfie is a man that has had near death experiences several times throughout his life, but this time he thinks will be the last. That is until he feels himself being dragged across the cold cobblestone steps to the last place he'd ever think would be a safe haven for him.

Could this kind of be like where him and reader aren't exactly on amicable terms. It's a love/hate relationship (emphasis on the hate, lol). And when he asks why they saved him, they're just like: "didn't save you. Just prolonged your death. I told you before, no one has claim to kill you except for me."

Sorry if that didn't make too much sense. Basically a GN!Reader X Alfie Solomons enemies to (kinda) lovers but you sure as shit can't mess with the other, because that right is only reserved for them. "No one can kill you but me" are the vibes of their relationship.

(And if you don't mind, I'll use this as my identifier: 🥀.) Thanks again and I love, love, love your work ♥️!

- 🥀

Mine to Kill - Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader ONESHOT

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3120

Warnings: blood, stitching someone up

Summary: (The request)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm so happy you liked the last story. This was such a cute request, I love me some good ol' playful enemies to lovers. I'm so happy I'm able to identify you now! I look forward to more requests from you and everyone else. Hope you all enjoy 🥀💚

Alfie Solomons had waltzed with death on so many occasions that it felt as though he were an unwilling partner in a ceaseless, macabre dance. Every encounter with an enemy had etched its mark upon him, leaving deep scars not only on his body but on the recesses of his soul. The specter of death had become a relentless companion, its chilling fingers tracing the contours of his existence, staining it with a darkness that refused to fade. He had grown increasingly intimate with the concept of mortality, his dance with the reaper a relentless walts of agony and survival.

Yet, on this bitter, moonless night in Camden town,It was as if the universe itself had conspired to stage the conclusion of his life. The air was filled with an eerie stillness, the kind that precedes a storm. His blood flowed like a river unleashed from a dam, an unrelenting torrent from a vicious wound in his side. The bloodstains on the cobblestone steps formed a haunting picture, each drop a reminder of his unyielding struggle against a relentless destiny.

As he lay there, trapped in death's clutches, Alfie's reality shifted into a murky haze, where the lines between truth and illusion were as hazy as the fading memories of a man on the brink of the unknown. It was in this fragile moment, suspended between life and death, that his once-unshakable resolve, the very foundation upon which he had built his existence, flickered like a candle in the midst of a relentless storm.The boundary between his will to survive and the tempting embrace of surrender blurred, and doubt infiltrated his once unshakable self-assurance.

The looming darkness was unlike anything he'd ever known, its presence echoing with the ominous promise of an ending too final, too absolute to contemplate. Here, at this very moment, there was no escaping the inevitable, and Alfie could feel the cold breath of death, its embrace closing in, a meeting he could no longer avoid. It was the eternal silence that called to him, an abyss that left no room for defiance.

Struggling for each labored breath, Alfie's thoughts raced through the haze of pain, a singular name repeating in his mind like a mantra. Y/n. Their connection was a puzzle, a relentless source of frustration that had left them perpetually at odds. But amidst the chaos of the moment, as life teetered on the precipice, he couldn't deny the conviction that she would be the one to aid him, as contradictory as their relationship had always been.

Alfie was aware of the aggressive dynamic that had plagued their relationship for years. Their history was marked not by tender moments, but by the bitter taste of blood and the sting of betrayal. They were no strangers to confrontation; it seemed like every encounter ended with the exchange of harsh words or even harsher blows. Yet, beneath the layers of animosity and hostility, there was an inexplicable connection that both frustrated and mystified him. It was a connection he couldn't quite put into words, a magnetic pull that drew them together in their most volatile moments.

As he lay there, fading in and out of consciousness, Alfie found himself yearning to see the reader one last time. It was an inexplicable desire, considering the countless times they had been at each other's throats, and the disdain that had characterized their interactions. But in this desperate moment, he couldn't help but wish for a final encounter, a chance to unravel the enigma that was their relationship. Perhaps in that ultimate confrontation, he would finally understand the complex web of emotions that had kept them bound together, a love-hate bond that transcended reason and defied explanation.

The cobblestone under him seemed to vibrate with the approaching footsteps, but Alfie couldn't be sure if it was the real world or a fevered dream playing tricks on his battered senses. Everything appeared in blurred fragments, a distorted reality that left him questioning the very existence of the shadowed figure that loomed over him.

His groggy consciousness barely registered the arrival, and a voice, cool and unfeeling, echoed above him. It conveyed disappointment, a palpable sense of something having gone awry, but there was no hint of surprise. The voice seemed to hang in the air, an ominous punctuation to his dire situation. 

"Uh, shit..." The voice spoke.

Alfie could barely hear them, the words slurred and fragmented. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, and he had been thrust into a surreal nightmare where nothing was certain, not even the identity of the enigmatic presence that had dragged him from the brink of oblivion.

Alfie's senses were jolted as he felt his body being lifted off the unforgiving floor. It was a moment of profound disorientation, where the boundary between life and death blurred into obscurity. He couldn't discern whether it was the cold grip of death or the desperate strength of another person that held him aloft.

As he dangled in the hazy threshold of consciousness, Alfie's ears caught the sound of a struggle, the grunts and shuffles of someone grappling with the weight of his imposing frame. The voice that accompanied the struggle, tinged with irritation and a touch of begrudging admiration, cut through the disorienting fog that enveloped him.

"You big bastard," the words were growled out, spoken by someone who seemed simultaneously exasperated by the burden they were shouldering and oddly proud of their own audacity. It was a phrase that seemed to encapsulate the entirety of their complex relationship, where contempt and grudging respect danced on the knife's edge, much like the precarious balance between life and death that Alfie now found himself in.

Agony pulsed through every fiber of Alfie's being as his body protested the movement, and his head throbbed mercilessly as he was gingerly lifted from the harsh floor and placed onto a plush couch. The world around him remained a blur, but gradually, the mist lifted, revealing his surroundings. It was unmistakably Y/n's workshop, a place of mystery and ingenuity, and an unexpected haven for someone like him.

As his vision cleared, a spark of comfort surged through his heart. He could see the enigmatic figure approaching once more, their presence a reassuring beacon in the midst of his disorienting ordeal.

"Well, hello, darling," Alfie's voice emerged as a slurred drawl, his signature cockiness managing to persist even in his vulnerable state.

His gaze fixed upon them, a mixture of appreciation and something deeper, an emotion he couldn't quite put into words. The connection between them, the push and pull of their tumultuous history, was something that defied logic, but in that moment, it was a lifeline he clung to with a strange sense of gratitude.

Even in the haze that clouded his vision, Alfie could discern the unmistakable signs of irritation etched across Y/n's face. The furrowed brow, the narrowing of their eyes – it was a silent but vivid testament to their exasperation.

"Who did you fucking piss off this time, Solomons?" they demanded, their voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and a hint of genuine concern. The history between them had been fraught with clashes, but there was an undeniable thread of connection that bound them together, and it was in moments like these that it became evident, lurking beneath the layers of frustration.

A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of Alfie's lips as he admitted, his words a mumbled confession, "Uh... who bloody knows, yeah." He genuinely couldn't recall the specifics of the latest debacle that had brought him to the brink of death. It was as if his life had been a never-ending cycle of chaos and conflict, a whirlwind that left him perpetually disoriented.

Y/n's frustration softened for a moment, replaced by a peculiar mixture of amusement and exasperation. It was a dance they had performed many times before, a tango of clashing personalities and insurmountable history. And yet, in that moment, there was an unspoken understanding that transcended words, a connection that defied the chaos that surrounded them.

Y/n's sigh was heavy with the weight of their shared history, an exasperated breath that spoke of the countless times they had found themselves in these predicaments. With a careful grace that contrasted sharply with the frustration they felt, they crouched down beside Alfie.

Alfie observed their every move, his vision clearing as they worked. In their capable hands, they held a pair of scissors, glinting menacingly in the dim light of the workshop. With deliberate precision, Y/n cut through the fabric of Alfie's shirt, baring his battered body to the cool air of the workshop. It was a vulnerable moment, one that was laden with an odd mix of intimacy and tension, as Y/n's actions conveyed a silent promise to save him once more from the brink of death.

"Fucking hell, Solomons, you're a proper mess," Y/n muttered, their tone a mixture of concern and exasperation as they assessed the extent of the massive wound on Alfie's side. It was a gruesome sight, and even they couldn't help but wince at the severity of it.

Alfie, never one to miss a beat, managed a raspy laugh despite the searing pain that coursed through his body. "No different from what you've done to me," he quipped, a crooked smile playing on his lips before it dissolved into a fit of coughing and wheezing, each painful breath serving as a testament to the brutal existence they shared.

Y/n carefully poured a bowl of water, their movements deliberate and steady. They selected a clean cloth and dipped it into the cool liquid before gingerly placing it against the wound. The cloth's touch brought a searing sensation, and Alfie clenched his teeth to stifle any signs of weakness. The area around the injury was inflamed, and each cleansing stroke sent an intense sting shooting through him.

Alfie's jaw tightened, his eyes squinting against the pain. He refused to show any sign of vulnerability. It was an unspoken rule between them - an understanding that they could hurt each other in countless ways, but showing weakness was not an option.

Y/n's unwavering focus was palpable in the air. With a calm and methodical demeanor, they retrieved a gleaming needle and carefully sterilized it by passing it through the flickering flame of a lit candle. The sharp, metallic needle glowed briefly before it was ready for use, a testament to their meticulous care.

Next, they selected a spool of sturdy thread, their nimble fingers expertly looping and securing the ends. With practiced precision, they began to stitch Alfie up. The needle pierced his skin with surprising ease, each stitch closing the gaping wound. It was a delicate dance between the needle and thread, an act of healing that defied the brutality of their history.

Alfie couldn't help but admire their skill, even as the pain pulsed through him. Their hands were steady, and their concentration unbroken, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the bond between them and the gentle cadence of the needle as it wove its way through his skin.

With a careful hand, Y/n applied a soothing ointment to the freshly stitched wound. The cool, medicinal balm brought a sense of relief, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Alfie's tense expression relaxed just slightly. It was a brief respite in the midst of their tumultuous existence.

As they leaned back and examined Alfie's form, it was impossible to deny the stark reality. He did look half-dead, his pallor ashen, and his features etched with exhaustion. The wounds on his body told the tales of countless battles, both won and lost. It was a poignant reminder of the price they paid for the life they led, where danger lurked around every corner, and survival was often a matter of sheer luck and resilience.

Alfie's gaze shifted toward Y/n, his one good eye studying them intently. Despite his battered state and limited vision, he found himself unable to look away, an unspoken admiration for them welling up within him.

In that moment, he saw them in a new light. Their determination, their skill, and their unwavering commitment to his survival were nothing short of extraordinary. Alfie was no stranger to the rough and unforgiving world they both navigated, and it was often a place where trust was scarce. Yet, here was Y/n, the one person who could claim the right to his life, saving him once more.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of respect, a sense of gratitude that transcended the complexities of their relationship. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that, despite their many battles, they shared a bond that defied the odds and kept them bound together.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Alfie managed to find his voice, his words punctuated by a mixture of agony and exasperation. "Why in God's name did you save me?" he demanded, his voice a barely audible whisper, but his frustration was palpable.

In the dimly lit workshop, their eyes met, an unspoken challenge passing between them. The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of their complicated history. It was a question that cut to the core of their relationship, a puzzle neither of them had ever quite managed to solve.

The reader's eyes, devoid of any warmth, locked onto his, their icy gaze holding him captive. Their voice, as cold as the steel of a blade, sliced through the tense silence. "I didn't save you," they declared, their words sharp and unforgiving, as they leaned in closer. "I simply postponed your inevitable death. I’ve told you countless times, Alfie," they continued with a cruel smile, "no one, absolutely no one, has the right to end your life except for me." 

The words hung in the air like an unbreakable decree, the chilling declaration of their twisted connection. It was a bond neither of them could fully comprehend, a love-hate relationship that defied all logic and left them entangled in a web of obsession and power.

Despite the bitterness that flavored their words, Alfie couldn't help but detect the undertones of twisted comfort and possessiveness woven into the tapestry of their relationship. With a cocky grin that seemed at odds with his battered state, he locked eyes with them.

"Jealous that someone else almost had the pleasure of taking me out?" he taunted, his words carrying a note of mischief amidst the pain. It was a twisted form of banter that they had perfected over the years, one that spoke to the strange bond between them. In that moment, as the workshop's shadows deepened around them, their connection was as undeniable as it was enigmatic.

Y/n shot back with a sardonic grin, their tone dripping with sarcasm as they began tidying up the makeshift operating area. "You bloody well know it," they retorted, their movements efficient and deft.

Alfie couldn't resist the opportunity for a playful jab. "Don't worry, love... I'm saving myself for you," he quipped, a devilish glint in his eye.

Their banter took an unexpected turn when Y/n, wearing an incredulous expression, couldn't resist poking at the newly stitched wound, causing Alfie to grimace in pain. "You are so bloody obsessed with me," they accused, a mixture of exasperation and amusement coloring their words.

Alfie met their accusation with a half-offended look. "And why the fuck would you think that?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Y/n chuckled, their eyes locking onto his. "Come on, Solomons, you practically passed out on my doorstep. Your ass dragged yourself here," they pointed out with a shake of their head. "You're completely and utterly obsessed with me." It was a statement that held a strange kind of truth, one that neither of them could deny.

Amid the playful tension, Alfie's mind was flooded with flashback. The clashes, the power struggles, and those rare moments of begrudging understanding flickered like fragmented images in his mind. In those recollections, he couldn't help but acknowledge that, despite their vehement denials and ceaseless battles, they were undeniably linked by something enigmatic.

They were like two fierce elements in nature, forces of destruction and creation, forever locked in a volatile dance that defied easy categorization. Their connection was a riddle with no solution, a puzzle they could never fully solve, and yet it was the essence of what defined their relationship - a captivating enigma that kept them eternally entwined, two halves of the same turbulent whole.

A glimmer of levity broke through the intensity of their exchange. "You're mine, sunshine," Y/n quipped, their words laced with an odd affection.

Alfie's chuckle was a rare, genuine sound amidst the tension that usually enveloped them. "Fucking looks that way," he said with a half-smile, their shared history and complex connection making the playful banter all the more intriguing. The words, though lighthearted, held a deeper truth about the inexplicable bond that tied them together, a connection that refused to be severed.

An unspoken pact seemed to settle between them, a silent truce forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. Their eyes locked, each acknowledging the enigmatic connection that had both united and torn them apart over the years. It was as if their tumultuous past had culminated in this one moment, where they stood on the precipice of something undefined.

With a deliberate tenderness that was as rare as it was unpredictable, the reader's hand reached out, their fingers grazing Alfie's cheek. The touch was cool to the touch, as cold and unpredictable as the relationship they shared. It was a gesture that defied easy interpretation, a hint of a deeper connection that refused to be denied, no matter how much they clashed or how much they tried to push each other away.

"If I find you still here in the morning," Y/n warned, their fingers still caressing Alfie's cheek, "you're dead." The threat hung in the air, laden with both menace and a strange kind of intimacy. 

Alfie responded with a sly grin that was half defiant and half affectionate. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he retorted, a declaration that underscored the complex nature of their relationship.

With a smile that held a hint of something deeper than just the banter they usually engaged in, Y/n turned and walked away, leaving Alfie on the couch. Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, a reminder that, despite the tumultuous dance they shared, there was a bond that neither of them could easily sever.

-

A/N: thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoyed, again, thank you for the request 🥀. I look forward to more :)

[baeaecha26]

Chapter 2 : Trapped in the Crossfire

Though their truce stilled the blades of Ti and Kaipa, the firestorm of battle raging around them remained as savage as a tempest unleashed by angry gods. Arrows from unseen archers whistled past, leaving only trails of malice in their wake. Screams punctured the air like errant cracks of thunder, punctuating each terrible second with the worst of all fates: the ghastly knowledge that life might end at any moment. In the midst of harrowing chaos, Ti and Kaipa clung to their tenuous alliance as rigidly as drowning men to the debris of a shipwreck.

As they made their way through the decimated village, already half-remembered by the living and utterly forgotten by the rest of the world, they could not help but feel that fate had conspired to bring them to this place; it was as if the very air had become thick with inevitability. The ruin of the village, wrought by the appalling struggles of war, appeared to open a window into their own hearts, like a mirror reflecting nothing but their own savage appetites.

Stumbling behind a shattered nesting of huts, they sought a brief moment of respite. The hissing rain trickling down from the ashen sky seemed to vex the wounds that marred their bodies, yet it could not bring succor to the torment of their souls. For they understood now, as few ever could, the enormity of the war that had devoured the land and consumed the lives of countless innocents.

It was then that Ti, his breathing ragged and embattled from their desperate journey, spoke words he had long since discarded as mere folly: "The path before us lays bloodied and broken. Dare we envision ourselves as the first seeds of hope, though we are trapped within this very same crossfire?"

Kaipa's heart, once hard as a whetstone, felt a tremor like the hollow echo of a drumbeat deep within. He studied him with an intensity born of their new allegiance, discerning the shape of a once-honored man within this enemy soldier. "What choice do we have," he whispered fiercely, "but to press onward into the fray?"

For a moment, as the storm continued to howl around them, the specter of a shared destiny rose and hung like a pall over their wounded forms. The path before them resonated with an eerie importance, each step dripping with weighty uncertainty.

But it was the recollection of a promise, the lingering ghost of an oath sworn long ago, that tore them from their ephemeral reverie. A memory of friends who had fallen, of loved ones lost in the bitter turmoil, surfaced and bound them once more to the bleak reality in which they now found themselves entwined.

With but a grinding whisper Ti acknowledged the truth of his words, his eyes swelling with a resignation borne of the fathomless solemnity of their shared plight. "Perhaps," he said, the last vestiges of his doubt mingling with the insistent wind, "trapped amid the crossfire, we may find not only hope but redemption."

Steeled as they were, fearful as they once walked oblivious to what the churning storm heralded, Kaipa and Ti dared seek purpose in an unyielding heart of violence. Grasping hands as if to anchor themselves in each other's presence, they stepped from behind the shattered remains of what was once a humble residence and into the maw of hell itself.

Outside, the battle continued its relentless surge. Blood and gore heedlessly mixed with the kiss of rain while Valkyries, none too pleased, watched intently for heroes to claim. Yet amidst the terrible fray, trudging through the mud and the bones and the remnants of countless deaths, a fragile alliance born only of chance held steadfast. Here they stood, two warriors against a tide of war, determined to alter the path that lay ahead, to change the course of history.

Though no songs would ever be sung about this alliance or the promises that fueled it, it was the quietest echoes of mankind that carried them forward. Amidst these deplorable conditions, Ti and Kaipa had managed to glimpse the faint pulse of hope, trusting that in the end, their actions would enable them to stand tall even in the eye of the storm, even if it meant growing closer to each other, to the enemy, to the heart of the conflict in order to prevail.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

unexpected hitch (shadowbringers)

(takes place shortly before Ran’jit’s first meeting with the Exarch)

----------

The whole affair was giving him a bad taste in his mouth.  And as if fate had decided to simply make matters worse...

I couldn’t stop her!  She just went through--and came back with them!

"I warned you that trying to separate them would not end well.”  Urianger ground out.  The ‘them’ being Riven’s fellow Warriors of Light.  The success of the overall plan hinged on Riven being completely isolated from her sworn-brothers.  In fact, Urianger suspected that the senior Scions being pulled to the First and not them was no accident-despite what the Exarch claimed. The twins would believe his words, as would Thancred. Y'shtola was...well, Y'shtola. She'd immediately sensed the charade, and when she couldn't get any answers, she had left the Crystarium. But she would generally trust that he only had good intentions--and so everything had seemed to be going well...

And then as was her wont, Riven had set everything awry. When the Exarch had (finally) initially gotten a lock on her soul to transport her to the First, it had been in the midst of a major offensive between the Empire and the Eorzean Grand Alliance. Urianger wasn't fully aware of the details, but he'd partly eavesdropped on the talk between Riven and the Exarch after her summoning had finally been successful (somewhat).

Riven had been angry. And she had every right to be, but it had been a while since Urianger had seen her that worked up. Had the Exarch been his younger self, he would have wilted under the force of her rage. Urianger had to admit to a personal satisfaction as Riven unleashed months of pent-up anxiety for the well-being of her friends.

"Where are they now?"

Settling in. Though I expect another confrontation, more than likely from Bishop. I gave orders for them to have the same privileges as she does. I just know that'll set his suspicions off. The Exarch replied.  Urianger sighed.

"I will do my best, but I can make no promises." He said. "I know Riven will believe me. If she believes me, they will extend me the same grace. How much, depends on them individually."

Can you handle them if the need arises? Urianger was silent for several moments.

"...There may be no need." He finally said. "Bishop will be the most suspicious, but he has the heart of a true healer. He will be distracted by the pain and suffering of this world. Augustine and Reinhardt will have their hands full ensuring everyone's safety once Vauthry realizes Riven is a threat to him and his plans. Sebastian will more than likely take up the challenge to try and bring additional aetherical balance back to what remains of this realm." Urianger paused for several moments, them continued.

"And Riven will throw herself heart and soul into stopping the Lightwardens. Her brothers will be distracted, and by the time the corruption begins, she'll pass it off as stress." The words had a bitter taste on Urianger's tongue. So much could go wrong with this plan, but it was all they had. Once again he was using his trusted companions, his friends, like game-tokens on a board.

Please gods, do not let this end in her death! Everyone else was expendable, even the Exarch and him. Riven had to live, had to survive this ordeal. Even if it came with the loss of the Scions, of her beloved sworn-brothers...she had to live. Her continued existence and the breaking of the Lightwardens' hold on the First superseded all else. The Exarch was silent, perhaps considering Urianger’s words.

It will all work out in the end. He offered. But the platitude was weak, and both men knew it.  Too much hinged on this plan, this sheer desperate gamble.  Urianger had no doubts that if the scheme was threatened, the Exarch would become even more ruthless than he already was.

Let it not come to that, please!

“I assume once they are fully settled, you will send them here?”  There was no answer to the question, and Urianger frowned.

“Exarch?”

I have to go.  Something has come up--but yes.  I would advise that you start getting ready to receive guests.  And with that, the linkpearl signal cut out, leaving Urianger alone with his thoughts and guilt. 

[reinersbrauns]

Fading Light

CHARACTERS: Reiner Braun/Original Female Character WORD COUNT: 5,138 SUMMARY: The eve of the Battle for Shiganshina. The final hours before the last fight for humanity's future.  So much rides on the success of this mission, the lives of all who live within the Walls resting on whether or not the Scouts can take back Wall Maria for good.

Which is why Addilyn Theron has been barred from the fight.

Despondent and heartbroken, the young Scout wanders the streets of Trost, lamenting all she has lost, all that has been taken from her—and overcome with fury at the betrayal of a man she had cared for so deeply.

It's not until the source of her misery appears to her, an absurd proposition upon his lips, that she realizes her superiors may have been right to ban her from this decisive battle.

*************************** It seemed cruel that the stars should shine so brightly tonight, that the sky should be so clear.  Not a single cloud hung in the dark expanse above, allowing Addilyn Theron an uninhibited view of the heavens as they looked down upon her with the cold gaze of an unfeeling god.  A crescent moon rose in the east, cresting the horizon to provide scant more light than the dim street lamps that lined the cobblestone streets of Trost.

Addilyn glared up at the moon’s pockmarked surface, bitter that she should have an audience to witness her misery, even if said audience was made up of distant, celestial bodies.  

Erwin and Levi had made their stances clear: she would, under no circumstances, be permitted to participate in the operation to retake Wall Maria.

A dull ache flared to life along her jaw as she ground her teeth, her anger blooming anew.  It was salt in a wound that sat raw and open and weeping, her shot at vengeance ground to dust with naught but a single word from her superiors.  Not because she was injured, not because she was reckless or weak—but because she was a liability. 

It still stung all of these hours later, the way Levi drawled that single word worse than the cut of any blade.  Neither of them trusted her to be objective, to do what needed to be done.  She had more than proven herself to be an asset to the Scouts, both on the battlefield and in the war room, and yet they had the audacity to bar her from the final fight for humanity, to rip the revenge she sought from her grasp.

And it was all because of him.

A shaky sigh left her as she leaned back against the wall of the alleyway she had taken refuge in, the bricks cool against her flushed skin.  She could feel the burn of tears behind her eyes, her chest tight with the need to release the anguish she had tried so hard to bury.  It clawed its way up her throat, nearly choking her in its endeavor to be freed.  

No one would hear her, not tonight.  Her friends and comrades in the Survey Corps were all in the midst of a rowdy celebratory feast—or perhaps ‘unruly last supper’ would be more apt—and the other military branches stationed here were busy making preparations should the worst come to pass.  No one would so much as glance her way if she decided to unleash the sobs that lay trapped behind her lips.  She wouldn’t be the only one wailing in the streets tonight.

But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t allow herself to fall into that endless abyss.  She knew that once she opened that door, there would be no easy way to close it, not when there were emotions hidden in the recesses of her mind she had yet to deal with.

Besides, she had sworn she wouldn’t cry over him.  A blood soaked traitor did not deserve her tears.  Reiner Braun had played them all for fools, and she'd be damned if she gave him that satisfaction.

Addilyn bit back a curse, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.  It was agony knowing that her brother’s killer was a man she had come to care for so deeply.  Reiner had been a friend and confidant throughout training, and it eventually blossomed into something more, something neither of them had been able to name.  She had shared so much with him, had told him the source of her nightmares and sorrow—and he had held her, comforted her, apologized for her loss.

White hot rage sparked to life in her gut, her blood practically scalding as it pumped through her veins.  She had told him of what she lost the day Wall Maria fell, of what the Armored Titan had taken from her family.  She had told him of her brother Liam, a member of the reviled Garrison Regiment stationed at the wall.  An older brother she had worshipped and adored with all of her being, a soldier who had been ordered to man the cannons at Wall Maria’s gate, staving off the Titans until the evacuation from Shiganshina could be completed.

A soldier who had held the line as the Armored Titan came barreling through that once impenetrable wall.

She buried her face in her hands, muffling the soft keening noise that escaped her.  It was a quiet sound, pathetic and pitiful, more akin to a dying animal than a grieving human.  She had been so stupid, so blind.  Of course he had apologized, his voice flat and tight.  Of course he had looked so stricken, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.  Of course he had trembled as he enveloped her within his arms, his gaze distant and haunted.  

Of course he had avoided her for days afterwards, hardly uttering a single word in her presence.

Some dark, malicious part of her took pleasure in knowing she had caused him such grief.  Whatever reasons he and Bertholdt had for the horrors they’d inflicted, clearly they hadn’t expected to come face to face with those their victims left behind.  Most people had a story to go with why they joined up, of course.  For some, it was glory.  Others, to advance their station.  There were even those who sought revenge for what the Titans had done, who they had taken.

But her?  Hers was a personal vendetta for a personal slight.  It wasn’t a random Titan that had taken Liam from her.  She had a face and a name in which to direct her ire, and Reiner had not expected that.  He hadn’t expected to be the source of her nightmares and her grief—or the recipient of her wrath.

It didn’t help much, but it satiated that vile and vindictive need of hers to hurt him, just as he had hurt her.

With a final weary sigh, Addilyn forced the overwhelming surge of grief back into submission, exhaustion taking hold.  Her hands dropped to hang limply at her sides as she pushed off of the wall, blinking back unshed tears all the while.  Each breath hurt, as if her chest ached with the weight of what it was forced to cage, but there was no one to share this burden with, no one who would be able to find it within themselves to sympathize with her plight.  

How cruel that the one she would have turned to for such a task was the very source of this torment.

In the tense silence blanketing the district, she could hear the muffled whoops and hollers of the Scouts from a few buildings down the street, undoubtedly having broken into some of the officers’ alcohol stashes.  This was supposed to be a sober affair considering what lay ahead, but who could really blame them for indulging.

The corners of her mouth turned slightly upward, a sad smile taking shape.  She felt a bit guilty for slipping out without telling anyone, but she didn’t belong there.  Not really.  She could hardly bear to even look any of them in the eyes, much less eat and drink and joke with them.  It wasn’t just that she had been effectively banned from the fight, her very presence a mockery of their sacrifice—but she had a terrible, sinking feeling in her gut that they at least partially blamed her for their fate; that she had been blinded by her feelings for the man that had declared war upon them, that she had somehow missed something; that, just maybe, she had been in league with the Armored Titan, seduced to his side of the fight as she abandoned her kin.

After all, why else would she have fallen so thoroughly for a monster like that?

A sharp pang lanced through her heart, her smile waning.  Maybe Erwin and Levi were right after all.

It was then that she heard the soft scrape of a boot’s sole against stone, the sound amplified in the oppressive silence enveloping the alleyway.  She froze, half expecting a member of the Military Police to chastise her for loitering—but in that split second of hesitation, an arm suddenly wrapped around her neck from behind, its hold tight enough to cause a faint wheeze to escape her as she was pulled further back into the alley.

Her survival instincts kicked in instantly, her hands coming up to claw at the forearm of her attacker as her right leg slid back to shift her weight.  She was about to attempt to throw her assailant over her shoulder, or at the very least knock their leg out from under them, when their grip tightened, their other arm coming around to latch onto her middle.

“Scream and everyone here will be dead before you can so much as catch your breath,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.  Familiar.

Addilyn immediately stilled, her heart pounding out a staccato rhythm in her ears as shock overcame her senses.  It wasn’t possible.  It couldn’t be.  He couldn’t be…

“Do you understand?” Reiner tightened his hold on her a fraction more, emphasizing his warning in the strength rippling just beneath his skin.

Her mind went blank, something between panic and horror locking her limbs in place.  The Scouts were plotting a full scale assault on Shiganshina to take back Wall Maria for good tomorrow, and they fully expected to face both the Colossal and Armored Titans.  The whole reason she had been sidelined was because they expected Reiner to be there.

He should be far from here, making his own plans, preparing to annihilate them all in a decisive final battle.

Her skin prickled with anxiety.  Why is he here?

A small nod was the only response she could manage to his demand, speech utterly failing her. Reiner didn’t move at first, his hold keeping her still and pressed flush against him, as if he were trapped in thought.  She could feel how his heart raced against her back, how his muscles sat taut and tense under his skin, how his near inhuman warmth seemed to radiate off him in waves.  He was reconsidering, questioning if she could be taken at her word.  It was what any good soldier would do before granting his enemy even a modicum of trust, especially one that could ruin him with but a single shriek.

And if he had proven himself to be anything, Addilyn thought bitterly, it was a model soldier.  

But whatever doubts had flitted through his mind must have quickly faded, as he slowly—reluctantly?—eased his grip, releasing her.

And once his arms fell away, Addilyn moved to bolt.

She didn’t get two steps before Reiner’s hand shot out to grasp at her wrist, yanking her back toward him with enough force to pull the arm from its socket.  

“Don’t,” he rumbled, his teeth bared as he loomed over her, dwarfing her mere five foot tall stature.  “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Addie.”

Addilyn bristled at the nickname, doing her damnedest not to wince as his fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her wrist.  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she bit out, attempting to tug herself free.  She failed miserably.  “What are you doing here?”

“Be quiet,” he hissed, glancing around them.  He still wore the same olive drab shirt and brown pants as the day he had run, the day he had shown his true colors.  The clothes looked suspiciously clean and well-kept, a detail that wasn’t lost on her—nor was the fact that he was wearing his stolen ODM gear harness, though the gear itself was conspicuously absent.  “I meant what I said.  I don’t want to have to hurt anyone.”

“What, is it no fun when they’re all sleeping soundly in their beds?” she spat.  “You want to see them running?  Hear their screams?  Feel the blood as it pools under your feet?”

“Stop it, Addie—”

“Stop calling me that!” she snarled through gritted teeth.  There was a familiarity in how he used her nickname, a fondness that made her skin crawl—and yet there was a small part of her that yearned for it, missed how it sounded on his tongue.  A part of her she now desperately tried to smother.  “You don’t get to call me that.”

There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an emotion she couldn’t quite place, but it was gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by a piercing glare as he frowned.  “Listen to me, Addilyn,” he said, her name little more than an aggravated growl.  “We don’t have time for this.”

“Who the hell is ‘we,’ Reiner?” she snapped.  “You’re the one—”

His free hand suddenly grabbed at her jaw, evoking a pained yelp from her lips.  “I told you to be quiet.”  His eyes were hard, his voice menacing.  “I won’t ask again.”

Addilyn fell silent, her defiant anger snuffed out as an acute fear roared to the surface.  This was not the man she had trained and laughed with, who had encouraged her ambitions and soothed her fears, who had offered her solace within his embrace.  This was not the man who had held her heart.

This was the man with the blood of thousands—hundreds of thousands—on his hands, the man who killed her brother, the man who had gained their trust and fooled them all.  

This was the man who wielded the Armored Titan, who had death running through his very veins.  He wasn’t just going to leave if she pitched too much of a fit, the fear of discovery driving him back into hiding.  No, he would kill anyone who had the misfortune to come upon them.  She could feel it in his bruising grip, see it in the set of his jaw and his pitiless gaze.

He was here for something, something from her, and he wasn’t leaving until he got it.  If she didn’t comply, then the streets of Trost would run red.

Addilyn simply nodded once more, her eyes wide and her heart pounding.  It took a moment, the tension in the air palpable, but Reiner relinquished his hold on her jaw—though her wrist remained trapped within his grasp.

“Now,” he began, irritation bleeding into his tone as he tugged her forward slightly, “we need to be quick about this.  I didn’t have time to see if there’s anyone patrolling the area.”

Addilyn could feel the confusion take shape on her face: eyebrow cocked, head tilted ever so slightly to the side; but she waited, listening as dread began to pool in the pit of her stomach.

“I stashed my gear in an alley a few blocks over,” he continued.  “I don’t think we’re gonna be able to get to yours, so you’re just gonna have to be okay with holding on while we scale the Wall—”

He kept talking, his voice full of certainty, but all Addilyn could hear was a faint, panicked buzzing in her ears as her confusion morphed into a horrifying realization.

He didn’t want something from her, he wanted her.

“W-Wait,” she cut in, struggling to keep her voice soft as her trepidation grew.  “I don’t—Reiner, I don’t understand…”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, the words gentle and soothing, as if he were trying to reassure her.  “As long as we leave now, no one should notice.”

He started to move, pulling her toward the other end of the alley where the lanterns had burned out and the streets were desolate.  Her throat went dry, the air suddenly too thin to breathe.  He couldn’t be serious.  He just couldn’t possibly be serious.

Addilyn dug her heels into the cobblestone ground, stopping them short.

Reiner looked back at her, his brow furrowed.  “Addie, enough.”

“This is insane,” she said, unable to rein in her disbelief.  “Have you completely lost your mind?”

He looked taken aback, the muscles along his cheek fluttering lightly beneath the skin, but he quickly recovered.  “This will work,” he said a bit more forcefully.  “I promise.  We just have to—”

“No.”  She leaned all of her weight back on her heels, straining to put distance between them.  She needed to get out of here.  “No, I’m not—I’m not fucking going with you.”

A strange expression crossed his face, something between confusion and… distress?  It was maddening and more than a little unsettling, and Addilyn found her desperation beginning to mount.

“Addie—”  He faltered, his voice seeming to catch on her name.  “Addilyn, listen to me.  You have to come with me.  There’s nothing for you here.  There’s no future behind these Walls.  You have to see that.”

“And whose fault is that?”  She was shaking now, the artificial calm she had tried to build quickly beginning to crumble.  “The Walls worked just fine before all of you came along.”

Reiner opened his mouth, but then quickly snapped it shut again, an ugly scowl twisting his handsome features.  He looked conflicted, or as conflicted as she had ever seen him.  He had always seemed so confident, so sure of himself and everything he did—but now he looked like there was something he wanted to say, some retort sitting on the very tip of his tongue, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to voice it.

Instead, he released a harsh sigh as he ran his free hand through his short blond hair, his fingers curling as he tugged at the roots.  “You just have to trust me,” he finally said, his arm falling back down to his side.  “These Walls are coming down, one way or another, and you don’t want to be here when they do.”

He said it with such surety, just the slightest undercurrent of gravity to the rather bold-faced threat, as if it was a statement of fact, a warning of what was to come.

And yet that wasn’t what her panic-addled brain honed in on.

“Trust?”  Unbidden, derisive laughter bubbled up from her chest, the sound grating and discordant in the silence.  “Trust you?  You want me to trust you?”

Reiner had the good sense to look stricken, the shadow of genuine hurt falling over him.  It should have been satisfying, it should have felt good to finally watch as the pain he had inflicted was mirrored in his features—and yet all it did was cause Addilyn’s anger to surge once more.

He had no right to that pain, to the shock that was written so clearly across his face.  He knew what he had done, the suffering he had caused, the anguish he had unleashed upon her and her family.

And yet he still stared at her with such open and unbridled heartache.

It was enough to make her want to scream herself hoarse.

“Addie.”  His voice was soft, pleading, desperate.  “Addie, please, just listen—”

“No!” Addilyn finally managed to tug herself free of his grasp, her wrist slipping from between his fingers with surprising ease.  She stumbled back a few steps, the sudden lack of resistance nearly sending her to the ground, but she regained her footing.  “No, I won’t just listen.”

She should run, she realized.  She should turn on her heel and run before he could think to stop her, but that fury she had kept so carefully contained was free and pumping through her like liquid fire—and its source was finally within arm's reach.

“You—you’re the Armored fucking Titan,” she spat.  “You’re the Armored Titan and you tell me to trust you?”

Reiner seemed to regain a bit of his composure at that, glaring as he flexed his hands where they hung at his sides.  “Keep your voice down.”

“Or what?” she snapped.  “You’ll kill me?  Kill everyone here?  Transform and tear down the Walls stone by stone?  What?  What exactly will you do, Reiner, as you tell me to trust you?”

Reiner went still, his mouth pressed into a firm, thin line.  He wanted to refute her; she could see it in his stance, in the rigid outline of his body, but she pressed on, unwilling to hear whatever excuses he might have to offer.

"Let's suppose I agree to this," she said softly, dangerously, all of the venom of a viper's bite in each word. "Let's suppose that looking at you doesn't make me sick."

Reiner flinched at that, and Addilyn felt a sickly sweet pride rush through her veins.

"What awaits me on the other end of this?" she continued, the question sounding more like an accusation as it left her lips. "You say there's no future within these Walls, but what kind of future is there for me beyond them?  You’re asking me to abandon my friends, my family, to a brutal and violent end—I need to know what for.”

There was a beat of silence, and Addilyn thought for sure he would let her demand hang in the air unanswered, but then he spoke: “I… I can’t.”

“You can’t?  Can’t what, Reiner?” she needled.

“I can’t fucking tell you, Addilyn!” His voice rose, a simmering fury undercutting his words.

It took all of Addilyn’s willpower to keep herself from flinching.  There was a frustration there, the control he had shown these last few minutes was starting to slip and he was grasping to keep hold of it.  He was withholding something, some key piece he was leaving out… 

Addilyn smiled, its curve cold and a bit sad.

“Maybe none of this is for me,” she said.  “Maybe there isn’t anything in it for me at all.  Maybe this is all just for you.”

Even in the looming shadows lining the alleyway, Addilyn could see how the muscles along his jaw flexed, like it was an effort to keep from speaking.

"Oh, I see how it is.”  A soft laugh, rueful and sardonic and broken, left her.  “You play the savior, rescuing me from my prison—and you get proof of your victory to bring back with you.  The last remnant of humanity at your side for whatever grand parade awaits you.  A prize for your valiant efforts."  Addilyn felt her lips curl in disgust.  "I’m not leaving.  I won’t abandon my friends for whatever fucked up life you think you can have with me.  I won't be your spoils for the war you started.  I'd sooner throw myself at the mercy of the Titans."

Something in him snapped—his amber eyes seemed to pulse a fiery gold, his stricken features twisting into a deep and ugly rage.

And then he lunged.

She should have been able to sidestep him, to weave her way out of his reach, but he was too fast, too large—and he knew her too well.  He had taught her how to fight, how to defend herself against men like him, against men larger and stronger than her.

Which meant he knew how to quickly overpower her, how best to subdue her.

The breath was knocked from her lungs as her back hit the ground, her head smacking against the cobblestones with a sickening crack.  Her vision flashed a bright white on impact, the pain making her ears ring as she fought to get her bearings.  Her chest felt heavy and her head hurt so much.  She couldn’t move, couldn’t alleviate the pressure that kept her pinned in place.

And as her vision cleared, that blurry fog coming into focus, she understood why.

Reiner sat perched above her, straddling her hips.  His forearm lay across her chest as he braced himself on the ground with the other, the weight of him pressing into her causing her lungs to heave.

Addilyn pushed back against the initial wave of panic, reaching her hands up to claw at his face, attempting to hook her leg around one of his—she needed to get off the ground, she needed to get him off of her.

But he had trained her, drilled with her, sparred with her.  And he knew her.

He slid his forearm upwards, the pressure moving from her chest to the base of her throat.  It was enough to turn her gasping breaths into a desperate wheeze, effectively snuffing out whatever hope she had of calling for help.  His other arm then swiftly and with hardly any effort swatted her hands from his face, easily pinning her wrists above her head within that single fist.

He loomed over her, his face mere inches from her own, and through the haze of pain and panic and fear, she could see the unhinged fury playing out across his features.

"Devilspawn," he hissed, a terrible and vehement hatred contained within that single word.  Addilyn felt herself recoil, pressing herself further back into the cobbles.  "You should be grateful, begging to come with me, to be saved from the monsters that infest this place."

Addilyn struggled beneath him, her wrists aching, her head throbbing, her chest heaving.  She couldn’t focus on what he was saying, her mind screaming at her to get away so she could move and breathe freely.

But, more than that, she was afraid.

She had never feared Reiner, not once in all of the years she had known him.  He had made her feel safe in a world where safety was a luxury few could indulge in.  Even when his true nature had been revealed, even when he ambushed her in this dark, dank alley, she had not been afraid of him.  She hated him, despised him, wanted to hurt him and make him regret ever having set foot within these Walls.

But she had not feared him, had not once thought he would hurt her, had never imagined he would look at her with such vicious and unrestrained rancor.

“Reiner—” she tried, her voice weak as she strained against his hold on her, trying desperately to find purchase with her feet on the smooth stones beneath her.

“But you won’t listen,” he said lowly, darkly.  “None of you will.  I had thought—hoped—that you would, that you would trust me, that you were different.”  He stared at her, his eyes cold and forbidding and… forlorn.  “But you’re just like the rest of them.”

Addilyn tried to focus on his words, his voice, anything to ground her, to keep the dark void that encroached on her vision at bay—but he wasn’t making any sense.  He spoke with such malice, as if she were the murderer, as if she were the one with the blood of innocents staining her flesh.

She twisted in his grip once more, her struggles growing weaker by the second, but he simply pressed harder, the stones digging painfully into her back as she fought to take in air.  Tears rimmed her eyes, causing his face to blur, but even then she could see how that malevolent veneer started to crack.

“And I can’t—I can’t stand it,” he continued, “I can’t leave you here.  I can’t let them have you.”  He shifted his weight so his forearm rested directly atop her throat, turning her desperate gasps into an audible wheeze.  "I'd sooner kill you myself than have you die as one of them."

"Then do it," she challenged, the words a quiet rasp.  "Do it, Reiner.  Finish what you started when you tore down Maria’s gate.  Kill me—" She wheezed softly, only vaguely aware of the tears that began to spill down her cheeks.  "—Let me see my brother again."

She had no idea where it came from, the pure spite that pushed the words from her lips.  Her fear started to fade, a strange peace overcoming her as her vision began to darken.  He wanted her dead?  Fine.  She wouldn’t fight it, wouldn’t beg or plead or whine for her life.  Let him do it.  Let him squeeze the last bit of breath from her lungs.  Let him revel in his perverse need to possess her final moments.

Let him live with the knowledge that he had been the one to kill her, suffocating her, crushing her beneath his weight, just as he had Liam all those years ago.

She could feel herself drifting, the throbbing pain in her limbs and along her back beginning to numb.  Her lungs no longer seemed to burn with the need for air, the heaviness in her chest no longer registering.

But before the abyss could consume her wholly, that pressure was suddenly relieved.  She gasped loudly, her lungs greedily taking in what it had been denied for too long.  She rolled over onto her side, a violent coughing fit wracking her body as her throat burned with each ragged breath.  She reached a hand up toward her neck, her fingers gingerly wrapping around it in a vain attempt to soothe the searing pain that lingered.

It was only then that she realized she could move, that she could breathe uninhibited.  That she was no longer pinned to the ground with an arm to her neck.

Her gaze immediately shot upwards, half expecting for Reiner to be gone, panic taking hold of him as he was caught in the act by an unfortunate passerby—but there he stood several paces away, a look of genuine horror and disbelief on his face.

“Addie—” he started, but quickly stopped.  His mouth opened and closed several times, his eyes flickering between where she lay at his feet and his outstretched hands.  He stared at them, that disbelief quickly morphing into disgust as he shook his head, his eyes wide and—were those tears?

His eyes met hers as he continued to shake his head, his hands still held out and away from him, the palms turned upward, like he thought he could distance himself from what he did, from what he had almost done.

“Addie, I—” he tried again, but his voice broke, his chest rising and falling rapidly with panting breaths as he struggled to speak.  It was then that, with a final shake of his head and a hand pressed to his mouth, he turned on his heel and ran, vanishing as if swallowed by the flickering shadows themselves.

Addilyn tried to call out after him, but his name was little more than a pathetic croak on her tongue, barely even breaking the silence that enveloped her in the wake of his retreating steps.  She should be relieved, thankful that he had come back to himself, grateful that he had been able to see through the thick haze of anger that had overcome him.

And yet when she finally broke down, bruised and battered and alone in that filthy alleyway, it wasn’t relief that fueled the sobs that poured from her lips.

[corner-stories]

little thief

Calem. Serena. Chespin.

Swords. Ale. Medieval Times.

2882 words.

(ao3.)

For once in his life, Calem — Squire to the esteemed Sir Wikstrom and a potential Knight-to-be — could not do his job.

In his right hand was a dagger, an ornate tool that was far too beautiful to be wielded by a bastard like him. His fingers were grasped around it so tightly that the wire-wrapped handle was pushing deep lines into his skin.

In his left hand was the creature who had been raiding the kitchens of Shabboneau Castle. It was barely a foot tall and had a brown body, its head was green and what appeared to be its ears looked rather spiky. Calem held it by the scruff of its neck while a blissful smile remained on its face, apparently unaware of what was going on around it. The cooks and servants called it a Chespin — in their eyes it was a vile little parasite that had snuck in from nature to feast on the Castle’s supply of cheese and grapes and oats. Once the head Chef caught the little vermin, he handed it to Sir Wikstrom’s Squire and told him to get rid of it like a good Knight-to-be would.

So there Calem stood, holding his Master’s dagger to the throat of a creature that was happily staring at him with the beadiest eyes he had ever seen.

Calem’s hand was shaking. His usual stoic facial expression was turning into a look of fear. His heart was beating fast like a warrior’s would before a battle. His breathing was exceedingly rough and uneven.

Moments passed and Calem came to a conclusion that would lead to the best outcome for him and the Chespin.

He sighed and put the dagger in the sheath on his belt. He then held the Chespin properly, letting it lean against his shoulder like it was a newborn babe. With a sigh, he walked out of one of the castle’s many many spare rooms and went into the hallway. As Calem weaved through the other servants and workers of Shabboneau Castle, the Chespin was wagging its tail in utter excitement.

As they walked, Calem asked the little thing if it had any idea on what was going on, as if he was speaking to a human and not the pester that had been raiding the kitchens of Shabboneau Castle.

…

…

…

Calem took Chespin to the castle gardens, where it could at least roam free amongst the flora and fauna and perhaps play with the other creatures who lived there. As nice as the place was, King AZ seldom spent time outdoors, much preferring the company of his Court or a pitcher full of wine.

Calem grabbed an apple from one of the trees and gave it to Chespin. Knowing that the fruits were not deemed fresh enough for those of Royal blood, he was sure that neither him nor Chespin would face punishment for such an act.

“This should tide you through the day,” Calem said as he held the apple to Chespin’s mouth. The creature eyed the fruit curiously, giving it a few cautionary sniffs before taking a nibble. After tasting the morsel, Chespin grinned and looked at the apple in its paws, happily chewing on it like an emperor would to a lavish feast.

Calem grinned. “Probably tastes a lot better than table scraps.”

As Chespin ate, the young Squire took the creature to the farthest end of the castle gardens. There he set the little thing down. Once on the ground, Chespin dropped the core from its paws and looked up at Calem with curiosity in its inky black eyes.

Calem gave Chespin a polite nod, then began to walk away. He only took about two steps before hearing the creature prodding after him. He was quick to turn around and hold his hand out.

“No, you can’t come back with me. My Master would never allow it. Now shoo!”

Chespin seemed saddened, as if its entire world had shattered right then and there. Calem could not ignore the way Chespin looked at him, but knowing his orders he guessed that it would be the safer thing for both of them if they went their separate ways.

So firmly, Calem turned around once more and walked back towards Shabboneau Castle, doing his best not to think of the rather adorable creature that had somehow grown fond of him.

…

…

…

With a Tourney coming up, Calem was hard at work helping his Master get prepared. Being one of Kalos’s most esteemed knights, Sir Wikstrom prided himself on his prowess as a warrior. He needed to be in fighting shape to compete with the region’s much younger Knights, so five days a week he gave Calem a blunted longsword and ordered him to fight back, asking that the Squire never go easy on him.

In terms of swordsmanship, Calem still had a long way to go. He was much better than he was a year ago, when Sir Wikstrom decided to have a mere stable boy act as his Squire. Back then he swung the sword like it was a stick and he was a child playing make-believe, causing Sir Wikstrom to immediately leave him lying on his rear end in the midst of the castle courtyard. He would usually follow this up by saying Calem was better at sword sharpening than fighting.

But after months of practice, Calem was able to last longer in the one-on-one sparring duel against this master. Of course, Sir Wikstrom was able to win nine times out of ten, but Calem was capable of getting some clever strikes and thrusts in here and there.

As a result of the increased training schedule, Calem’s every muscle began to ache. Morning and night he felt the strain of his days in his arms and legs. He felt it even in the midst of the simplest tasks, such as shining shoes or fetching water and wine for his master.

Two days before the tourney Calem was in the castle courtyard. Despite his pain, he felt himself willing to power through it for the sake of some extra sword practice. With a blunted two-handed sword in his grasp, he unleashed his wrath upon a sparring dummy. Said target was propped upright and tarnished from years of practice, as much more qualified and skilled warriors had honed their craft on it. The strikes the mere Squire was giving out would probably do a fraction of the damage already done.

Although Calem preferred thrusts in the midst of sword fights, he was adamant that he practice his strikes and cuts as well. Even if thrusts were more effective to exploit the gaps in an opponent's armour, Calem did not want to neglect that area of combat. Knighthood may have been a mere dream to bastards like him, but he could at least try to aspire to the ranks of the highborns.

Calem was not alone when he practiced. Sitting on a stack of wooden crates was Serena — King AZ’s Royal Cup Bearer and yet another orphaned Kalosian bastard employed at Shabboneau Castle.

Unlike Serena, Calem had not grown up in a Lumiose children’s home before getting sold to the Castle. Instead he roamed the rocky streets of Ambrette Town in his youth after the loss of his parents — his unwed mother had worked in a tavern and died of an illness when he was young; he never knew his father, but it was fair to say that the man was one of the hundreds of soldiers who died in one of the Kalos-Galar conflicts. At this point there had been so many scuffles that it was hard to know which exact battle the man had perished in.

Calem came to the Castle when he was caught stealing bread from a merchant’s stand, having been given to the authorities and sent to work as Shabboneau’s Royal Stable Boy as punishment. Hopefully now he had atoned for his dreadfully benign sin of stealing a single bun, his Master certainly thought so before promoting him to Squire.

Serena was roughly his age — fifteen and somewhat gawky despite her youth. Her hair was the colour of honey and was often braided to be kept clean. When she was not enabling King AZ’s wine habit, she was exploring the gardens or spending time with Calem. He wasn’t sure if it was because she actually enjoyed his company (if so, then he would seriously begin to mistrust her judgement) or if because bastards and orphans often stuck together.

As Calem practiced his strikes on the dummy, Serena seemed keen on keeping her eyes on him. She had a cup of ale in one hand and in the other a palm-sized pie filled with onions and parsnips and mushrooms and turnips, which was one of the more luxurious foods that servants were permitted to eat. She took a sip of her drink, then asked Calem:

“Where is your Master now?”

Calem hit the head of the dummy, letting out a gravely grunt as his sword made contact. “He is bathing,” he answered without looking away.

Serena grinned cheekily. “And he didn’t need you to wipe his bum?”

Calem stopped swinging for a second to give her an unamused glare. Sometimes her wry humour took a bit of getting used to. “Evidently so,” he replied in the driest tone he could muster.

“What’s our esteemed King doing now?” he then asked, going back to hitting the dummy. “I thought he would need his Royal Cup Bearer at all hours of the day.”

“Our Majesty is sleeping off a Royal Headache,” Serena claimed. She rolled her eyes, then took a bite of her pie. “Sometimes I think I do my job too well.”

As Calem continued to strike the dummy, Serena held out her cup of ale towards him. With a nod, he retracted his weapon and took the drink in his hand. “Thank you,” he said, then took a hearty pull from the vessel.

The bitter taste of the cloudy ale came to him as a welcome relief. Even after trying some of the finer wines that Kalos had to offer (as it was a perk of Squirehood), Calem always felt more at home with a frothy mug in his hand.

Serena noticed Calem’s evident fondness for the brew and smirked. “At this rate you’ll be Sir Calem: Knight of Amber Ale and Form-Fitting Hose.”

Humoured, Calem gave her a sly look as he glanced down towards his legwear. Like many other Squires and Knights and Soldiers, he donned a slim pair of hose to allow for better movement during his daily routine. On occasion he would overhear the female servants expressing their appreciation for such garments. Seemingly in the vein of that, Serena saw it fit to express her own thoughts regarding Calem’s choice in clothing — only her comments were a lot more playful and friendly but mostly sassy.

“I better be,” Calem replied with a comical air of boldness. “I’m sure the fair maidens of Kalos will appreciate the view.”

The two shared a laugh, then Calem handed her the cup of ale back and returned to his training. He was sure that had the dummy been a living person they would most definitely be dead by now. Either that or severely injured to the most hellish extent.

For a moment the two just remained as they were — Calem furthering his attempt at Knighthood and Serena lounging without a care in the world. They may have been not feasting until dawn or being entertained by court jesters, but even the lowborns had ways of enjoying their spare time.

After a few moments passed and Serena was close to finishing off her meal, she glanced down and noticed something peculiar on the ground of the castle courtyard. She swallowed her final mouthful of buttery pie crust and let out a hum.

“Look over there.”

Calem’s sword collided with the head of the dummy with a mighty force — with his hand still on the grip and the blade still touching the target, he glanced down to see what had Serena’s undertunic in a twist.

Hiding behind an empty wooden wine barrel was Chespin. Its ears were perked up and its eyes showed off an air of curiosity. It stared at the pair of bastards, then looked to Calem in particular.

“Friend of yours?” Serena asked.

“In a way,” the Squire replied. He lowered his sword and handed it to her, then knelt down towards Chespin to look the green and brown creature in the eye. “Hello there, are you lost again?”

Seeing as Chespin was not capable of human speech, it simply walked towards Calem with a clumsy waddle and pressed itself against his shin, wrapping its arms around the limb in an adorable attempt at a hug.

Confused, Calem blinked. “Uh… I’m afraid I’ve run out of apples, Little Imp.”

The grin upon Serena’s face was bright like the sun. “Awww…” she cooed. “It likes you.”

Calem nodded, his bewilderment persisting. “Yes, I can see that.” He knelt down and picked Chespin up, holding the creature with as much care as he did before. He looked the little one in the eye and tickled its stomach like how a mother would to her beloved child. “You’re a real clingy one, aren’t you?”

Serena hopped off the stack of crates and set her cup down. She approached the two and began petting Chespin’s head. “I think it just  wants a friend,” she said. “Is the little thief that was running through the kitchens?”

Calem nodded. “Indeed — I released him in the gardens and thought he’d be on his way, I suppose I was wrong.”

Serena scratched behind Chespin’s ears, something that the creature seemed to appreciate. “That doesn’t seem like a bad thing, maybe he wants to be a Knight like you.”

Despite the look of contentedness tugging at his face, Calem felt a pang of worry at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m not sure if Sir Wikstrom would let it be, there are no laws allowing Squires to have creatures with them.”

“But are there any laws stopping Squires from having them?” Serena brought up, playfully smirking at her friend.

For a second Calem began to think — in his head he ran through the various laws of Squirehood that the Knights of Kalos had created in the days of yore. Most of them pertained to public drunkenness and the importance of keeping a Kalosian Knight neatly groomed, but none of them applied to the current situation at hand.

Calem glanced to Chespin, who was currently snuggling its face into the crook of his elbow, smearing green grass stains all over his favourite gambeson. Despite the hesitancy, he gave the little one a grin and lifted the creature high above his head, its tiny feet excitedly swishing through the air.

“I suppose a few days together wouldn’t hurt.”

When Calem brought Chespin down again, he let the creature climb on his shoulder, where it was very glad to be. It settled itself on the top of his head, looking down at its new friend with absolute joy. “I suppose even Squires need Squires sometimes,” he decided, knowing full well that he had made the right choice.

For a few seconds, the pair of bastards beamed at the new creature in their presence… only for the moment to be ruined by Chespin tugging on Calem’s hair.

The Squire’s eyes widened as the creature’s claws grasped onto his dark black locks. “Oh… oh Yvetal, please don’t do that,” he tried, reaching up to get Chespin off his head.

Serena was quick to help, swiftly stepping over and taking Chespin by the scruff of its neck “Whoa, slow down there, most humans don’t like that.”

Once the matter was dealt with and Chespin had let go of Calem’s hair, the Squire sat down on the stack of crates, his newfound friend snuggling onto his lap.

Humoured and exasperated, Calem let out a sigh and then smiled. “We’ve got a few boundaries to discuss, don’t we?”

Serena laughed as Chespin and Calem got to know each other more. Moments passed, then she looked to her left hand, noticing that she had still been holding the Squire’s blunted longsword during all this time. Curiously,  she lifted up the weapon and felt its weight in her arms. It was lighter than she expected, or maybe her body was simply harder where a Lady’s would be soft. Perhaps her years of labouring in the Castle had amounted to something after all.

Grasping the longsword in both hands — one by the crossguard and the other by the pommel, just like Calem had taught her — the weapon immediately became more maneuverable. She raised the mighty sword upwards just like Calem did, positioning her feet apart in preparation to throw out a strike.

From where he was sitting on the crates, Calem watched in intrigue and amusement. “You like that sword, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Serena said with a confident grin. It was as if merely holding the weapon imbued with the power of Yvetal and Xerneas’s forces combined.

With a tight grip on the handle, Serena brought her sword down and struck the head of her dummy with all of her strength.

[cleololax]

Bubbles | A

Ghost!Jimin x MourningFiance!Reader 

AN: My first story post and it’s really really angsty so buckle up, buttercups (and don’t be stingy with the tissues T-T). Inspired by the RUN era because it was my first debut with them and it’s still my favorite.  

Warnings: Death of a loved one, mourning, intense grief and pain 

                              _______________________________

      You normally hate taking baths, preferring to get that tedious part of your routine over with. So you really don’t know what compels you today out of all of them, or so you tell yourself. The bathroom is small and quaint, quiet besides the sound of your jeans and the front button hitting the ground. The cold floor is covered in checkered tiles and light lavender walls. It was decorated long ago to fit your taste when you moved in, still single and excited to get your first place. It is fairly girly yet he had oddly loved it in here. The white tub is situated in the middle of the room, giving it that Parisian chateau feeling. You turn the gold faucet, unleashing the warm rushing water to fill the tub up to the brim. The bath soap is on top of the sink counter, ready to slide down any minute before you quickly grab it. The pink gel is squeezed into the water in a little stream that you are entranced by. Little wisps form before they disappear, leaving white froth in their midst. You slowly drop your undergarments and hastily twist your hair into a messy bun. You test it in the mirror, bobbing your head around in front of the small mirror to make sure that it stays. Your reflection looks back at you, but a much different one than you remember. It turns out that the lack of sleep has gotten to you, shading the space under your eyes a darker purple than before. Getting away with two hours of sleep every night consecutively can never work out and deep down you know that. Still, it angers you that you are,  once again, no exception to a rule. Not wanting to see the sight anymore, you turn around and make your way to the tub. The water is warm and you go down slowly, not wanting to let the water escape. Your body soon gets enveloped and your nerves relax as the warm water does it’s magic. The towel behind you offers your head comfort as you lean back from your sitting position. Nancy, the therapist that has been seeing you since you moved to the city,  had been right when she had proposed the idea of you doing this a couple times a week as a form of meditation. You mentally remind yourself to thank her later on. The plethora of bubbles surround you, creating a sea of iridescence so pretty it makes you want to cry and you would, if your eyes weren’t already swollen and dry. The little light above you makes them brilliantly shine and for a moment, you are lost to the sight. Nothing else matters outside of your little world. This sparks pleasant memories in your head. There is that time the two of you had a water fight, sloshing water back and forth, getting your clothes soaking wet.You had laughed all night and even after as you put the clothes in the noisy dryer. It isn’t enough, never enough. These memories won’t bring him back to you, no matter how hard you wish. They won’t provide you warmth on those rainy nights when he isn’t there, but there is a hope that they’ll keep the darker thoughts away. The scent fills the room with the sweet tinge of honey and roses, a great contrast to the bitterness that is settling in your heart when you think of how unfair life is. No, you never are the exception.  He was going to be a dancer on the Broadway stage and you’ll never get to watch his gracefulness, a determined look on his face as he lets the music take over. He’ll think he has forever to climb his way to the top, but it’ll be ripped from him. Your eyes momentarily close, trying to shut out all of the thoughts racing in your head. The ones that keep you from joining the living around you.You have to be calm because that is the whole point, after all. To relax and to find a new way of coping besides the self destructive path you have been treading on.  When you feel yourself getting lighter, a voice cuts in. A faint one at first, but slowly growing. Like when you’re asleep and it is all muffled. It is a voice you recognize, one that had said silky ‘I love yous’ not so long ago. The blood in your veins seems to catch on because it grows cold, all too quickly. It couldn’t be. Your mind has to be imagining it. It isn’t real, can’t be. And you wonder how your senses can play their mean tricks on you, taunt you in a way similar to a knife twisting through the heart. You are slowly losing your sanity and it’s not the way you want to go. Your eyes are still shut, hoping that you can take yourself out of here, imagine yourself elsewhere. It isn’t until you feel the water by your feet move that you gain the guts to open your eyes wide. It’s your name said aloud this time, and you figure out that it’s coming from the door. Not from somewhere, but from someone. The person you thought you’d never see again is suddenly leaning on the door, his arms crossed before him. You hesitantly look into his face, no longer met with the pale shade it had been the last time you saw him. His lips are no longer blue, but the plush pink you have always been jealous of. He has an amused grin on his face, his eyes trying to read your expression. He was always frustratingly good at it, making it impossible for you to hide the feelings you hadn’t wanted him to see. Your eyes are probably still the size of saucers and your jaw still open wide. Breathe you tell yourself, just breathe. He isn’t real. Why did he look so real, then? “It’s nice to see you too, love” he slowly speaks out. Those words seem to snap you out of your trance and confusion. Your heart still beats the same rhythm, maybe recognizing the person it still belongs to. And all of a sudden, the anger bubbles up from somewhere. He comes towards you. 

“Ah-ah, I have only a little bit of time. Let’s make it count.” You are still shocked, fingers digging into the palms of your hand. He comes to sit on the edge of the tub. 

“After all those times of begging you to come take a bath with me, you finally do it after I’m gone. I’m hurt, Y/N.” 

     He jokes and it makes you remember all those times he had pouted and whined for you to join him, but you never wanted to. You should have because you wouldn’t have regretted it like you do now. His fingers glide through the warm water, occasionally popping some bubbles. Then, you feel the warm anger that creeps up your neck. How could he be joking right now, of all times?

    Three months of loneliness and emptiness make your mouth feel dry and it’s hard to speak. He always tried to lighten the mood  and it drove you wild, especially now.  

“Really? You’re here and it’s the first thing you do is... laugh? You fucking bastard.“ Everything is a blur and you don’t know how you’re there on the rim of the tumb, hands pounding on his chest, water soshing around you.

“I haven’t washed your stuff, I keep your keys on the counter the way you left them. Everything is as you left it!” Even me. The words tumble out, even if they’ve swirled around in your mind, ontoletters that your therapist advised you to write. Warm hands catch a hold of your wrists.

“Y?N I-” Regret is laced in his tone and the red tinges on your vision disappear as soon as they appeared. 

“No, no don’t say anything.” your body deflates. You lean your forehead on his thighs. The energy you stored is gone, all gone. After some time, you regain your senses.

“How are you here, right now? Are you really here, or have those pills finally screwed with my mind?” You try to not let your voice crack, and instead let a sad smile take its place. You’d rather a sad one than none at all.  He looks at you then, his earlier humor gone. 

“You were thinking of me again weren’t you? I couldn’t be here if you weren’t. I’m so sorry, love.” 

     He reaches out to touch your hand, lovingly, like he has so many times before. You have to imagine that the warmth is still there. You look up at him. A beautiful sight he was, is, to behold. Even in death he has remained beautiful. A pure angel with the sparkle in his deep chocolate brown eyes and his orange hair, glistening under the artificial lighting. It looks exactly like the first night he had come home with it, surprising you. You want to remember it, him like this, for the rest of your life. You suddenly forget how to breathe. You got that very word tattooed one night on your bicep with him by your side, and you still can’t even remember to do it. He notices the way you look at him suddenly.

 “I miss you, Jiminie.” 

 “And me you. Always and always.” 

As if reading the swelling of emotions in your eyes, he silently adds, “It’ll get easier, I promise. “ He reassures you with a smile. “Should I join you?” he asks. 

You follow his hand to where it meets the hem of his white shirt. You frantically reach out to stop him. You don’t want him to take it off if it means that those markings will be visible, taunting you. Reminding you that they could have been prevented if only you hadn’t been too late.

 “It wasn’t your fault. I was the stupid one. I should have listened to you and just stayed home.” 

All of a sudden he gets into the tub, across from you. You need to be there, close to him, so you cross the space and bubbles and time and  he opens up his arms wide.  

“I should have been there, when you were calling out my name.” The tears slowly trickle down, dropping. The saltiness is hard to swallow. You snuggle closer. 

“The doctor told you, I’m guessing. All that matters is that you’re here now.” 

Jimin kisses the top of your head, missing the strawberry scented shampoo. 

“Marnie still sniffs by the door, ya know. Always around the time you used to take her for her walks”, you say quietly. You toil with his silver necklace, tracing his collarbones and beauty mark as you hear his steady  breathing. 

“My two favorite girls. But I need you to stop taking the pills, Y/N. They’re ruining you. I don’t want you to join me sooner than you have to. I’ll wait.” 

“They help me, though. With everything. The numbing helps me get through the day, Minnie.”

“Well, stop. Find the passion you had for living again, Y/N. Get one of those canvases and start painting again in the morning, go out and plant something weird. I know you can do it, baby. Nothing could ever stop me from seeing you, but I won’t do it if it makes everything worse. Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you faintly sigh. 

     You can’t imagine him not visiting you anymore. You haven’t realized it until today when the hunger to have him here hung over you. Time lapses together in that small room. You’re listening to his heartbeat or you imagine that you do. He hums by your ear. Your need to close your eyes has never been more strong in that moment. Just one little action could keep him in your embrace forever. Of course, he probably wouldn’t let you keep your head under for too long. “I have to go.”Take me with you.Those whispered words bring back reality. Jimin kisses the top of your head and gently tugs your arms off of him so he can get up. You’re on your knees, the bottom of the tub feeling rougher on your soggy skin. He sees the frown on your face and sits on the rim again. 

“I’ll come back. This isn’t the last time. I’ll do anything to make sure I see your beautiful face again.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

     The hand that’s in the tub picks up a handful of pink bubbles and he blows it your way with a kiss. He winks and it seems like the charm hasn’t left him either. He murmurs the words “I love you” that make your shoulders visibly relax. You have wanted to hear those words.  You’ve imagined them on your way to work, to the store, in your sleep. However nothing could beat the real thing. In the blink of an eye, the magic that the room held is gone with him. The pink bubbles don’t quite hold their shine or their scent, each one eventually popping. With a fluffy towel wrapped around you, you decide that it’s time to go to bed. Before you turn the knob, a little message appears on the fogged up mirror. This time and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile graces your lips. In his neat handwriting, the words “my butterfly” linger, until the steam disappears and the water droplets travel down, making the text unrecognizable.

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 15: It’s Way Worse Than She Thought

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 6673

Warnings: Language, blood, assault.

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 14: Her World is Shaken, Not Stirred

The stone was cleaved open down the middle like it’d been cut by an ax. The jagged edges came to a peak about a hundred feet above the original top of the cave and shot downwards at steep declining angles so the opening was triangular instead of round. 

You stood at the base of the cave and stared at the tear in the stone, your heart sinking lower and lower in your chest as the crushing reality of the situation sank in.. “No…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “No, this isn’t possible! I was just here! I just got done with the spells!” Your chest rose and fell in rapid succession, your hands raked through your hair, and your legs quivered. “There’s no way! I was here less than two hours ago! It’s not—“

“My queen,” Pierce said cutting off your rambling, his voice filled with concern. “You need to calm down. Please sit.” He took your hand and led you over to one of the boulders that had fallen from the opening. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

You could only nod as you stared up at the crack, it’s length exceeding your line of sight as it soared up into the darkness of the Underworld’s ceiling.

Something had made the wall split. Something had broken Tartarus, making it stand agape. Something had breached the most dangerous part of your realm. 

Carol slunk towards the cave, coming to a stop right at the entrance. Slowly she reached forward and rested her hand against the stone. Her hand had barely touched the surface when she yanked it away. The color drained from her face as she stared at it aghast. “It’s coated with him,” she spat, glaring at the stone with venom in her eyes. “And not just him… There’s something indiscernible here. He’s not working alone.”

Natasha took a step forward. “You mean…?”

No! you wanted to cry out. You wanted to tell her that it couldn’t be possible. No one was allowed near the cave. No one had been put under his influence; you’d made sure of that. And yet there you were, staring at the ugly face of your reality. Kronos had done significant damage to the outermost layer of his cage—the entrance of Tartarus—and, if Carol was right, he hadn’t done it alone. 

“I don’t know what I mean,” Carol admitted.

You did. There was a traitor in your midst.

Pierce reappeared at your side moments later, holding the promised glass of water. He helped your trembling hand grasp it and bring it up to your lips. 

You drank the whole thing. On a normal day, it would’ve been refreshing, but now it did nothing but leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Satisfied that you’d drunk the whole thing, Pierce took the glass and stepped back. “My queen,” he said addressing you, “what are my orders?”

You stared up at him, thankful that he was taking the initiative even if you were shellshocked. “I… I need you to…” Gods, you couldn’t even form a sentence you were so rattled. You swallowed thickly, rolling your shoulders back. “I need you to secure the Underworld. Close the gates. This is a total lockdown situation. No one enters or leaves without my permission.”

He said nothing but bowed low. His wings unfolded from his back and he was up in the air in a blink of an eye, ready to carry out your orders.

Bucky used this time to find a seat on the boulder right beside you. He grabbed your hand and pulled it over to rest in his lap to pet it as an attempt to calm your shaking. 

You squeezed his hands tightly, your knuckles growing white with the effort. 

Carol spun on her heel to look at you, her eyes demanding. “(y/n), I need you to tell me everything that’s happened today. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

You obeyed, slightly relieved that your youngest sister was Queen of the gods and not you. She was commanding and you were more than happy to do as directed in situations like this. 

You told her how you’d woken and immediately went to charm the cage and Kronos was silent for once. And although the silence unnerved you at the time, it never could’ve foreshadowed this. From the cave, you went straight home for brunch and Bucky came by after. “We were just sitting together when the quake happened. I… I never saw it coming. I should’ve…” You hung your head. “It was my job to keep the cage secure and I…” You didn’t want to say that you’d failed, but you had no other word for what had led you to this moment.

Natasha rushed over and put her hand on your shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong, (y/n). The cave is split, but if the cage was really and truly broken, then Kronos would be out here unleashing all sorts of hell. There’s still hope.” She turned her gaze back to the opening and pressed her lips together. “Carol… We have to…”

“I know,” she said, her shoulders rolling back and her chin tiling up. “We have to call the council.” Carol looked at you, her eyes hard as steel. “You and Bucky are coming with. You were the ones here when it happened, you need to testify.”

Your heart sank.

The “council,” as it was known, was a gathering of the twelve Olympians and yourself, only called when something earth-shattering or incredibly urgent arose (which, if you were being honest with yourself, defined this event). Your sisters and you sat at the head of the table with Carol front and center, you to her right, and Natasha to her left. From there, you were joined by Maria, Tony and his wife Pepper, Clint, the twin gods Wanda and Pietro, Thor and his brother Loki, Valkyrie, and, of course, Winnifred. 

It was the last member of that list that made you nervous. Winnifred was nowhere near as powerful as you. You were the first goddess, you’d been around for centuries longer than she and you had an entire army of the undead at your will. She was simply a second-generation goddess, given domain over the harvest, but she was the mother of the man you were dating and she hated you. While she had no control over you or your actions, she did have some influence over Bucky. She was his mother, after all, and she hated you with every fiber of her being. She couldn’t control her son’s actions, but you didn’t want to irrevocably damage his relationship with her.

You were close to your mother; you didn’t want to be the reason why Bucky wasn’t close with his.

If she was to be there—which she undoubtedly was—she’d be seeing you and Bucky together for the first time. You could only imagine how well that would go over with her.

As if sensing your thoughts, Bucky squeezed your hand and glanced at you. His eyes mirrored the worry you felt. You couldn’t read minds, but you had a feeling his thoughts matched yours; he was scared she’d flip, and you didn’t need to deal with her on top of the current situation. You’d been hoping to break the news to her gently, give her time to just accept it.

Welp, looks like it would be tearing off a bandaid with this one.

You took what felt like the millionth deep breath and sat up. “Alright. Just… Give me one second.” You had to leave a message for Peggy and Pierce. In your quick absence, as much as you loathed to do it, you would be sending Peggy to the cave to do the most damage control she physically could and you would be having Pierce guard the borders. No one would escape past him. You held out your hands and closed your eyes. Channeling your wishes and your messages, power coursed through your arms until they came to a rest at your palm and small balls of red fire formed. They hovered above your skin as they transcribed the message and finally floated off into the distance, each going off to find their respective recipient. With them on their way, you looked back to your sisters and nodded. “Okay, we’re ready.”

———

Olympus wasn’t as it normally was. The streets weren’t bustling with gods and spirits. The atmosphere was haunted and cold. The shops were empty and doors and windows were locked up tight. Things littered the ground and things were knocked over; various bits of evidence that something had shaken the earth up there and caused people to panic.

You knew the earthquake was bad, but you hadn’t realized just how much it had affected the rest of the realms.

Carol had already summoned the council; you could see the ten gods bustling outside the palace at the top of the mountain. 

With every step you took towards it, you felt like you were only sealing your doom. You were scared to be seen with Bucky. You were scared that you would taint his reputation with the Olympians. You were scared that they’d renounce him. It was a ridiculous thing to fret about, considering the current situation and all, but it was also one of the only two things on your mind (aside from your father and Tartarus, of course). Your feet felt like steel weights had been glued to the bottom, holding you down and only growing heavier with every step. You squeezed your eyes shut. Oh, how you wished this was only a sick dream—that you could just open your eyes and you’d be in Bucky’s arms, happy, safe, and secure. But it wasn’t. This was reality, and you had to stare it in its ugly face.

Bucky slowed with you, matching your pace step for step. Your hands were still intertwined and he used that to pull you into his side as he finally stopped. He took a step to the side so he was standing right in front of you and brought his free hand up to your cheek. His rough, calloused skin cradled your face and he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. “Hey,” he whispered in a voice too tender for words. “It’s going to be okay.” Whether he was talking about your father or his mother, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter to his next words. “We’re going to do this together. You and me against it all; I’ll be with you the whole time.”

You pushed up on your toes to press your forehead to his and let out a trembling breath. You didn’t know how it was going to be okay. Nothing seemed to be okay. But his words did comfort you, and you suddenly felt like you could face the world. You were already strong alone, but now you had him and he helped you be stronger. With him with you, the possibilities were limitless. “Okay,” you finally whispered after a bit. “Then let’s go.” You squeezed his hand softly and pulled back, letting both of you fall back in line as you climbed the steep mountain to the palace.

Most of the other gods had already filed in, filling the main room and taking their seats on their thrones at the table. Each god had one to match their personality and their domain so that there would be no debate on which throne belonged to a god; even you had a throne, although you weren’t technically a part of the Olympians. 

Your sleek black throne sat to the right of your sister’s. Where Maria, your beloved sister-in-law, usually sat, a new throne had been erected. It was temporary, of course, but there was no doubt that it was Bucky’s. The flowers on the armrests made that painfully clear. 

The gods continued to talk amongst themselves as you and Bucky entered last, your hands still tightly interwoven as if they were glued together. None paid you any attention; none except Winnifred.

It was as if she sensed Bucky’s entrance. She was his mother after all; she probably had some sort of mother-sense that alerted her to her child’s presence. As soon as he took a single step into the throne room, her head snapped to the side to look at him. In a matter of mere seconds her face flashed through about 4 different expressions: shock, confusion, realization, and finally rage as her eyes landed on your interlocked hands. Her face turned beet red and steam would’ve been shooting from her ears if this were a cartoon. 

You glanced sideways at Bucky, receiving only a nod from him, before tugging him by the hand over to your thrones. This was not your first council meeting; you knew the drill. You marched right past Winnifred, paying her no mind. There was something much more pressing than her petty anger and displeasure at hand and it had to take precedence. She could wait. You finally reached your thrones and sat down in yours.

Bucky took his and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

You didn’t know if it was because his mother was in the room or if it was because he wasn’t used to being in the council, but you reached over and placed your hand on top of his regardless. Your dead color contrasted with his perfectly, and your cold fingers trailed over his skin. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to talk, you’re just here as another witness. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” he whispered back, turning his hand over so his palm was up. He curled his fingers into you, gripping your hand softly. 

It was then that Carol mounted the head of the table. Standing in front of her golden throne, she cleared her throat. “Everyone, please take your seats.” She stared out over the twelve gods assembled beneath her and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for having to call you all here so suddenly, but there has been a disturbance. I assume you all felt the earthquake this morning?”

“Yeah,” said Tony, who sat just down the line from you. “Pep and I were having lunch. What the hell happened? It had to have been bad if it shook Olympus.”

The others gathered murmured in agreement, their voices hushed.

“It was,” Carol affirmed. “Tartarus has been breached.”

As you’d expected, that simple sentence caused an uproar. At once the gods were tense and alert. Some drew their weapons.

Clint was the first to speak. Having dealt with you and the Underworld before, he knew what that meant. His face was pale and his posture rigid. “But that means your father—”

“Has grown stronger,” you affirmed. “This morning the cave’s entrance was been cleaned open. We’re not entirely sure how much damage has been dealt, but we’re working on repairing it already.”

“If you’re repairing it, then why are we here?” asked Pietro, his thick accent coming through. He was a younger god, just a bit older than Bucky but not by much. He was visibly puzzled, not understanding the severity of the situation, but you weren’t surprised; he hadn’t even been dreamt of when the first Titanomachy took place. 

“The repairs are nothing but a bandaid,” you said, your voice taking on a grave atmosphere. “Kronos has somehow severely damaged the cage once, what’s to say he won’t do it again. He’s hellbent on destroying us; he tells me so every single time. He’s powerful and dangerous. Even in the cage, he has managed to corrupt deities.” Peggy’s haunted eyes from all those centuries ago flashed through your mind and you shuddered. “He is a legit threat and we cannot allow him to break out.”

“But if he breaks out, then we can just defeat him again, right?” asked Thor. The god of war was seated towards the far end of the table and staring at you, his eyes hopeful. The man was smart and kind, but he thought that every problem could be solved with fists and fighting. He was grinning. “You fought him millennia ago and won! It should be a piece of cake.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Thor,” you hissed. “Kronos has been stewing for all those millennia, biding his time to escape and end us. If he’s breaking out now, it’s because he’s powerful enough to do so, or had help from someone who could do it with him. We would hardly stand a chance.”

“But the last war we fought—”

“The last war we fought nearly destroyed the world and took ten years!” you snapped, your vision flickering with red. Why was it so hard for them to understand? You rose to your feet glowering at the gods. “We don’t have ten goddamn years this time! The mortals have come so far, and a war of that magnitude would send them back to the stone ages. We need to put an end to this now.”

“Well, we wouldn’t need to put an end to this if you had done your fucking job! Isn’t it your responsibility to keep his cage secure?” Winnifred shouted from her spot at the table, cutting you and everyone else off with a withering glare. It was the first she’d spoken since the calling of the council and it surprised everyone into silence. “You’re the Queen of the Underworld, keeping his prison secure is your job! Or have you been distracted as of late?” Her voice dripped with malice, the hatred going unmasked in her eyes. She was glaring at you and her son having put two and two together. She wasn’t an idiot after all, after seeing you two together, you figured it wouldn’t have been hard to deduce that there was something going on between you, that to your side was the place he’d been escaping so frequently. 

Bucky looked down the table at her, his eyebrows knitted together. “Mother, please.”

“No, Bucky,” you said standing up straighter and glaring down at his mother. “It is true that I have been a bit preoccupied. Not that anyone of you would care, but for once I’ve actually decided to do something for myself and find happiness in a relationship. I have found someone among you who hasn’t treated me like a disease and who has become very dear to my heart, and I have spent some time with him as a partner and not just some unfeeling monster. And, as many of you do, I have balanced that with my responsibilities. I have never once missed a week in which I would go down to face my demons and strengthen his cage and I have even put my life on hold to increase the frequency. I have been punctual and consistent, never asking for help. And now that something that is beyond my control has gone wrong, you want to point fingers and put the blame all on me.” You spoke more to Winnifred when you said that last bit, but it was true nonetheless.

Red coated your vision ever so slightly as you glared down at the gods. “I have never once faltered in my duties, keeping you safe in silence. Now, I fear that something is happening, and I don’t know what it is, but I know that if we stand divided, then this something will end us!”

“(y/n),” murmured Carol, reaching up to place her hand on your forearm. “Be still; it’s okay.”

You calmed a bit at your sister’s touch, but not by much. Though the red dimmed in your eyes, the world continued to stay tinted with the color. You continued to stare at Winnifred as you reluctantly sat in your throne. You could still feel your blood boiling, but it was cooled ever so slightly by the hand that reached over and settled atop yours.

Bucky gave your hand a gentle squeeze, holding it atop your armrest. He kept his eyes at the center of the table, but you know he was just trying to help. You appreciated him very much. 

You let out a quiet breath, exhaling through your nose, and squeezed him back. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. 

Carol took over from there, explaining your theory that Kronos was not working alone. After all, the cave was split open and you had been monitoring Kronos’ power. He wasn’t nearly strong enough to actually do that. So that meant that someone was working for him. Of course, this also caused a nervous uproar, but Carol was quick to calm them. Instead of letting them panic, she gave them orders. First to help repair the cave the best they were able or to send their underlings down to help and second to keep an eye out for suspicious activity and prepare themselves for war. 

They were simple tasks but they left the gods with something to do and with a direction to go in which made them happy. 

The gods dispersed, opting to return to their respective realms to carry out their orders. 

You were left alone by your throne with Bucky. It was just the two of you, the throne room was silent. You sucked in a deep breath and looked at the man beside you. “I… I think that went well. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, though you didn’t need me there.” He smiled softly. “Will we go back to the Underworld?”

“Yes. I left Peggy and Alexander down there alone; they’ll probably be needing me back.” You shrugged. “I’ve got to help them with damage control.” Your head ached at just the thought of it. “I’ll probably exhaust my magic stores for the week, but if it keeps him trapped it’ll be worth it.” You rolled your neck with a grimace. “Are you coming with me or are you going back to your meadow?”

“I’m coming with you. My magic may not be the strongest, but I’ll do all in my power to help you out.” His eyes were kind as they looked at you. “As I said, you won’t be alone.”

“Thank you, Bucky.”

He nodded and smiled, but that smile was short-lived. His eyes were drawn to a point beyond your shoulder and locked on something behind you. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout a warning but you were quicker. 

You whirled around on your heel, ready to see what was coming, but you weren’t quite fast enough. 

Winnifred had appeared behind you, her hand raised and poised to strike. As soon as you were facing her, her open hand came rushing through the air, aimed directly at your face.

As the sound of a crack shattered the silence, Bucky cried out in shock. “Mother!” he shrieked as he rushed to your side, reaching up to cup your reddening cheek.

You shoved his hand away, your nerves alight with pain and your head bowed for only a moment from the impact. Fire built in the core of your chest, red as rage, and your eyes filled with a color to match it. She’d hit you; you, the original goddess and her superior in every way. You lifted your head, slow and menacing, and your lips pulled back into a snarl as you glowered at her. “How. Dare. You,” you hissed in a voice as cold as the Underworld itself. 

“How dare I? How dare you!” She was angry, and that anger seemed to be a shield that kept her from realizing just how much she’d pissed you off or what you could do about it. 

You didn’t know if she realized that you could smite her right then and there if you wanted; your weapon, after all, was one of the three that could kill other gods.

However, she carried on, not letting a second pass before she spoke again. “You are a slut, a filthy whore! The river naiad wasn’t enough for you? You needed a god to satisfy you?” Her lips curled back. “And who do you choose to prey on but my innocent son? You’ve corrupted him and lied to him and now you’ve kept him under a spell to keep him close to you!” Her claims were irrational, but she wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise to put her straight. “Well, I won’t have it! You endanger my son by keeping him around you! Death does nothing but bite at your heels and I refuse to let him be one of your casualties! You’re going to get him killed if you keep him with you! He’s so blinded by you that he doesn’t see that you’re leading him to his doom! You can’t take him like this. He’s a boy, he doesn’t know any better. You will only get him killed if you allow him to follow you. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

“Mother!” Bucky begged again. “Stop it!”

“I will not!” she thundered.

You knew she wasn’t lying. She’d already screamed enough to cause a scene, and there was no doubt that every creature within ten yards had heard her. Some of the lesser Olympians were cowering away, doing their best to stay out of it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see your sisters beginning to rush to your aide. You simply held up a hand to stop them. 

They obeyed. While they too were queens, they knew better than to disobey you at times like this. If you said you could handle it, you would. Your ability to command even the queen of the gods herself was enough to demonstrate the power you held in your own right.

You continued to glower down at Winnifred, rolling your shoulders back. “Winnifred,” you boomed, your voice low and threatening. “I will not tolerate these accusations in the house of my sister. I will not tolerate the lies you speak of me and my intentions. And I will not tolerate you laying your hands upon me.” You stood up straighter and the room darkened. Your hands opened at your sides, calling forth the darkness that lurked in the corners of the room. With power coursing through your veins, you were downright terrifying. The air itself quivered at your presence, the taint of death and raw power causing even it to bend to your will. Your hand rose up, your bident materializing out of the darkness to fill your grip, and your eyes glowed brighter, the red casting a ghastly glow over the woman before you. “You think that you are equal to me; you are sorely mistaken. I am (y/n), Queen of the Underworld, the first god. You are nothing to me but an insignificant pest. I could have you put to death for even the slightest attack against me; you are at my mercy always.” Every god was, but none of them had ever pissed you off enough to warrant extortion of your power; until her.

Winnifred only then seemed to comprehend the power you held over her. Never once had you exerted it, but now she had assaulted you and given you reason to threaten her. You could see the moment it dawned on her that your threats had sustenance in her face; her eyes grew wide, her skin as devoid of life as yours, and her jaw slack with something you recognized all too well: terror. she was terrified.

And rightfully so. You were the last goddess to mess with. 

You could’ve killed her right then and there to make a point, to stick to your ground, but something tugged at your heart. One look at Bucky made you realize exactly what it was. 

He was looking at you with fear in his eyes too and you knew exactly why: he was scared that you might kill his mother in front of him. 

And it was in that second that you knew you never would kill her.

Though the woman had slighted you, offended you, and struck you—all things that would normally get one killed—she was still the mother of the man you loved and you could never put him through that pain. You knew the pain of losing a parent all too well, and it was something you would never inflict upon a loved one, least of all Bucky.

And so, still staring at the woman before you who seemed to think that these next few moments were her last ones alive, you put down your weapon. The air at once grew lighter and brighter as you let your rage disperse. “You are lucky I care about your son too much to do harm to you,” you spat as you let your eyes die down too, returning them to their normal shade. They flickered to Bucky and you spared him as soft a smile as you could manage. “If it were not for him, you would be suffering the consequences of your actions, but I am feeling merciful today.” Your eyes hardened once more as you looked down at her. “Now, do not test my self-restraint anymore. Leave.”

Given the word, she vanished, teleporting away, leaving nothing but wisps of wheat behind. 

When she was gone, Bucky rushed over to your side and wrapped his arms around you. He burrowed his nose into the crook of your neck and took a shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he whispered softly, his voice trembling.

You hugged him back, but your mind wasn’t on him. Even though she was gone, Winnifred’s words still lingered in your thoughts.

He’s so blinded by you that he doesn’t see that you’re leading him to his doom!

That part… That part sounded oh so true. He was naive, blinded by his love.

Thinking hard on it, you couldn’t remember a single time he’d expressed independence around you. Everything up to this point had been for the both of you. He promised you he’d always be there, ready to support you unconditionally and stay by your side.

He’s a boy, he doesn’t know any better.

You’d told him the same thing months ago, telling him that he couldn’t possibly know that he loved you. But he’d been so sure of it, so sure of his love that he waved you off. And you let him. You let him endanger himself by staying with you. You let him put himself in harm’s way.

You will only get him killed if you allow him to follow you. 

He would get hurt with you, you were sure of it. The world was not kind to you. The world was not kind to anyone. He would be hurt or worse around you. 

Do you really want his blood on your hands?

“(y/n)?”

Your head snapped up and you came face to face with his concerned eyes. At once you saw something you never wished to see again.

You saw Bucky, bruised and bloody. Golden ichor dripped from a gaping head wound. It coated his face and matted his hair. Thin lines of the gold ran from his mouth and ears in rivers, glowing sickly in a dim light. His eyes… His eyes were the most haunting part of all. Where they normally shone with life, they were dim, vacant, dead.

This, you realized, was the future for him if he stayed with you, stayed by your side. Winnifred was right. You would only get him killed, especially with the war you knew was coming. If he stayed with you, he’d die. But… If you sent him away… He might stand a chance.

In that one second, your heart sank. You knew what you had to do. It scared you, hurt you, and made you want to throw up, but—gods—it had to be done. You couldn’t risk his safety. You couldn’t risk his life. You loved him too much to let him die.

“(y/n)?” Bucky called again. “Are you okay? You look… Paler than usual.”

Your voice wouldn’t work. It was stuck in your throat like a lead balloon. It didn't want to say what you had to. It didn’t want to say the words and make them real.

“(y/n),” he tried once more, “talk to me.”

You finally brought your head up and stared at him, your eyes full with pain, and you said, “She was right.” The words were hollow coming from your mouth

“What?” He was visibly confused and you couldn’t blame him. You’d be confused too.”Who was right?”

You brought your eyes up to meet his, the effort alone becoming strenuous. “Your… Your mother was right. We… Bucky we’re not good for each other. I’m not good for you. You’re only going to get hurt. I can’t do that to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “What? No. (y/n), my mother knows nothing about us or about you. She doesn’t know that you’re the best thing to happen to me.”

“But what if I’m not, Buck? What if she’s right? I’m the goddess of the dead; death follows wherever I go. It’s only a matter of time before it catches up with you too.” You didn’t know how you couldn’t see it before. It was so obvious! Especially with recent events.

If you were right, and you normally were, a war was coming—another Titanomachy to be exact. Gods against titans once more. Kronos was growing stronger; the battle was almost inevitable. You weren’t stupid enough to be blind to that.

But, with every war came casualties. You couldn’t allow yourself to be distracted by trying to protect Bucky. You knew he’d chase you to the ends of the earth to be with you, even if the ends of the earth was the battlefield itself. You couldn’t let that happen. You had to send him away before it was too late. You knew he would follow you otherwise. You couldn’t let him. You couldn’t let him get hurt because of you.

“It won’t,” he said to reassure you, but he didn’t know that it was futile. Your mind had been made.

Your voice cracked as you said, “It will. It’s just a matter of when.” You knew what you had to do, you just wished it wasn’t so. How was it that not even twenty-four hours ago you were wrapped in each others’ arms and now you were having to send him away?

He seemed to have a vague understanding of what you were saying and he didn’t like it one bit. His stare hardened and his eyes grew desperate. “(y/n), please don’t say that. We can work this out.”

“No, we can’t.” You were taking slow steps away from him, trying to garner as much distance as you could. It hurt to be near him. Every muscle in your body ached and moaned with pain. “It can’t be worked out. Go, Bucky. Go away. Get as far away from me as you possibly can. I’m not good for you.” You were biting back tears as your heart sped up in your chest. It thundered against your ribs with the words.

But Bucky wasn’t going to give up that easily. “(y/n), whatever this is, we’re going to do it together.” He reached forward and took your hand in his. “I promised you I wasn’t going anywhere and I meant it. I’m with you until—”

You wrenched your hand from his, cutting him off. “No, Bucky!” you snapped. “I said, ‘no!’ Go away. We can’t be together. I don’t want you with me anymore.”

He looked like you just smacked hIm in the face, which, you supposed, you did in a way. “Wh-What? But you just said—”

“I know what I said,” you moaned. You turned your head from him, unable to look him in the eye.. “I cannot have you near me. It will only get you killed. I don’t want you, Bucky! I don’t know why I ever thought I could have you!”

“(y/n), please,” he begged, his blue eyes welling with tears. “My mother knows nothing. We can get through this together.”

“Bucky, please. Just go away, leave me alone. I’m not good for you!”

“But you love me.” He glared at you, his posture and power matching your own. “And you want me.”

Your mouth went dry before you spat, “No I don’t.” The words surprised you as they left your mouth. ‘No I don’t’ what? Love you? Want you? Both were blatant lies, but you couldn’t let him know that. You had to keep him safe. You bit your lip, using the pain to keep the angry tears blocked behind your eyes.

He stopped, his gaze hardening. You knew then that he thought you meant the former: I don’t love you. He stared you down. “Then tell me, (y/n). Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t love me, that it’s over, and I will believe you.” You could see that he didn’t think you would, he believed he had you trapped between a rock and a hard place and that you would break and say that you didn’t mean it.

But he never could have predicted how desperate you were to get him away from you, how desperate you were to protect him even if it destroyed both your hearts in the process nor how far you were willing to go to keep him safe.

Heat and pressure built up in your core, rising up through your ribs to your stomach and your heart, trapping them with their iron fists. You felt like you were going to be sick, but you shoved it, along with the tears that were threatening to spill, back down. Your voice was raw, pained, feverish, when you forced out, “I… I don’t love you.” Saying the words, your whole world came crashing down. Saying them, you saw the light—that light that you loved so much—die in Bucky’s eyes.

You could feel your heart shatter as his face crumbled with sadness, anger, and devastation before finally falling away to nothing. His expression was stone, he refused to show you weakness, especially after you so ruthlessly took the heart he’d given you and smashed it. His lips formed a hard line and he nodded. And then he was gone, leaving nothing but the faint scent of flowers in his wake and taking your heart away with him. 

Your lips parted in a silent scream as the dams you had so hastily built came crashing down. Your heart ached, the heat and pressure becoming too much for it. Your hands clawed your chest, your legs buckled underneath you, and you fell to your knees. 

Natasha was the first to your side, her hand coming to rest on your back as she cried out your name.

But you couldn’t hear her. All you could hear was a ringing in your ears, accompanied by the sobs of your heart. You had never known so much pain before. Your body was simultaneously on fire and being stabbed with thousands of knives. Your muscles cried out in pain and your bones shrieked with misery. And suddenly your silent sobs were given a voice. The scream that tore itself from your throat was more than a scream of heartbreak, it was one of utter agony. Your body convulsed on the ground and you doubled over, coughing violently, expelling fat drops of golden ichor from your lungs.

And it was only then, staring at the gold that littered the ground, that you even thought to consider that the pain you were feeling was not from heartbreak alone. But you didn’t have time to ponder on it.

Your vision turned black at the edges and darkness crept in as you continued to cough up ichor. Up and up it came until you had no strength to stay upright. The world lurched sideways, your head pounded, and all you could hear were your sisters’ desperate cries for help as you fell into nothing.

Next 16: He Feels His Heart Break

[mobius-m-mobius]

Omg you're taking prompts! 15 for Ten/Simm, if you're not sick of writing them for me as it is 😂

How could I ever tire of it? 😂💖

Thanks for my first ever prompt, and you know I can't resist a post EoT AU so that's what I'll try for 15. In the dark (under a cut because it really got away from me, sorry 😅)

“At least you'll finally have to lose the suit.”

The Doctor whirls around in the midst of getting Wilf and the others to safety, the rush of waking up to the realization that he kept this regeneration nothing compared to the sight of the Master climbing to his feet out of a nearby pile of rubble.

Wary but alert, he's watching the disheveled rescue attempt with sharp amusement and a stillness all but saying the drums have finally gone. The fight looks good on him, and the Doctor no longer feels the twinge of guilt he once did at thinking it. To top it off the bitter sting of life force has dissipated, leaving desperate hope that those moments spent in and out of time fighting off Rassilon changed something, anything about his botched regeneration.

They've done it, he thinks, head spinning. They're alive. Everything that's happened feels momentous; once again the only two left after saving each other's lives in a way that says everything about what they've meant to each other all this time. Then again the Master may not see it that way, being the most unexpected variable in his life. He can never guess his next steps, not fully, and carries the memory of him dying in his arms as proof.

“You never know, I may have spares,” he calls back, careful to keep his voice casual as he escorts the last of the staff from the ruined building. “You might want a look at the Tardis wardrobe yourself.”

Given their history any pleas for the two of them to travel together seem to immediately strike the Master as false despite the truth in it growing stronger with every year the Doctor ages. Simply asking gets him laughed out of the room, and demands fare even worse to the point that he wonders, not for the first time, if they can ever truly come back from the day he ran from Gallifrey.

Finally alone he turns to see the Master scanning him with similar intensity, a blatant once over as his chin lifts in a slight sneer that's always suited him more than the Doctor would ever admit.

“That an invitation, Doctor? Only, oh, a millennium late, give or take a few dozen years.”

Wordlessly he holds a hand out. Watches his eyes widen as they flash to it then back to his face as he waits. No speeches, not now. Nothing the Master can twist to unleash the rage he can see building as Rassilon's words start to echo. Minutes pass without movement.

Only when his hand finally falls back to his side does the Master stride towards him, stopping close enough to press the backs of their palms together in a caress as he stretches upwards to whisper a rough question against his ear.

“So where's your Tardis?”

What seems like seconds later they're in the stable.

“A second out of sync? Really, Doctor?”

The Doctor finds himself trying to ignore how easily he leaned into the Master's touch, how nice it felt to be around someone who understands without explanation in favor of watching him circle the console room. Occasionally he runs a finger over buttons or knocks over small trinkets along the way, and as the Doctor starts to comment on the habit he's caught off guard by the thought that somehow the two of them have never been on any Tardis together, the Master looking up sharply at the sudden movement.

“Sorry. It's just – Long day. Well, bit of an understatement, don't you think?” He tries not to cringe at the obvious deflection but he'd rather get off his previous train of thought and still doesn't know how to act in a world where the Master saved his life yet seems determined not to bring it up.

“I think,” he grins, eyes glinting as the Doctor looks away. “That it's even worse off in here than I remember. Perfect timing to take you up on that wardrobe offer, probably find a spare of my own.”

The Doctor releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he watches the Master stroll off, pulling at his worn hoodie with distaste. Of course. That's all they discussed, even if it can't possibly be the reason he's really on board. But for now he savors the feeling of another Time Lord's presence nearby, too much of a coward to disturb the tentative balance they've found.

It's late and he ends up walking down corridors by reflex, finally stopping in the darkest room he can find to look out at the stars as he tries to shake one particular moment that isn't leaving him easily. Talk of Gallifrey is always unsettling, but to see the Time Lords again – He'll always be sorry that sending them away is as necessary as it's always been but that never stops him from remembering... Everything. The indignant arguments, the screams, flashes of light and fire and – Was there fire in the room today? There must have been, there always is and -

“Doctor!”

As his eyes fly open he jerks slightly, surprised to find himself on the ground with the Master knelt in front of him. His arms are clad in a thin, black robe and are wrapped tightly around his shoulders in a hold that the Doctor curses himself for breaking. At the sudden movement he moves back, face falling from a look of panic as he tilts a hand under his chin that immediately helps him take a few deep breaths.

“Master? What -”

The Master roughly shoves him back against the wall, leaning away with a scowl. “I should be asking you that. You know, I was just making some progress getting this heap to show me a few couture brands -”

“What? Oh, like you – You don't know anything about brands, I've always found great outfits there!”

“I'll save us both the trouble of responding to that,” he sneers.

“Master.”

“Shredded a few ties while I was in there, probably the biggest favor anyone's ever done you since none of your little humans ever seem to speak up.”

It's such a ridiculous way to top off the day that the Doctor almost laughs, earning another scornful look. “I know you're trying to distract me.” He sobers. “You don't need to. I'm fine. I'm sorry you were pulled into all that, you've had enough to deal with today.”

At that the Master looks away and back, fury building in his face that the Doctor isn't sure is directed at the idea that he tried to help or the horror he's been put through since childhood. Suddenly terrified this is the moment he's upset the uneasy ground they've made their way to and with his own shoulders still burning with touch he's been craving for a lifetime he makes the decision to dive forward, sliding a hand under his robe to rest on one of his hearts.

As the Master freezes he pulls back slightly, worried he's only made another wrong turn until he sees his expression relax into something... almost serene, if he were describing anyone else. Fascinated, the Doctor watches the shadows play across his face in the dark, the occasional bit of starlight catching slightly.

Beautiful, he thinks, because he wouldn't dare say it out loud.

But he also can't trust himself not to, so he pulls the Master back against his chest, hands splayed across the tight muscle of his back. After what seems like an eternity the Master's hands come to mirror his own and he can feel him smirking into his shoulder at the sigh that escapes him.

Eventually, the Doctor knows, the sun will rise and take with it the comfort they've found in this moment. But it's his turn to chase the Master now and it looks like starting in the shadows is all the head start he needs.

[freddyfreebat]

Luca Guadagnino on Creating His HBO Series, Trump’s America, and Why He’s Remaking ‘Scarface’

by Brent Lang

Luca Guadagnino, the Oscar-nominated auteur behind “Call Me By Your Name,” is taking his swooning, lyrical style to the small-screen with “We Are Who We Are,” an immersive and deeply moving coming-of-age story.

The HBO-Sky series, which debuts this September, follow two teenagers, Fraser (Jack Dylan Grazer) and Caitlin (Jordan Kristine Seamón), who live on a military base in Italy. It explores their burgeoning friendship — Fraser is artistic, shy, and volatile, while Caitlin is more outgoing, but also dealing with her own nagging insecurities. The series, Guadagnino’s first for TV, also grapples with issues of sexuality and gender identity. He directed all eight episodes of “We Are Who We Are,” and says he purposely set the show in the midst of the 2016 U.S. presidential election as a way to comment on the political tumult unleashed by Donald Trump’s victory.

Guadagnino spoke to Variety shortly after the first trailer for “We Are Who We Are” was released.

How would you describe “We Are Who We Are”? Is it a TV series, a longer narrative feature, a miniseries?

I feel like on the one hand that this is a new film of mine. It feels like a movie to me, but I enjoyed the episodic-ness of the story. This is a series and it depends on how it clicks with an audience if we will see these people again. I have sort of a penchant for bringing back to life characters that I love. I truly love all the characters in this show. The greatness of doing TV is that if there’s a good outcome, this can come back, which would be beautiful to me.

What inspired the project?

Lorenzo Mieli [ed. note: who produced the show for The Apartment along with Mario Gianani for Wildside, both Fremantle companies] and Paolo Giordano and Francesca Manieri had developed a concept about the life of teenagers today vis-à-vis gender fluidity in American suburbia. When they talked to me about it, the first thing I said was I’m less interested in the topic as a sort of starting point. I’m more interested in the behavior of these people. I think in order not to be generic why don’t we set this in a micro-America, a place that can work as the part for the whole. I proposed the military world. I had a very wonderful conversation once many, many years ago with Amy Adams — you get to have these meetings with these great actors as one of the privileges of this work — and she told me that she spent part of her upbringing in Vicenza, in a military base in Italy. From synapses connecting to each other, I had this image in my mind.

Because this is a series, I said to Lorenzo, “If this goes well, next time they can move to another base. They can be in Japan or Africa or anywhere.”

In the show, the characters refer to the military base as ‘America’ despite the fact that it is in the middle of Italy. That geographic dichotomy seems to mirror the way that many of the characters feel a kind of emotional displacement or discomfort. Did you view the setting as a larger metaphor?

I always feel displaced. I never feel in the right place as a person. I do believe that despite every action we can take to claim the nature of our identity, eventually the human condition is that we are always trying to reclaim an emotional state of belonging. This show is about the kids not knowing who they are, not knowing what they are, and feeling displaced. Of course, there’s a transitional element of being a teenager that is specific to that age. It’s said that when you’re grown up, you know more about yourself, but truthfully all of these characters feel lost.

Fraser and Caitlin are both 14. That strikes me as an interesting age, because you’re definitely developing a stronger sense of identity, and yet you’re still wholly dependent on your parents.  Why did you want to focus on characters at that particular age?

If I remember when I was 14, I was deeply, deeply unsatisfied by my incapacity to understand how to put in action the big plan I had for myself in my mind. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to get it. Eventually I even realized that I didn’t completely know what I wanted. I love this age, because you have grand ambitions and at the same time you have no means to fulfill those ambitions. You have only curiosity, only craving, only the capacity for experimentation. Every day seems to be a fight between life and death. That’s something beautiful about that age.

When the trailer for “We Are Who We Are” dropped, there were a lot of comparisons online to “Call Me By Your Name.” Both works are set in Italy and involve younger men. Do you see a commonality?

I will never complain about people’s laziness, but that sounds very lazy. “Call Me By Your Name” is about the past seen through the prism of a cinematic narrative and this is about the here and now. This is about the bodies and souls of now. I think they are so different.

Why did you decide to set the show during the 2016 presidential election?

The effects of the 2016 election are still being felt right here, right now. The seismic shift throughout America and the world of what it meant that Obama’s presidency was followed by Trump’s presidency and how people did not see it coming, are still being grappled with. It has to be said, that just as [Silvio] Berlusconi was the autobiography of Italy, Trump can also be seen as a sad chapter in the autobiography of the United States.

We are dealing with a kind of populism that springs from the plutocrats. It is shaping the world while at the same time a phalanx of youth is shaking the world as well and not taking that bitter medicine.

“We Are Who We Are” has a fair amount of full-frontal male nudity. That’s rare in American films and television shows. Why do you think that’s the case?

I always felt embarrassed when I saw in films the camera strategically not showing something. I also think that to show nudity — male, female — if it’s in the context of something that makes sense, is a way to liberate the eye. HBO has been wonderful in endorsing my choices. They could have felt provocative or radical, but I saw them as organic. By the way, there is nudity in general in my movies. That’s part of living. We are naked part of the day and part of the day we are dressed up. I always think I should pay respect to that condition of being human. Sometimes we’re naked, so why not?

You have about a half-dozen projects listed as in development on your IMDB. What’s behind that?

I am a relentless workaholic. I’m someone who has never tried any drugs, because I’m too scared for my own health. But I feel like when I was born, I fell on a “Scarface” mountain of cocaine, because I work 13 hours a day.

Are you working on a sequel to “Call Me By Your Name”?

I call it a second chapter, a new chapter, a part two or something like that. I love those characters. I love those actors. The legacy of the movie and its reception made me feel I should continue walking the path with everybody. I’ve come up with a story and hopefully we will be able to put it on the page soon.

You’re also attached to a remake of “Scarface.” What attracted you to that project?

People claim that I do only remakes [ed. note: Guadagnino previously remade “Suspiria” and his film “A Bigger Splash” was inspired by “La Piscine”] , but the truth of the matter is cinema has been remaking itself throughout its existence. It’s not because it’s a lazy way of not being able to find original stories. It’s alway about looking at what certain stories say about our times. The first “Scarface” from Howard Hawks was all about the prohibition era. Fifty years later, Oliver Stone and Brian De Palma make their version, which is so different from the Hawks film. Both can stand on the shelf as two wonderful pieces of sculpture. Hopefully ours, forty-plus years later, will be another worthy reflection on a character who is a paradigm for our own compulsions for excess and ambition. I think my version will be very timely.

What have you been watching during lockdown?

I watched again “Comizi d’amore” (Love Meetings) by Pasolini. I saw a great movie called “The Vast of Night,” and I watched for the second or third time “Doctor Sleep,” which is a movie I admire greatly.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Forgiveness and Contemplation in Prayer

One obstacle to beginning to pray and living within is the struggle to forgive. Whenever someone hurts us in a serious way, there is a spiritual wound that remains. As we begin to pray, we commonly find ourselves going back over these wounds again and again. What is most frustrating is that many times we thought we had already forgiven the person who hurt us. But when the memory comes back, we can sometimes feel the anger and the pain all over again.

What do we do with the wounds so that they no longer impede our ability to pray? The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains, “It is not in our power not to feel or to forget an offense; but the heart that offers itself to the Holy Spirit turns injury into compassion and purifies the memory in transforming hurt into intercession” (CCC 2843).

To pray for those who have hurt us is difficult. In scriptural terms, those who hurt us are our enemies, and this is true even when they are friends and close family members. Christ commands us to love our enemies and to do good to those who persecute us. Betrayal, abandonment, indifference, scandal, abuse, scorn, sarcasm, ridicule, detraction, and insult — these are all bitter things to forgive. The Lord grieves with us and for us when we suffer these things. He has permitted us to suffer them for a profound reason.

The Lord explained to His disciples that those who hunger and thirst for the sake of justice, those who are merciful, and especially those who are persecuted for righteousness and for the Lord are blessed. Their mysterious beatitude makes sense only when we see through the eyes of faith the injustice and persecution they have endured. Somehow, trusting in God in the midst of such things makes them in the likeness of Christ. Trusting in God means to pray for those who harm us, to seek to return good for evil. When this act of trust is made, the power of God is released in humanity. For two thousand years, this is what every martyr for our faith has revealed to the Church.

Why God Permits the Persecution of Those He Loves

In his mysterious wisdom and profound love, when the Father allows someone to hurt or oppose us in some way, He is entrusting that person to our prayers. When our enemy causes us to suffer unjustly, our faith tells us that this was allowed to happen so that we might participate in the mystery of the Cross. Somehow, like those who offered their lives for our faith, the mystery of redemption is being renewed through our own sufferings.

We have a special authority over the soul of someone who causes us great sorrow. Their actions have bound them to us in the mercy of God. Mercy is love that suffers the evil of another to affirm his dignity so that he does not have to suffer alone.

Whenever someone hurts us physically or even emotionally, he has demeaned himself even more. He is even more in need of mercy.

From this perspective, the injury our enemies have caused us can be a gateway for us to embrace the even greater sufferings with which their hearts are burdened. Because of this relationship, our prayers on their behalf have a particular power. The Father hears these prayers because prayer for our enemies enters deep into the mystery of the Cross. But how do we begin to pray for our enemies when the very thought of them and what they have done stirs our hearts with bitterness and resentment?

Here we must ask what it means to repent for our lack of mercy. The first step is the hardest. Whether they are living or dead, we need to forgive those who have hurt us. This is the hardest because forgiveness involves more than intellectually assenting to the fact that we ought to forgive.

We know that we get some pleasure out of our grievances. The irrational pleasure we can sometimes take in these distracts us from what God Himself desires us to do. What happens when all that pleasure is gone, when all we have left is the Cross? Saint John of the Cross sees our poverty in the midst of great afflic­tion as the greatest union with Christ crucified possible in this life: “When they are reduced to nothing, the highest degree of humility, the spiritual union between their souls and God will be an accomplished fact. This union is most noble and sublime state attainable in this life.” In the face of our grievances we must realize this solidarity with Christ and cleave to His example with all our strength.

Living by the Cross means choosing, over and over, whenever angry and resentful memories come up, not to hold a debt against someone who has hurt us. It means renouncing secret vows of revenge to which we have bound ourselves. It means avoiding indulging in self-pity or thinking ill of those who have sinned against us. It means begging God to show us the truth about our enemy’s plight.

The Work of the Holy Spirit

Here, human effort alone cannot provide the healing such ongoing choices demand. Only the Lord’s mercy can dissolve our hardness of heart toward those who have harmed us. We have to surrender our grievances to the Holy Spirit, who turns “injury into compassion” and transforms “hurt into intercession” (CCC 2849).

As with every Christian who has tried to follow Him, the Cross terrified Jesus. He sweat blood in the face of it. We believe that it was out of the most profound love for us and for His Father that He embraced this suffering. Because of this love, He would not have it any other way. Overcoming His own fear, He accepted death for our sake and, in accepting it, sanctified it so that it might become the pathway to new life.

Precisely because Jesus has made death a pathway of life, Christians are also called to take up their crosses and follow Him. They must offer up their resentment to God and allow their bitterness to die. Offering the gift of our grievances to God is especially pleasing to Him. It is part of our misery, and our misery is the only thing we really have to offer God that He wants.

This effort is spiritual, the work of the Holy Spirit. In order to forgive, we must pray, and sometimes we must devote many hours, days, and even years to prayer for this purpose. It is a difficult part of our life-long conversion. Yet we cannot dwell very deep in our hearts, we cannot live with ourselves, if we do not find mercy for those who have offended us. Living with ourselves, living within ourselves, is impossible without mercy.

There are moments in such prayer when we suddenly realize we must not only forgive but must also ask for forgiveness. A transformation takes place when our attention shifts from the evil done to us to the plight of the person who inflicted it. Every time we submit resentment to the Lord, every time we renounce a vengeful thought, every time we offer the Lord the deep pain in our heart, even if we do not feel or understand it, we have made room for the gentle action of the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit does not take the wounds away. They remain like the wounds in the hands and side of Christ. The wounds of Christ are a pathway into the heart of every man and woman. This is because the hostility of each one of us toward Him caused those wounds. Similarly when someone wounds us, the wound can become a pathway into that person’s heart. Wounds bind us to those who have hurt us, especially those who have become our enemies, because whenever someone hurts us, he has allowed us to share in his misery, to know the lack of love he suffers. With the Holy Spirit, this knowledge is a powerful gift.

Once the Holy Spirit shows us this truth, we have a choice. We can choose to suffer this misery with the one who hurt us in prayer so that God might restore that person’s dignity. When we choose this, our wounds, like the wounds of Christ, no longer dehumanize as long as we do not backslide. Instead, the Holy Spirit transforms such wounds into founts of grace. Those who have experienced this will tell you that with the grace of Christ there is no room for bitterness. There is only great compassion and sober prayerfulness.

Saint Thomas Aquinas on Mercy and the Gift of Counsel As we go further into the discussion of Saint Thomas Aquinas on mercy, he explains that the Holy Spirit’s gift of counsel is a special prompting, or impetus, in the heart that brings every act of mercy to perfection. The gift of counsel, explains Saint Thomas, allows us to know and to understand the misery in the hearts of others. Once we know and understand their misery, we can bind ourselves to them in prayer so that those who have hurt us might feel the mercy of God in their misery, that they might find a reason to hope, a pathway out of the hell in which they are imprisoned.

It is by this same gift that Christ knew our hostility to God and allowed Himself to be wounded unto death by it. He wanted to bear this dehumanizing force in our nature so that it might die with Him. This way, when He rose again, He could free from futility all that is good, noble, and true about each of us.

Likewise with us, this same gift allows us to extend Christ’s saving work into the hearts of others. In particular, the gift of counsel allows us to understand the dehumanizing hostility others have unleashed on us and by understanding it in faith, to offer it to God in love. When we do this, our mercy, perfected by the Holy Spirit, makes space in the hearts of those who have hurt us, space into which God’s love can flow. It is the saving mercy of God, His love suffering our misery, which is the only hope for humanity.

BY: ANTHONY LILLES

[the-headbop-wraith]

3_40 Dream Scape

There was a road.  It went on for miles and miles, endless road among a forest of bare trees tangled against a half moon.  The wind strummed its lacy fingers through parched branches, what little grass mingled beside the road, sighed as it bowed low.  Stars dazzled the distant cosmos, as far beyond his reach as the end of the road he courted.  It was a territory he was out of practice with, roads he recalled well but he could not ponder on the specifics of his relationship with a road.  He set foot on the this subdued path and it replayed like a loop, no stone or shrub was ever the same, but the night always limped onward relentlessly.  An eternal night that kept him shackled to a land in the perpetual twilight; teased him with promises of a reprieve within a daybreak that always rose and melted back into dusk.  Half risen suns drowned in an inverted dawn.

By his impression roads were not meant to be this way. A new purgatory, fresh kindling to tend his carefully guarded heat, something about the air stirred him, made him slink deeper into the nuance of wandering.  There was danger in testing boundaries; around him deep within the woods there remained zones he was not welcomed.  But the road was modern and it had cut deep through the earth decades prior, a mile more.  He could always turn back, that was a choice preference.

In the shrouded distance something awaited.  It wasn’t there but it was, he knew it just had to be there ahead somewhere and the sense of it needled at him.  Abruptly the sensation abandoned him altogether but by then it didn’t matter, he knew something tangible was there though he could not see it clearly, but he would arrive on it in due time.  There was no hurry, how long had he been waiting?  It was there and it would not leave, if he wouldn’t allow it.

Even when the sharp slit of light hit the amber edge, he couldn’t hasten his pace.  He could scarcely believe what it was that he had come upon, and the sight of it briefly stumped him.  There. THERE!  

He did not go toward it immediately, but kept his guarded distance on the road and studied the slate of color, the self-proclaimed title that read out on its side MYSTERY SKULLS, bright colors exploding in his mind as if a maelstrom of colorful spectrums had never before been witnessed by his eyes. It was here, a van.  THE Van.

The acuity of ownership, of belonging failed to taint him as he moved closer to the inert vehicle.  It was a place, a mobile station that he had once shared in, yet it was a separate entity from himself.  Another identity.  Nevertheless, he reached his hand out as he neared, but faltered.

__

The rest stop was fifty miles out away from the nearest city, in the midst of jagged rocks speckled by sparse trees and stiff grass stalks.  Several groupings of rocks blocked visual of the main road that bypassed the stop, the road itself was practically deserted but for the stray car that happened by.  

Its late morning and the rising sun moves to hover behind a cluster of impacted rock that rests at the base of a high hill.  A figure picks its way toward the utmost point of the mammoth boulders; its rich pelt is silhouetted by the bold yellow orb trembling behind it, a glossy red sheen coats the ends of its fur.  It turns its head and focuses on the figures far below, seated upon a brick wall that chaperon’s visitors toward the interior of the large, gray stone building.  Red eyes narrow and sharp teeth poke through the sides of the muzzle, the figure draws back its head and unleashes a loud yawn.

Cool wind prickled the ridge of fur that lined his shoulders. Mystery finished his yawn, as he stretched all the way down until his toes reached the edge of his perch and his chest was nearly touching the cool rock under him.  He sat down and put one back leg to work, going to town on the bent and frazzled fur that had tucked into the edge of his ear.  That felt too good, and he nearly couldn’t stop himself. Somehow, he managed.  And picked himself right up and shook out his coat, his collar rattled in that amusing way it did that let everyone know he was just a dog.  Plain and simple.

He adjusted his spectacles with a wrist and once again turned his attention, onto the surviving members of his pack.  If he wanted to he could listen and be aware of what they were saying, but the topic was nothing crucial, remedial chitchat. They could do without his company for a while longer.  He snapped his ears high and raised his snout into the breeze and sniffed.  Leaves, roots, elk, some kind of feline – nothing to fret over.  In these areas a case of abandoned beer or some other rubbish dumped by disrespectful guests, was the vilest threat that could be conjured.  A shame that good people were far in-between and few, if any.

Mystery let his eyes linger a little longer on the two on the wall, talking.  Satisfied, he began to pick his way down the backside of the boulders and crept back into a clutter of trees.  No one was calling for him.  They’d be fine for a few more minutes.

“We’re def. safe, since he only takes victims at night,” Vivi was saying.  The computer was working again.  Nearly fifty-two hours on the road, both batteries gave it up ages ago.  Now was a good time to stop and charge them up. Except…  “I’ve never heard of attendants with sleeping quarters.”

Arthur sat on the same wall several meters away from Vivi in the direct sunlight, and doodled in his ‘company’ notebook.  “It’s his job,” Arthur grumbled back.  Vivi was on the case, and her enthusiasm was becoming a national emergency as far as schedules were concerned.  “We’re miles away from the nearest town, it’s the system around these parts.”  Arthur directed his pen Vivi’s way, and slapped his hand down when his sketch pad began sliding off his lap.  “He’s a government employee.  That’s all.”

“No one looks that pale, ever,” Vivi said, hardly focused on the editing of the document.  A half eaten ‘Texas sized’ cinnamon bun sat on its gooey wrapper, all of this perched on the side her knee; the snacks only companion was a bottle of iced coffee and a bag of popcorn (a ‘light’ snack).  Vivi was ravenous when it came to her excessive sugar intake. “Unless he was some kind of vampire, but he’s out in the sunlight.  Can’t be that, nope.”  The rest stop attendant had given them a wave as he wheeled his beaten metal mop bucket away on the sidewalk outside.  What little hair was upon his gray scalp was scraggly, his arms were boney and his clothing hung over his knobby shoulders; he sort of… slithered on his gelatinous brown work boots.  “How long do you think cadavers can keep for?  You know, people bodies?  You know that stuff?”

Arthur gave Vivi a lopsided grin that revealed the teeth along his cheek.  He coughed and tugged his vest a little more around his chest; no matter what Vivi said, it did keep him warm.  “That’s not a thing I keep track of.  I know how long a person can retain if they’ve drowned in icy water, but not post living stuffs.”  He heaved over and snatched his notebook before it hit the cement below.  With a smooth rocking motion, Arthur reseated himself firmly on the wall and flipped the page of the notebook over with his thumb.

The rest stop had a few external sockets under the roofs eave, near the glass doors that led into a visitors lobby where the bathrooms and concession stands were.  The laptop was hooked up to one outlet, and a separate charger for the laptops additional battery was hooked up to the next outlet, while Vivi had the phones hooked USB hooked to the laptop.  They’d save time, and Vivi swore she could finish the reports with this last charge.

“You’re working too fast.  You use ‘down’ instead of ‘done’ a couple times,” Vivi mentioned, while pointing to the screen (as if Arthur could see from where he was).  “Do you make these errors on purpose?”

“I’m an engineer,” Arthur muttered, with a shrug. “A little gratitude, thank you.”

“Excuse me Mr. inspiration only hits at four fucking in the morning,” Vivi taunted.  For a few minutes she worked in silence, ticking at the keyboard on her lap.  She sighed, and shifted the position of her legs dangling along the side of the walls edge.  “If only,” she whined.  She set the cinnabon onto the keypad where she typed.  “If only this place had wifi, I could check if there have been disappearances along the road here.”

The pen Arthur had been using just leapt from his hand and rolled across the ground.  “Geez, Viv.”  Arthur tossed his notepad aside and hurried to reclaim the pen, before it rolled down the ramp.  “I think I’ve had enough with disappearances for a while.  Getting in too deep like that.  I guess I shouldn’t… talk like that.”  He examined the pen as he returned to his perch, a little closer to Vivi now.  For a short while Arthur sketched in his note pad, a lot of his work was in pen and the bitter odor of the ink hovered around his head.  Vivi was quiet for too long, and this caught Arthur, he stilled his hand from marking the page.

“I never really thought about this,” Vivi murmured. Her hands rest on the keyboard, her thumb picks at one of the keys.  “Misplaced souls, lingering.  That sort of thing.  Maybe it’s just something spirits are compelled to do?  I might be thinking this the wrong way.”  She met Arthur’s eyes and frowned.  “Did he… wander like this before?”

Arthur ducks his head from Vivi’s gaze and puts some meager lines into the side of one diagram and traces it, making the line thick. He shakes his head.  “He didn’t… there wasn’t a reason for him to.”

Vivi resumes typing, laboriously slow now.  “Makes me anxious,” she mumbles.  “Like one day he’ll just keep walking.  Won’t stop, doesn’t think—” Her voice caught, and Vivi swallowed a bit.  She took a swig of her coffee drink and took a deep breath.  “Kind of gets lost.  What would we do?  What?” It takes a second or two for the silence to get to Arthur.  He sets his pen aside.

“Sometimes, y’know.”  Arthur reaches up and touched the back of his neck, and nearly bites his tongue.  “Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed.  It happens. People do that all the time… it’s practically natural!”  Vivi wraps her arms around her middle and frowns.  “Look, hey.  He won’t get himself lost.”  Arthur scoots closer and sets his hand on Vivi’s shoulder.  She doesn’t move but her eyes follow him, and she smirks at the edges of her mouth.  “He won’t do that to you again.  Even if…” This time Arthur is the one to choke, and he has to lean back and look away.  “Even if you have to hunt him down or something.”

That wasn’t what he meant to say, but Arthur didn’t want to tempt… unsavory ideas.  He drew his hand back and gripped at the edges of his empty sleeve with his fingertips.

__

There was so much scenery to see, always different, never the same.  It made the hours on the road tolerable, it was part of what made the travel exciting.

Vivi had her camera with her, she rolled down the passenger window to take some shots of the hill valley below.  The sky on their side was clear, but miles away low cloud cover and a thick fog had trampled the fields in the distance below, highlights of sunbeams accented bellowing flurries and vapor.  Cold air rushed through the open window, despite it whistling through uninvited the interior of the cab retained a comfortable, warm temperature.

The radio bubbled with music, mostly it picked up static this far out from reliable towers.  Around every hour Lewis would flick his hand towards the radio and shift the channel to a weather station, listen to the broadcaster drone out a forecast, then flipped the channel back to the former station.  Whenever the backlash of static buzzed across the radio, Vivi would pause from sightseeing to shoot Lewis a curious glance.  Lewis would smile her way, and Vivi would return the warm gesture, and go back to her comfortable little spot by the window watching the thunderhead pass.  

It was cozy this way, being sealed up in their dry little shell.  Miles away sleet swirled across the roads, the air would be mercilessly cold and brutal. The roads they kept on remained free of water or hazard; the pavement wound around bends and across metal bridges, and cut through a small town built into the hillside.  They stopped for overpriced gasoline, restocked on some supplies, used the facilities, and off they were again.

In this segment of the endless road Mystery took occupation of the cooler back, while his companions stayed crammed in the front seat.  Arthur needed a change of environment and sat in the passenger seat, with Vivi crammed between him and Lewis.  Arthur updated a separate report and Vivi invested as much time as she deemed tolerable, in editing and assembling the joint document portion.  She took frequent breaks to lie back on the seat and just stare at the stars.  It eventually got to the point where she was nodding forward, and Lewis was trying to keep her head up with one hand, least he condemn her face to smash onto the keyboard and do unredeemable damage.  Arthur saved the document before Vivi could break the laptop, once this was all done Vivi retreated into the back with Mystery.  There was bumping and a groggy whimper, before Vivi had nestled down herself. Lewis lowered the radios volume, and drummed silently on the dashboard as he scrolled through the stations for something instrumental.  He could perhaps coax a station from somewhere distant, that should be possible for him?

The hours remained tranquil while the craggy road whirred on and on, its extent inexhaustible.  White pools dotted the landscape around them, the high beams of the van would occasionally glitter over frost on trees that hovered beside the road; the world was different in the headlamps of the van.  Different in the lights of this vehicle, the van.  

Traffic picked up or trickled out as they arrived, and abandoned the larger towns in turn.  On the open road fellow travelers became scarce, and the beauty of the night could be witnessed.  The stars receded to the vibrant colors of dawn, runny maroon light crept over patches of thick woods, a pale fog rippled among the bare segments of meadows and open farm fields.

Lewis glanced over the headrest and checked the back. Vivi was curled up in a sleeping bag, with Mystery tangled up in the same blanket and Vivi’s arms.  It didn’t look like Mystery minded.  “When was the last time you slept?”  

Arthur twitched somewhat to the sudden, even faint voice, when it alit on the close quarters of the cab.  He relaxed after a moment but said nothing.  He pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shifted his legs.  Lewis hardly moved at all, except to accommodate some sort of body posture or to make room for Vivi.  It kind of unnerved Arthur.  “Before we stopped, yesterday,” Arthur mumbled.  “I sleep when I’m ready.”

“You’re not tired?”  Lewis reached up to the overhead visor and flipped it down.  “Not good for you,” his voice echoed, warning.

“I feel all right.”  Truthfully, Arthur hadn’t slept the previous day either.  “It’s beautiful, the colors.”

“Yeah.”  Lewis picked at the sunglasses in the cup holder.  He didn’t want to push Arthur a whole lot.  “I really messed up, huh?”

Arthur thudded his brow on the cold window and watched his breath fog over the glass.  The lights of some town they bypassed, sparkled in the distance with paling colors.  “Lew, when I… not that.  Um.” He reached up with the blanket, and began wiping little sections out of the fading haze in the window.  “I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately.”

Lewis’ voice hitched, like it popped into the radio and out. “Hm.  Since when don’t you?”

“Heh.”  Arthur’s medicine was in his bag in the back.  It didn’t help a lot with his throat, but he liked to think it kept him awake.  A series of low whimpers came from the behind them, it was probably Mystery.  It was hard for Arthur not to feel sorry for the hound.  A random thought trickled into Arthur’s head, and he snorted with the chuckle.  Lewis looked his way, maybe startled but he didn’t inquire. “Sorry,” Arthur snickered.  “I was thinking of something.  Do you remember that one case, the one where I was begging Vivi:  “Please, please.  Save the villains?’”  Arthur gagged a bit as he sniggered, his nose stuffy.

SAVE the villains?  Lewis couldn’t picture any of them actively making an effort to save those kind of people, if he was rolling on recounted experience.  He shook his head.  Nothing specific came to mind.

“It was the one in the state park that was closed to visitors, and the archeologists… lemme think.  I know… villains, it sounds really hokey, but I panicked,” Arthur mumbled. He rubbed his thumb on the edge of his blanket.  “It was kind of a neat job.  Sacred artifacts disappearing from a just as sacred temple, no solid evidence to who the culprit was, no suspects; I think the lore went that the local god – this bear demon thing – was showing up to punish trespassers.  That thing was terrifying, actually.  It showed up and scared the students, none of them could figure out how or where it would vanish off to.  None of this ringing any bells?”  

Lewis cocked his brow at Arthur.  “I don’t see how that would make you laugh.  Though, there must’ve been something that happened…?” He waited for Arthur to continue.  For a while Arthur sat staring out the window, collected, watching the sun tease gold tendrils through a low hanging haze.

“Something about rival archeologist camp, stealing artifacts to sell off to highest bidders,” Arthur said.  “It took us a while to make progress… those guys.  They figured a way of using the ancient aqueducts to get around, but they were like a maze and people had… gotten lost in them, a lot didn’t make it out.” Arthur went silent when Lewis picked up the sunglasses and put them on his face, effectively blotting out the bright gleam of his ember eyes.  Arthur folded down a little more in his seat, fingers tugging on the pinned sleeve of his shirt.  The thing that always shocked him about that case was the nightmares.  Arthur didn’t dream a whole lot about the demon bear, but he had a lot of those wandering dreams.  The ones where he stumbled into the underground water tunnels, and got lost forever in the dark, the cold.  He shuddered.

“Did Vivi… well, Vivi always does the Vivi yes thing,” Lewis replied.  Once she got an idea in her head, there was no telling what would happen.

Arthur nodded.  “Y-yeah.”  That’s how it went.  Vivi did the one thing the group was not supposed to do, and ran off on her own without a word to anyone.  Inspiration struck, and she was going to slap it back or something.  Thankfully she had not disappeared into the aqueducts beneath the temples, Mystery found her scent easily enough and it led deep into the pine forest.  “There was this little hidden road way out there,” Arthur continued.  “Almost washed out and tricky to hike.  We sort of ‘commandeered’ one of those little off terrain golf carts they had for the tourists.  I can’t believe we did that.”  Arthur maneuvered his arm a bit under the blanket.  He wasn’t cold, but it helped him to have something covering his shoulders.

“Are you sure you didn’t catch this on TV or something?” Lewis said.  “I think I’d remember dealing with a demon bear and artifact smugglers.”

“This was one of our cases,” Arthur insisted, through a half yawn.  He quieted when Vivi murmured something in the back, probably shifted.  It didn’t make sense that Lewis would be the one unable to recall the case, he was the one that was gung-ho about scouring the woods until they found Vivi.   Not that Arthur wasn’t impartial to turning the entire forest upside down to find their lost teammate (and leader), in fact he was more afraid of losing her than the possibility of running into the demon bear out there.  It was a crisis.

“It was hard keeping up with Mystery,” Arthur went on, softly.  “We did find their camp though.”  The smugglers operation was well organized, and they had old military jeeps that they were loading up with acquired artifacts.  That wasn’t the problem though, the problem was that they did find Vivi was there but she was unconscious.  “And you… lost it.  It was spectacular.”

“¿Es de verdad?  Not making this up?” Lewis inquired, once more.  “I can see Vivi charging off on her own and getting into trouble, maybe. Usually though, you’re the one that gets nabbed.”  Lewis raised a hand up to his plush hair, presumably to smooth the pompadour back but stopped.  Briefly Lewis glimpsed his palm before he set his hand back onto the steering wheel.  “You stop to look at something shiny, or it has moving parts.  You— but you, well, you don’t pay attention a whole lot when you should.  De la solapada.”  It wasn’t a challenge to get them all separated, especially if something big and disputably hazardous was chasing them.  Lewis had never really given that consistency any sort of consideration, until now of course.  Huh.

“There was no intriguing machinations to tickle my fancy way out in the boonies.  This time, I stayed with the group,” Arthur grumbled.  “One of the times I don’t get kidnapped and you conveniently forget. It used to be one of our favorite cases too.  We took a lot of pict— Mmm, there was a lot of folklore and exploration.  Vivi got caught up in it, I guess that’s why she took off like that.”  Arthur also didn’t want to mention he was kind of taking it easy after having stitches put in from another incident.  He felt like a burden on this case.  “She loves that stuff.  Anyway, you saw her there, so you bombed the heart of operations and went after those guys… some of them even had guns.  I was terrified.  You - Fucking berserker mode:  Unlocked.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth pulled back in a grin, and he elevated his hand like a sort of table.  “I was under a jeep, and when I looked up at the commotion I see you with a camp fire at your back.  You grabbed this big cast iron skillet, the really big thick ones that weigh fifty pounds. You went all Star Wars on them – except it was a skillet and not a light saber – and grabbed part of this tent in your other hand.”  Another little giggle burbled out of Arthur as he interchanged hands, between pantomiming Lewis elected weapons.  “Skillet, tent, and when you started taking down those guys, they started to panic and most were trying to book it.  Mystery, he snagged some sort of sacred urn thing – it was kind of important later, but they thought he was gonna eat it I guess, a bunch of them were chasing him all over the camp.  Utter chaos. This was going down, and I caught up with Vivi and was trying to wake her up.  I kept saying… “‘Vi.  Vi. You gotta wake up now, sweety, the villains need saving.’  I didn’t know what else to call them, kooks?”

The music cuts off as the radio buzzes with static; it makes Arthur twitch in his seat.  “Oh wait,” Lewis said.  “I think… weren’t they trying to get the bear demon out there too, when all of that was happening.  They wanted it to – I dunno – mortal combat with me, so some of them could splint with the artifacts they could.”  He direct a finger at Arthur, and smirked.  “Usted. Puedes echar poco, you sabotaged the engines, didn’t you?”

Arthur made a gesture with his hand and tugged the blanket back up over his shoulder.  “Anyone could do that.  I just did it without getting caught… for once.  The movies make it look simple.”  He pulled himself up to look in the back and check on Vivi, still sleeping.  “It was either you or me, but I wasn’t about to trust you sneaking around.  They’d be like, ‘Oh, an eclipse!  The end is neigh, we should have never finagled with the sacred burial site.  Wait-wait, no.  What is that?’  Then I’d be the one with the skillet light saber and a tent flag.  Was that your plan?  Or did you just improvise?”

“My story was gonna be, ‘I’m the new guy for the bear suit.’”  Lewis turned the volume down when the station chewed the static.  He was sure he wasn’t responsible for that.  “Admit it, it could’ve worked.  If it worked and they put me in that suit, I would’ve been unstoppable.  ‘Dangit. Another guy didn’t read the instruction manual.’  I would‘ve warned them I needed extensive practice beforehand, but they could film me and it’d get Vine famous.”

Arthur sniggered in his throat.  “Vine famous?  Oh, you hit your head there pretty hard, huh?”

Lewis reached a hand up and brushed aside some of his bangs and touched his forehead.  “Jeez, you nearly fainted.  I told you it wasn’t bad, head wounds just have a nasty habit of over bleeding.”  He swept that hand across his chest and straightened out his ascot.  “Ruined my favorite shirt though.”

“Dude.  Dude. Spoiler.”  Arthur held out his hand and paused.  Lewis looked Arthur’s way and waited for him to continue.  “It was identical to all the other shirts you own.”

“It was new, that’s the key difference.”  Lewis stiffens a bit, and kind of tilts his head when he looks at Arthur again.  He fidgeted, slipping his hands up to the top of the steering wheel and tightened his grip, the plastic crinkles in his fists.  Lewis checked the back, then returned his eyes to the road.  The asphalt glistened with tones of cinnamon, transparent purples and deep blues ripple as the light singed the darker tints.  A thin mist hung over the tarmac and coiled through the shrubbery nesting beside the road.

“You could have done part time for the Fred Fazbear’s,” Arthur mentioned.  A chuckle lingers in his throat, Arthur winds up wheezing into the fold of his blanket. “Traumatize the little kids.”  A little shiver coils up Arthur’s spine.  He turns to a quiet Lewis.  “Um… that demon bear suit was infinitely less terrifying than those animatronics.  Safer too. They would’ve adored you. Especially your sisters, they always love it when you bring home a souvenir.”  Arthur snapped his mouth shut, his teeth made an audible click.  Lewis was absolutely silent and somehow, it was more unsettling than a disinterested Lewis.

Arthur sank down into his little ball and rested his cheek on his knee.  He pretended to sleep, even if he didn’t want to.  There was no way getting around it.  There were many things that even a skilled mechanic couldn’t fix.

__

The candles lit at his passing, the flame twinkles briefly before the crisp draft of the hall snuffs the light out completely.  A deep, impenetrable black fog hovers in the depths of the corridor, but at his approach it coils back, receding further back through the seclusion that he cannot reach.  This arrangement seems to benefit them both, but he is careful not to hasten his pace.  There is little to see at all, only a hall and a hall, continuous.  It felt like he had traveled it for years, though he knew that was impossible.

There came a corner and around its side was a staircase. His hand slid across the polished banister as he moved by, gaze focused up into the dank shadows above and their secrets.  Roots slithered down from the upper steps; the barest shimmer of candlelight gave an eerie sheen of red to the barks thin veins.  It was difficult to make out but he was almost certain there were branches too, bent and curved down from the ceiling.  That didn’t make sense, they did have trunks.

A black rock coated the floor, smoothed and polished by centuries of rolling water droplets.  The room he was within felt confined, a small table stood beside him with a small candle atop; there was nothing else.  The light the candle offered did little but provide a small parachute of illumination, there were still walls but no more corridors leading nowhere.  It was just a room, a large suffocating room filled with dark.  Someone had traveled the world over twice, collected up all the unsettling shadows that they could wrangle, and stuffed them into this room.  It was oppressive.

From the coarse murk surfaced a wall, an unremarkable wood wall.  At its base rolled up a corroded metal rail track that disappeared beneath the wall. There was nothing else of interest in these odd features, he knew he had seen it before somewhere and that’s why it was here.  The candelabra on the wall flashed with instant radiance, and faded in the same breath as he kept on his way without pause.  He should’ve felt something for the brief snuff of light, but he was numb to it. His whole sense of self felt drawn back, displaced.  It was that same sensation as slipping into sleep, but without losing awareness.  He swayed.

A door slipped in under the sudden pulse of another candle.  The flame steadied and the door stayed where it was, in the wall, watching him.  It felt like the door was watching him, waiting for some kind of action.  Its surface was chipped and tinted red, a black etch was burned into the upper half. From it came a kind of foreboding regret, the sensation of it was so strong he had to pull back from the edge of the candles dome of light.  It was something almost physical, almost visible.  He waited listening to the distant hum, his own heartbeat, on the stale air.  The door awaited his decision as patiently as any regular door would.  

Without further hesitation, he reached for the tarnished handle, it didn’t need to turn, the door opened smoothly and he crept forward. Another room, smaller, he couldn’t tell. The door hissed shut against his palm and he chanced a look back.  A candle sparked beside his shoulder, its light illuminated the glossy surface of a black pool at his feet.

“You fell,” said a voice.  “You fell, and I pushed you.”  

When he spun back, there was no one.  Across from him was a corridor, a lone candle blazed atop the desk by the wall.  He rushed in its direction, and towards the light.

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea

Ella looked at the food in front of her. She had never seen anything like it before. It was all white, which was curious in itself but the smell was not something her mind seemed to register with what she was seeing. 

To her left, her brother was eyeing the food with thinly veiled disgust. “What is this? Is it even edible?” “I have seen you eat your own weight in Elvish turfei, if you can eat that, you can eat this,” she hissed. “I am going to have to live here so please do not embarrass me in front of those I will be living here with, please.” 

Thor looked at her for a moment, half annoyed she would speak down to him in such a manner when she was the younger sibling, and half embarrassed that she would feel the need to. He said nothing more and looked at his plate silently for a time.

Ella then looked across the table and gave a polite smile to Loki before looking at Laufey who was standing. “It has been a long thousand years, but the past should remain there. Today we welcome the Allfather and his family in hopes of fulfilling a pact made almost a thousand years ago as well as unite our houses through our children. Prince Loki and Princess Ella are both of good health and youth so we hope that as well as an alignment of Houses, there will be much joy brought by this union.” Odin nodded approvingly, as did many others. Ella looked around with a smile on her face, uncertain if she would be able to agree with the statement, especially when she looked at Loki to see him looking at her with disdain in his features. Seeing that, she looked down and toyed with her hands, uncertain of her future. 

*

The meal, though not exciting, was not entirely unpleasant. Ella ate a bit of everything in front of her, noting the ones she liked and disliked. The food seemed very bitter and harsh tasting but she suspected it was to do with not being able to grow the array of foods that they had before. She hoped to speak to some of the Jotnar court on such, but at present, she was restricted to staying with her own party, as per protocol. 

When the meal was done, Laufey retired for the evening, clearly exhausted. With him gone, Odin felt no need to stay around also and he and Frigga went to their rooms leaving Thor and Ella to be uncertain of what they were to do. 

Thor decided to see if he could go drinking with his friends who came along under the guise of being there in case of a battle but who were really there to sate their curiosity and be company for Thor. The first Ella knew of Thor’s plan for the evening was when she saw him and his friends leave the room all at once. Rolling her eyes, she noted bar her guards, she was all that was left of the Aesir. Looking around she was hit with a reality that made her feel entirely uncomfortable. She was in a foreign land and she would soon be the only Aesir on it. There were a few Light Elves, a few Dwarves, many Jotnar, and amongst them all, her, alone. Her father’s guards would return to Asgard with her family and she would remain alone. 

“You seem somewhat lost, Princess.” She turned to see a lithe and older Jotnar behind her. “Forgive me for startling you.” “No, you’re fine. Arden, correct? King Laufey’s most trusted advisor?” “That is I,” He confirmed. “And possibly advisor to your husband when he takes the throne.” “He would be lucky to have one such as you in his confidence,” She smiled. “I have heard of your work in making this momentous occasion possible.”

Arden studied her character as he interacted with her, noting her polite demeanour as she spoke. What startled him most was the genuine curiosity she held for Jotunheim’s running and her knowledge of their history. “What books have you read on here?” “Any I could acquire, which sadly was not as many as I would have liked.” 

“You should read our history as written by Argo, son of Friyr.”

“I have, it’s a wonderful insight into your history.” Arden was startled by such information. “You have? May I pry into how you came into contact with such a book?” “We have it in the palace library. It is not something available to just anyone to read, it is in my father’s private section but the librarian and I have an understanding.” “What sort of understanding would have the palace librarian allow any bar the Allfather permitted into his private section, may I ask?” “The understanding that if he simply permits me entry, I won’t use my seidr to steal the books. If he knows what I am reading, he knows where the book is when my father calls for it.” She smiled. 

Arden found himself liking the young Aesir princess in front of him. She had a thirst for knowledge and clearly used it to ready herself for her time on the realm. He had studied her and her family through the evening. Odin clearly wanted nothing more than to return to Asgard yet knew he had to ensure the Jotnar were not simply going to get back the Casket then kill or hold his daughter hostage. Frigga, though a seidr wielder, was clearly not a fan of the cold weather and looked somewhat uncomfortable on Jotunheim. Thor, to his and other’s disgust, seemed to look at the realm with nothing short of contempt, he and his friends only seeing their time in Jotunheim as a new place to unleash their foolishness, but the Princess, her attempt at all of the food in front of her, her curious intrigue and even now, her polite manner and willingness to speak of Jotunheim shed hope that she was unlike the rest of her family. Such creatures were not unheard of, black sheep, the Midgardians called them. One utterly unlike the rest of their clan, as though reared differently in the midst of everything around them. Perhaps she was the final part in Jotunheim’s rise to strength one more. With her willing participation, they could be more than they ever were before. “His Majesty has no such restrictions here, feel free to read anything you wish on our realm.” “Thank you.” She bowed politely. “Sadly, it is difficult to get too many books that pertain to after the War, for the very obvious reasons, but it leaves my knowledge and learning with a thousand-year gap. I would love to know more of how the realm has been forced to survive and how you have so incredibly been able to plough on, though your life source has been torn from you all.”

Arden found himself intrigued by her choice of words and the sincerity behind them. They suggested a less simplistic teaching of the war, which was against what he thought she would be taught. “We have much literature on that, after the wedding, I can see if I get some of it for you to read.” “Thank…” “That will not be necessary.” They looked around to see Loki standing close by. “An Aesir is not required to know such things.” He looked warily at her. “It may also be used as a means to suppress us further in the wrong hands.” Ella said nothing more on the matter and looked at the floor for a moment before trying to defuse the situation. “I have to say, the sculptures here are exquisitely done.” 

Loki looked at her with disinterest. “With little ability to tend to our lands as we used, it gives many idle time to hone their skills. I rather we had no statues and our lands worked again.” He replied coldly. 

Ella, seeing she would not get a conversation from her betrothed, merely cold comments, decided to say nothing more. “Lord Arden, I thank you for your discussion, Your Highness, I will allow you to return to your pleasant evening.” She curtsied and walked away swiftly.

Bowing slightly as she walked away, Arden then turned to Loki. “My Prince, it does no good to speak to your betrothed in such a fashion, especially as the Allfather has yet to give his opinion as to whether or not he sees you as fit to wed her.”

Loki clenched his jaw, knowing Arden spoke the truth. “Very well.” He turned to face the older Frost Giant. “But do not discuss Jotunheim and its affairs with her again. She is not yet tied to the realm and even when she is, that will not stop her reporting our interests back to Asgard.” “She seems knowledgeable about the realm.” “Of course, she is. She is to be their spy here. They cannot send her in without knowing what is something to report and what is common knowledge, can they? Do not be bought in by her politeness. From her demeanour, you would not think the Allmother to be the woman to stand beside a man like that after all he has done. They are not to be trusted, none of them,” Loki snarled before leaving his father’s aide to ensure Ella did not do anything untoward elsewhere. 

Arden shook his head as he thought of the young royal he had just conversed with. Loki’s apprehension and suspicion were understandable but to understand the subject of his suspicion better would require speaking with her. In one short conversation, Arden was able to ascertain that Ella was not merely there as an informant, she had a personality and a keen interest. He only hoped Loki would allow her to show him that too.

[mirandashadowborn]

Aside from some (for want of a better term or the know how to execute it) “improved” character design on the Dark Riders and maybe the Soul Riders (I’ll go into this on another post), I think what I’d like to see is their Motivation. 

“Evil just cause” don’t cut it for me. And I don’t necessarily mean a tragic backstory to explain away everyones case (used sparingly is fine). 

First off, is Katja alien or Human? Jorvipedia says she’s human?? But I heard otherwise so…?! Explain that shit, right off the bat. An alien with psychic powers whose been dragged to earth by her boss and hates humans cause she reads their minds and it drives her CRAZY and she not only learned to block it out but to PROJECT thoughts and dreams to turn it around on them? That sounds like a plausible villain. Otherwise why is she working for Mr Sands? What kind of compensation is there? Doesn’t seem like he’s offering her a very glamorous life out there at DC HQ.

(The way the concept art looks though- she looks like a druid turned bad and THAT would make an interesting backstory too- Did elizabeth find her and try to train her only Kat could read minds and could SEE the lies and deception and BULLSHIT in the Druids, and was cast out?? Inquiring minds want to know!) 

Sabine I saw more as like, Bellatrix to Voldemort. Maybe he found her when she was younger and impressionable and offered her Power or status.. Maybe she wanted a Sugar daddy and he seemed wealthy and emotionally aloof enough for her. She may not be living in the lap of luxury but she’s dealt with it for so long there’s no leaving now. Yea her dude didn’t give her everything but - What would she go back to? Competing against younger, better girls in Equestrian events? Uh uh too late for that. So she’s bitter, hates these little up and coming champions, and is eager to follow his orders when it comes to destroying their cozy little island.  

Jessica I see as Alex gone wrong. She grew up not having a lot and maybe did some work modeling but didn’t have “it” (the “it” that Anne had- fashion is so fickle), at least not enough to make it big. What was she supposed to do then? Find a job cleaning horse shit? Na Uh- she had a taste of glamour and won’t lower herself back to a simple life. Enter Mr. Sands. He senses an ability in her (The portals? So she’s the opposite of Anne? the Sun but like- eclipsed?) and tells her “don’t get mad, get even”. Its not glamorous but its not simple. He might be a dick but its not as bad as her family who came to depend on her (but she cut them off). He finds Jessica in the midst of her rebellious phase and is exploiting the shit out of that. 

Elise is- ok so I’ve read she has the power to cause Discord and Chaos and is the opposite of Lisa- can bring illness and Death (but anyone can kill anyone really so let’s ignore that for now). I don’t think they should make her WANT to really kill people or be a bad guy, and I really really don’t want them to be lazy and use any sort of mental illness as an excuse (lord I beg you). 

And wait- tangent. If its Katja/Linda, Jessica/Anne, and Elise/Lisa then its Alex/Sabine? She’s the warrior?? That seems weird to me. I would have done it as Sabine/Lisa (youngest-oldest, English-Western, A giver-a thief) and made Jessica the Lightning/Warrior and then Elise could be the anti Anne. But that’s just me. 

Anyway. If Elise is discord and chaos then I need her to be a bit of a mess, asymmetrical, curves and angles, etc. I want her to be a little older but kind of lost (like she is now?? lol) and maybe one of the only ones that can be negotiated with (chaos goes both ways, you know. I can see her being a tiny bit traitorous to Sands if it suits her). Maybe she’s from Jorvik but left to try things and travel but .. can’t finish things. She’s too disorganized. Unlike Lisa, who became an int’l pop star, maybe Elise has failed at everything she’s tried to do. So along comes Mr Sands and tells her she HAS a talent and CAN be successful-  just let him take over, like a manager, and then he kept her lazy and complacent until he needs her and then basically goads her into unleashing her powers. But where is she? Is she hiding from him cause she doesn’t really want to be a bad guy? 

And I need a little more emphasis on their powers being a foil for the others. Like Linda is psychic and can look into the future, but Katja is projective with it. Cool. Having Katja be pale and angular and cold while Linda is darker, rounder and warmer works for me. I like it. 

Jessica and Anne looking similar with a different color scheme works for me too, actually. Sun and Eclipse. Anne more tailored and crisp while Jessica is a little more edgy and (faux) sloppy. (and personally I would have put Jessica vs Alex, since she looks more like a fighter)

Sabine vs Alex is a little weird but would again be the Privilaged vs Poor look and thats redundant lol. What is her power? Again, I would have made her the opposite of Lisa and she can sap energy, cause Sabine as a warrior is strange. She doesn’t strike me as proactive, more like sneaky thief in the night…. I don’t know. Maybe they need to make Sabine a little tougher. But then maybe they’re going with “she plays dirty cause she’s a warrior who isn’t so tough”

Elise vs Lisa? If lisa is pop/rock, make her goth/punk (she’d match her horse better lol). Not cause goth or punk is bad, mind you, JUST so she’d match the horse (its all I got). Also I don’t want her to commit fully to any one thing. (Again- if it was me, I’d have made Elise the anti-Anne in the Group- lost for most of the game, messy while Anne is cool and collected, apathetic where Anne wants justice.) 

Also I need Sands to have some hold on them. I need there to be some: 

Do you want to go back to your old life?

Do you really want to be my enemy? 

You’re only really powerful when you’re here with us, but leave if you want u_u 

Otherwise, Why are they there? I need to see the manipulation going on there, cause evil for the lulz ain’t it.  

Ok rant over. 

(keep in mind all this is coming from someone who hasn’t played the original games but they’re changing old canon anyway so anything goes woop)

[wolfpawn]

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 5

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary -   The Jotnar and Aesir sit for a meal together. Through the meal, new opinions are made of the foreign princess while other older ones are cemented. 

Previous Chapter

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Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella

Ella looked at the food in front of her. She had never seen anything like it before. It was all white, which was curious in itself but the smell was not something her mind seemed to register with what she was seeing. 

To her left, her brother was eyeing the food with thinly veiled disgust. “What is this? Is it even edible?”

“I have seen you eat your own weight in Elvish turfei, if you can eat that, you can eat this,” she hissed. “I am going to have to live here so please do not embarrass me in front of those I will be living here with, please.” 

Thor looked at her for a moment, half annoyed she would speak down to him in such a manner when she was the younger sibling, and half embarrassed that she would feel the need to. He said nothing more and looked at his plate silently for a time.

Ella then looked across the table and gave a polite smile to Loki before looking at Laufey who was standing. “It has been a long thousand years, but the past should remain there. Today we welcome the Allfather and his family in hopes of fulfilling a pact made almost a thousand years ago as well as unite our houses through our children. Prince Loki and Princess Ella are both of good health and youth so we hope that as well as an alignment of Houses, there will be much joy brought by this union.” Odin nodded approvingly, as did many others. Ella looked around with a smile on her face, uncertain if she would be able to agree with the statement, especially when she looked at Loki to see him looking at her with disdain in his features. Seeing that, she looked down and toyed with her hands, uncertain of her future. 

*

The meal, though not exciting, was not entirely unpleasant. Ella ate a bit of everything in front of her, noting the ones she liked and disliked. The food seemed very bitter and harsh tasting but she suspected it was to do with not being able to grow the array of foods that they had before. She hoped to speak to some of the Jotnar court on such, but at present, she was restricted to staying with her own party, as per protocol. 

When the meal was done, Laufey retired for the evening, clearly exhausted. With him gone, Odin felt no need to stay around also and he and Frigga went to their rooms leaving Thor and Ella to be uncertain of what they were to do. 

Thor decided to see if he could go drinking with his friends who came along under the guise of being there in case of a battle but who were really there to sate their curiosity and be company for Thor. The first Ella knew of Thor’s plan for the evening was when she saw him and his friends leave the room all at once. Rolling her eyes, she noted bar her guards, she was all that was left of the Aesir. Looking around she was hit with a reality that made her feel entirely uncomfortable. She was in a foreign land and she would soon be the only Aesir on it. There were a few Light Elves, a few Dwarves, many Jotnar, and amongst them all, her, alone. Her father’s guards would return to Asgard with her family and she would remain alone. 

“You seem somewhat lost, Princess.” She turned to see a lithe and older Jotnar behind her. “Forgive me for startling you.” “No, you’re fine. Arden, correct? King Laufey’s most trusted advisor?” “That is I,” He confirmed. “And possibly advisor to your husband when he takes the throne.” “He would be lucky to have one such as you in his confidence,” She smiled. “I have heard of your work in making this momentous occasion possible.”

Arden studied her character as he interacted with her, noting her polite demeanour as she spoke. What startled him most was the genuine curiosity she held for Jotunheim’s running and her knowledge of their history. “What books have you read on here?” “Any I could acquire, which sadly was not as many as I would have liked.” 

“You should read our history as written by Argo, son of Friyr.”

“I have, it’s a wonderful insight into your history.” Arden was startled by such information. “You have? May I pry into how you came into contact with such a book?” “We have it in the palace library. It is not something available to just anyone to read, it is in my father’s private section but the librarian and I have an understanding.” “What sort of understanding would have the palace librarian allow any bar the Allfather permitted into his private section, may I ask?” “The understanding that if he simply permits me entry, I won’t use my seidr to steal the books. If he knows what I am reading, he knows where the book is when my father calls for it.” She smiled. 

Arden found himself liking the young Aesir princess in front of him. She had a thirst for knowledge and clearly used it to ready herself for her time on the realm. He had studied her and her family through the evening. Odin clearly wanted nothing more than to return to Asgard yet knew he had to ensure the Jotnar were not simply going to get back the Casket then kill or hold his daughter hostage. Frigga, though a seidr wielder, was clearly not a fan of the cold weather and looked somewhat uncomfortable on Jotunheim. Thor, to his and other’s disgust, seemed to look at the realm with nothing short of contempt, he and his friends only seeing their time in Jotunheim as a new place to unleash their foolishness, but the Princess, her attempt at all of the food in front of her, her curious intrigue and even now, her polite manner and willingness to speak of Jotunheim shed hope that she was unlike the rest of her family. Such creatures were not unheard of, black sheep, the Midgardians called them. One utterly unlike the rest of their clan, as though reared differently in the midst of everything around them. Perhaps she was the final part in Jotunheim’s rise to strength one more. With her willing participation, they could be more than they ever were before. “His Majesty has no such restrictions here, feel free to read anything you wish on our realm.” “Thank you.” She bowed politely. “Sadly, it is difficult to get too many books that pertain to after the War, for the very obvious reasons, but it leaves my knowledge and learning with a thousand-year gap. I would love to know more of how the realm has been forced to survive and how you have so incredibly been able to plough on, though your life source has been torn from you all.”

Arden found himself intrigued by her choice of words and the sincerity behind them. They suggested a less simplistic teaching of the war, which was against what he thought she would be taught. “We have much literature on that, after the wedding, I can see if I get some of it for you to read.” “Thank…” “That will not be necessary.” They looked around to see Loki standing close by. “An Aesir is not required to know such things.” He looked warily at her. “It may also be used as a means to suppress us further in the wrong hands.” Ella said nothing more on the matter and looked at the floor for a moment before trying to defuse the situation. “I have to say, the sculptures here are exquisitely done.” 

Loki looked at her with disinterest. “With little ability to tend to our lands as we used, it gives many idle time to hone their skills. I rather we had no statues and our lands worked again.” He replied coldly. 

Ella, seeing she would not get a conversation from her betrothed, merely cold comments, decided to say nothing more. “Lord Arden, I thank you for your discussion, Your Highness, I will allow you to return to your pleasant evening.” She curtsied and walked away swiftly.

Bowing slightly as she walked away, Arden then turned to Loki. “My Prince, it does no good to speak to your betrothed in such a fashion, especially as the Allfather has yet to give his opinion as to whether or not he sees you as fit to wed her.”

Loki clenched his jaw, knowing Arden spoke the truth. “Very well.” He turned to face the older Frost Giant. “But do not discuss Jotunheim and its affairs with her again. She is not yet tied to the realm and even when she is, that will not stop her reporting our interests back to Asgard.” “She seems knowledgeable about the realm.” “Of course, she is. She is to be their spy here. They cannot send her in without knowing what is something to report and what is common knowledge, can they? Do not be bought in by her politeness. From her demeanour, you would not think the Allmother to be the woman to stand beside a man like that after all he has done. They are not to be trusted, none of them,” Loki snarled before leaving his father’s aide to ensure Ella did not do anything untoward elsewhere. 

Arden shook his head as he thought of the young royal he had just conversed with. Loki’s apprehension and suspicion were understandable but to understand the subject of his suspicion better would require speaking with her. In one short conversation, Arden was able to ascertain that Ella was not merely there as an informant, she had a personality and a keen interest. He only hoped Loki would allow her to show him that too.