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shelby-fangirl00 · 3 months ago

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The Nanny

Chapter 1

Summary: Winnie Carter leaves her life in Small Heath to take a job at the Arrow House. While Winnie is secretive about her life back in Birmingham, Thomas is determined to break down her walls and find out the truth of her identity. His odd obsession confuses both Thomas and Winnie and he will go to all lengths to find out what makes Winnie tick. (Multiple parts) (Multiple POVs)

Authors note: Bear with me as I may be a bit rusty since I haven't wrote in over a year now.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Smut in upcoming chapters, next chapter will be Tommy's POV

Winnie

I inhaled the cool autumn air that whipped around me as I marveled at the mansion. Arrow House. This place had history, long before the gangster took over ownership. It was hard to imagine someone who was born and raised in small heath, like myself, ended up in a place like this. I glanced behind me as the car drove off, leaving me and my suitcases behind. For a second, I thought of flagging them down to take me back home. But I couldn't. My son needed me to be here. He was the only reason I was here.

I carried my luggage up the steps and awkwardly knocked twice on the giant double doors that seemed to tower over me. An older woman in a maids uniform answered and smiled sweetly at me.

"Welcome! Please come in!" Her tone was warm and kind and I already felt safe in her presence. Her grey hair was pinned up in a tight bun and her black dress was perfectly unwrinkled.

"So nice to meet you. it's Winnie, by the way." I stuck my hand out to shake hers.

"Francis. It's so lovely to have you here. We've all been anxiously awaiting your arrival, as well as Charles. First, bring your bags and I'll show you to your room." I could barely focus on what she was saying as I marveled at the inside of that place.

I followed Francis through the maze of a mansion. The ceilings were so high and everything seemed to be in pristine condition, I was almost scared of touching anything in that museum of a home. We went up a winding staircase. As we walked up and up and up, the walls were lined with family portraits of the Shelby's, from what I assumed. A very beautiful woman with golden hair seemed to be the most notable of the portraits, as there were several of them. I would assume this was Mr.Shelby's wife. There was also portraits of her and a stoic looking man as well, which must be him. He was different than I pictured...

We stopped at the very top floor, finally making it to a row of rooms in a dark narrow hallway, which I assumed were for the employees who resided here.

"There are two shared washrooms on each end of the hallway. My room is just a few doors down from yours and I'm a bit of a night owl so if you need something throughout the night, don't be a stranger." She smiled as she unlocked the door with what looked like a master key and revealed a small room with a bed, a dresser and a small closet. This was similar to my room at home, which was more than I expected already. There was a window above my bed that overlooked the horse stables, which was nice. Francis stated that only her room and this one had a window, so I was grateful. I plopped my suitcases on top of the bed.

"It's lovely in here, thank you, Francis."

"Don't thank me, dear. The head of household assigns the rooms, so you can thank Mr.Shelby when you meet him. In fact, Mr.Shelby will be in tonight and has requested to have dinner with you."

Francis must have seen the panic on my face because she giggled and walked towards me.

"He usually does this with any of the staff that works directly with his son. He is quite protective. You can use the rest of the day to unpack your things and get settled. There is also a small wash bin stored in your closet as well if you wanted to freshen up in here. After dinner, I can give you a tour of this place. We can discuss how everything will work later tonight. Any questions?"

My brain short circuited, because the last thing I wanted to do was sit through a painfully awkward dinner with this man.

"Is there anything I should know about Mr.Shelby before I meet him?"

Francis smiled as if she was amused.

"He aims to be feared. He has a hard exterior but as long as you address him properly and respect him, his house and family, you'll have nothing to worry about. And answer any questions he asks truthfully, because he will find out either way."

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

I sat at the enormous dining table and almost had the urge to laugh. This place was almost ridiculous. Who needed all of this shit? The table could sit at least 20 people. Francis had me sit right beside Mr.Shelby's seat at the end of the table. I wrung my hands together in anticipation, waiting for him to come in. I knew nothing about him aside from that fact that he is a Peaky Blinder and had made quite the name for himself. Ironically, I was from Birmingham and my son and mother currently resided in a flat there. I remember seeing them around town as a teenager, but mother always cautioned us to keep our heads down and walk on the opposite side of the street when we saw the Blinders. I was always curious though. I did have a friend that used to fuck one of the Shelby brothers, John, from time to time and she would tell me all kinds of horror stories about them. But I always took it with a grain of salt, as everyone in town seemed to be fascinated by them, including me at one point.

I wondered if Mrs.Shelby would also be at this diner tonight. I assumed she would like talk to the woman who would be taking care of her son every day, but Francis hadn't mentioned her yet.

I wore a simple blue dress with black stockings and black heels, hoping this was acceptable enough for a formal dinner, as I had never been to one of these before. I pinned my blonde hair in a loose bun, strands dangling out nicely, framing my face. Just as I took a drink of water (which I wished Francis would've gave me something stronger), Francis came walking in through the foyer with a man in toe behind her. I stood from my chair and waited to be introduced.

"Mr.Shelby, this is Winnie, the new nanny. Winnie, Mr.Shelby."

I nearly choked on my own spit at the sight of this man. Have I ever seen a man this swoon-worthy I thought to myself. His portraits were handsome, but nothing could capture the essence of this man. His jawline was hard and his eyes were a crystal-like blue. Freckles danced across his cheeks. He had an expensive navy blue suit on that made his shoulders look particularly broad. He couldn't have been over 35.

His eyes pierced through me in a demanding way. He stuck out a large hand decorated in gold rings and I placed my frail hand in his, making a point to firmly shake it, trying to not show how weak my knees were at this point. I still saw no sign of his wife, which was curious. I would have to ask Francis about this later.

"Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you Winnie...?"

"Winnie Carter, sir." He eyed me curiously, but his face remained uninterested and emotionless.

We both sat down and Francis left to bring out the food.

"I'm glad you could fill in on such short notice. We cut our last nanny loose a few weeks ago." He didn't give me any more explanation as to why she was fired and I didn't dare to ask.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr.Shelby. I'm confident I will live up to your expectations."

I tried to remain calm and not stare at him like a lunatic, but he was magnetic and it was hard not to. An uncomfortable silence fell between us and then Francis returned, setting a plate of food in front of both of us. Chicken and potatoes with carrots. Not being shy, I dug into my food. I hadn't eaten a warm meal in days. I could feel him watching me as I scarfed down my food, so I awkwardly put my fork down and looked into his eyes. He hadn't touched his food.

"Do you drink, Mrs.Carter?" I couldn't help but giggle. Mr.Shelby raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Mrs.Carter would be my mother, sir. I'm not married."

He hummed before responding. "My apologies. Rude of me to assume. Anyways, do you drink?" As if on cue, Francis set a glass of what I assume was whiskey in front of him.

"Is this a trick question? If it is, I am a very proper lady who only drinks champagne during celebrations."

He chuckled, downed his glass and eyed me again, his finger tapping on the empty glass. This time, he lingered on my face and I swore his eyes dropped to my lips. "No tricks, you don't technically start work until tomorrow morning."

"In that case, yeah I drink whiskey." Another smirk.

"I should've guessed that. Francis, please bring a bottle out for me and Ms.Carter." I physically recoiled at such a proper way to refer to me.

"Forgive me sir, but I prefer to be called Winnie, or just Win."

"Winnie it is. So, I'm sure Francis told you, but I usually meet with anyone who will be working with my son, Charlie. I need to get to know you and make sure your intentions are pure."

My intentions? Did he think I was a spy or a kidnapper or something?

I nodded my head and poured out a drink for myself after Francis set the bottle and a glass in front of us. I downed the liquid in a gulp and handed him the bottle.

He poured himself another drink for him and I as well. We clinked our glasses together and downed them again.

"You're from Small Heath then?"

For fuck sake. Of course my voice gave me away. I thought about making up an elaborate lie, but Francis warned me to be truthful.

“Born and raised. Me family still lives there."

He tilted his head and smiled genuinely this time.

"Isn't that curious...How old are ya?"

"26 next week."

He nodded his head.

"I think I know of your family. Your father works in one of our coal factories?"

I nodded then. "Yep. Worked there me whole life. Mum stayed home."

"Big family?"

I poured first, trying to avoid any conversation about my son.

"Not big at all" is all I said.

"Hmm." I avoided his eyes and let them fall into the drink as I downed my third glass. I decided not to drink anymore tonight. It felt like he could sense my deception. It's not like I was lying...I just wasn't telling the full story. I am entitled to my privacy.

I finally looked up and caught his eyes falling down my figure, shamelessly. A shiver ran up my spine and goosebumps broke out on my thighs. Christ, I cannot get involved with a married man, let alone my employer.

He placed his elbows on the table top and leaned in closer to me. My heart skipped in my chest.

"Do you have anything you want to ask me, Winnie? Nothing is off the table." My name coming out of his mouth in that low and gravelly voice made my legs shake. I inhaled sharply.

My mouth popped open and his eyes shot to my mouth next, waiting for me to say something. I felt myself leaning closer to him now as well.

"Are you as scary as they say you are?" I whispered in a childlike fashion, trying to stay casual.

The smile that formed across his face was devious and his eyes almost turned black.

"Yeah, I am" he stated curtly and leaned back into his chair, still leaving his plat untouched.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Winnie. I only need to actually be scary if ya cross me. You won't cross me, right love?"

I gulped and shook my head no. "Of course not, sir. I don't have a reason to."

Which is true, I don't. I am here to make money and to support my son.

"You seem trustworthy enough. I hope I don't spook you off too soon. My boy Charlie is a fairly easy child to get along with. He is only 3 years old and as of lately, Francis has been taking care of him. He loves horses more than anything. He likes to be outside as much as possible, so be prepared to be in the stables regularly. Francis will fill you in with all of the details and we will talk again tomorrow night about how your first day went. Any more questions?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat from his sudden change in demeanor. He no longer was flirtatious and interested, he was now distant and professional, so I was too.

"None at this time, Mr.Shelby."

"Good, now go ahead and eat and I'll finish in my study. Good luck with Charlie." He said as he stood and sauntered out of the dining hall, leaving his plate of food untouched and at the table.

What the fuck just happened?

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mierins · 12 days ago

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it's hot, and we rot in this oven // nanami x reader, chapter iii

Teenagers Scare the Living Shit out of Me.

x Masterlist x

< previous chapter | next chapter >

Rating: M Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: Mentions of character deaths

Summer in general, but late June in particular, is the time that curses reign supreme in Japan-- between natural disasters, the listlessness of school breaks, and the way the humidity seems to take on a life of its own, clinging on one’s skin in a way distinctly similar to misery or sweat.

Me, though-- I’m still stuck on campus to an extent, with no missions assigned, and every free one I attempt to apply to take rejected. Fuck the higher-ups, truly.

I’m burning off the excess energy and aggression on the archery range once more, sending a barrage of bolts into the targets once, twice, thrice, till the sun’s climbed up too high into the sky to make even this a grueling endeavour.

“I’m assigning you as a mentor to a new student,” Gojo says, materializing behind me as I’m wrapping up my day on the field, collecting the arrows back.

“You? You’re assigning me?” I asked absently, plucking a crossbow bolt from the bullseye with a bit more than requisite amounts of force. “Does Yaga know about this? Or did you just slip a sticky note under his door again and call it administrative procedure?”

He guffaws a little at that, his voice projecting across the field. “Don’t worry. I’m still the first year teacher, but I want her to learn from you a little in the future, especially before she starts taking on solo missions. Her technique is like yours. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”

“Is that so?” I raise a brow.

He nods. “Mm-hm. Girl from the sticks. Sorcery lineage, but dear old nana doesn’t want her involved with the likes of us. Insisted on coming here anyways-- and that’s a mark for no respect for authority or elders. Sound familiar?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Yeah. Sounds like you.”

He grins, unfazed. “Anyways-- gotta go! I left you a file on her so you can figure out how to introduce yourself when the time comes!” He sidles up out of the training range, leaving me scowling with a bundle of arrows in my fist, probably to avoid any threats of being blasted.

But it’s not until later, that I realize his plan wasn’t just to be a minor pain in the ass.

I’m in the admin office, reading the information on Kugisaki Nobara, 15, from Karumai, Iwate Prefecture, (which he did, in fact, leave with uncommon courtesy on my desk), that I realize his plan.

-- Because, stuck on a sticky-note on the last page is a crude self-portrait of him, blindfold, spiked-up hair, and his tongue sticking out and all, along with the message “Heard you got rejected as a Special Grade again. This should beef up your resume some!”

I sigh, laying the file down on the table and tipping my head back up at the ceiling, wondering if I shouldn’t just hunt him down and try to hit him with Maximum Bang after all. “Fucker.”

It’s a bright July day when the new crop of first year students are brought onto campus by Gojo for their entrance ceremony.

The admissions each year are sparse-- maybe seven or eight people at the maximum number. Usually, the number hovers closer between three and five. Ijichi’s year had only him, and some girl who’d run off to Kyoto to serve as a clan sorcerer instead.

Nonetheless, for every year he’s taught here, Gojo amps up the drama, the theatrics of it all. Something about school spirit or ceremony-- or maybe he just wanted to relive his old glory days as someone who undoubtedly kind of peaked in high school.

This is the first year I preside in an official context as faculty, given the assignment to be Kugisaki Nobara’s mentor, and I stand on the steps behind Yaga-sensei and Kusakabe-sensei both, whilst Gojo prances onto the patio to park himself right next to me.

Three figures walk in behind him through the gate.

Fushiguro Megumi, who looks downright bored, because this whole thing was technically pointless for him-- given that he had been living and working at Jujutsu Tech for the better part of last decade. Despite the fact that he looks like Maki with a bad hair day, and the fact that the very shadows bend to his will, he insistently is not a Zen’in, thanks very much. I don’t blame him. I counted myself as lucky not to have dealt with them closely during the Night Parade.

There’s the new boy, Itadori Yuuji, so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that I took one single look at him, and think to myself, Oh, no, this place is going to eat him alive.

And that’s before Gojo leans over, whispering, “Oh, that’s the Sukuna vessel, by the way.”

I can understand why he wouldn’t want to execute him, even if the higher-ups were calling for the kid’s head. It would be like trying to run over a puppy. I think only a psychopath would be willing.

I try to picture his face marred by the cursed markings that I’ve seen in the paintings of Ryomen Sukuna, four eyes and sharp teeth and a sadistic snarl dripping with blood-- but I can’t do it.

Poor kid.

Then, my future mentee, Kugisaki Nobara, who strides in with shoulders thrown back, chin high, as if the school owes her money and she’s here to shake someone down and collect. Black tights, hair cropped to her chin and dyed copper brown, a long skirt, and scuffed loafers, like a sukeban throwback from the 80s.

“Welcome, newbies,” Gojo’s saying with a flourish, clapping his hands together with mock-solemnity, “to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College!”

I zone out on the rest of his brief speech, some kind of droning on and on about the dismal pay, the screws they need to loosen to be effective sorcerers, and on and on-- and I think to myself that I don’t remember my own entrance ceremony being quite so… camp, at all.

I spot Kugisaki rolling her eyes, and I kind of get it, now.

Despite all the ways he drives me up the wall, Gojo Satoru occasionally hits the proverbial nail right on the head. This girl?

We’re going to get along just fine.

“Kugisaki Nobara,” she says, tossing the introduction out like a challenge, and I can’t help but feel almost-- cowed, in a way, with her glower on me, and the hammer slung on her shoulder. I was never the cool kid as a teen-- not with my powers the way they were, and my tendency to huddle with Akari-chan and drool over Tohoshinki-- and I’m a little scared that she’d be able to suss this out immediately.

“I’ve been asked to supervise your training,” I say, hiding my nerves under the weight of a calm, placid smile and squared back.

Gojo had technically given me sufficient notice beforehand, in theory, but the timeframe had been vague at best-- and when it came down to it, he’d practically dumped the task on me last-second-- more like a “favor,” as if it were a babysitting gig, while he gallivanted off on another international mission.

I wonder where he is. Picture him on an international sugar rush, rampaging through the world’s pastry shops and candy stores, before checking in on Okkotsu Yuuta’s progress.

The most recently-classified Special Grade, a non-sorcerer boy who woke up one morning, and found himself with more cursed energy at his fingertips than had been seen in our world for centuries. Whose meteoric rise in the Jujutsu world also frightened the absolute shit out of the higher-ups.

After all, Gojo had always prized potential and creativity, and a fighting spirit, over the Kyoto school’s emphasis on ancient bloodlines and traditional clans. His students are a talented, but volatile group as a result.

And he’d left them to each other, like the proverbial blind leading the blind. To Kusakabe-san, to Yaga-sensei, and now… to me. The lab rat who hasn’t seen the outside world in literal ages.

Nobara arches a brow that seems too artfully plucked for being a fifteen year old-- but then again, I’m probably just old compared to them. I try not to wince at the thought. “So you’re my babysitter now?”

“I guess,” I shrug. “Gojo didn’t give much other instruction, but given that you--” in conjunction with Itadori, of course-- “haven’t been involved in the Jujutsu world long, he thought it would be beneficial for me to be a guide.” I offer a handshake.

She takes it without hesitation, all bravado and rough edges. “Well, it probably beats the training Panda and Maki-san’s trying to do to Fushiguro right now.”

I dread to think of what that would be, and hope Megumi isn’t getting bullied too badly.

“I’ll be observing,” I inform her as we pace into the dojo. “Take your spot in the ring.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. Cracks her neck, then her fingers, shifting the weight of her hammer from one hand to another.

“Alright,” I say, opening the crates that are stacked to the wall one by one, letting Yaga-sensei’s cursed corpses rise out of the box.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Barely a month in.

Barely a month in, and we’re holding our first report of a student death.

“Itadori Yuuji is dead,” Gojo tells us in the staff conference room, an uncharacteristic stillness to his person. Roiling with some kind of deep-seated tension, like a rip current.

He pauses. Then continues, clipped, direct-- almost unnaturally emotionless. I haven’t even seen him like this last year, after the Night Parade. After he had to lift the burden of executioner onto his shoulders, and kill Geto Suguru, once our schoolmate, then a curse user.

“An unidentified apparition of potential Special Grade appeared two days prior in the sky in West Tokyo City, at the Eishuu Detention Center, above the exercise yard. Its cursed womb was witnessed by several non-sorcerers. Due to the urgent nature, three Jujutsu High first-years were dispatched to the scene. During the ensuing exorcism, Itadori Yuuji fell in action.”

The words filter through the ringing in my ears.

Potential Special Grade.

Jujutsu High first years.

Fell in action.

“I should have been there,” I murmur to myself, voice raw, afterwards, as everyone’s filing out of the staff room, uncharacteristically somber. I haven’t exactly been let out of the cage yet-- and three untested children were being sent to deal with a Special Grade.

Why send them at all? Why hadn’t it been me assigned to the mission brief? Or were the higher-ups going to keep feeding children to the meat grinder? I wear the memories of them all--

The kid from Kyoto.

Itadori Yuuji.

Oda Daiki, and the rest of the graduates from mine and Akari-chan’s year.

And before that too, Haibara Yu.

Nanami, seated across the conference table, looks at me. His glasses are off-- tucked into the breast pocket of his blazer-- and without them, he looks more tired than usual. I heard he’d taken the first train down after receiving the news, leaving Ino to independently finish out the assignment they were on in Tohoku.

I recognize the look in his eyes--

It’s the same one he wore in the months after Haibara died.

I think back to my freshman year at Jujutsu High-- Nanami and Haibara were in their junior year then, and Gojo and Geto and Ieiri were in their senior year. I didn’t bother with the seniors-- all of them seemed so terrifying in their own way, intimidating at the peak of Jujutsu prowess. An untouchable God-boy. An unending well of curses. And a girl who could reverse the flow of decay and death.

Me and my paltry crossbow hadn’t even been in the same galaxy as them, let alone the same orbit.

But the third years were a different story-- at least, Haibara was. All bright smiles and warmth, with an infectious sense of humor that made even, even the stuffy Kyoto students and their senpai Iori laugh, a counter to Nanami’s quiet, dutiful aloofness that had been present even back then.

The two of them had gone out together on a mission, with Haibara promising sweet treats as souvenirs. How could any of us have known? They were no fodder.

Only Nanami came back.

And as if overnight, a pit formed.

We, all of us at the academy-- could feel the absence. The way the food hall became colder without bright laughter ringing out through it. The way more and more missions had to be shouldered by us first years, because the second years were only at the level of becoming auxiliary managers. The way, unmoored by this premature death, all of us drifted.

But it wasn’t just that emptiness that his death left in us, but the silence. The lack of condolences from the higher-ups. The way there was just a boy who was living, and breathing one day-- and gone the next, his files stamped over with a red seal, his name redacted from schedules, rosters, and missions with a black marker.

The way we were all expected to just move on, as if a child hadn’t just died on our watch, and we didn’t have the resources necessary to properly mitigate that risk.

Just like now.

I can feel it building in my chest like a weight-- choking me, cutting off my air. My vision blurs in front of me. Helpless rage. Even more potent now, than in the past-- with my new potential. My new technique. The way Gojo had assigned me to mentor one of these three kids-- who now might have seen her classmate, or her friend, die.

I jerkily slide my seat back, then stop. “It should have been me,” I blurted out-- though the room echoes with the emptiness, the only other person in the space being Nanami. What kind of absolution was that?

He pauses where he’s halfway to the door. “We always say that,” he replies, softly.

I exhale, and stand up, propping my hands upon the desk. “I know. But it feels worse every time now.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“They’re just kids,” I swallow. I don’t know if I believe him. “You and I both know that if I were just allowed to go out there-- none of this would have happened.”

Nanami doesn’t argue with that-- and I think back to the aftermath of Geto’s defection. How it caused this firestorm of whispers and speculation amongst the underclassmen, especially given the fact that our seniors seemed to take the news without even blinking twice. Of course, the Jujutsu higher-ups had immediately nipped the open gossip in the bud-- but they couldn’t really control our thoughts, of which there were many.

I wonder at the ache behind my eyes. I wonder at the helpless futility I feel. I wonder at the names and faces I carry with me. I wonder at the power I now hold at my fingertips.

I wonder if that was where it started, for Geto.

Nanami cuts into my thoughts-- a deep voice, an anchor to the tremble in my fingers that I’d tried to hid by bracing them against the desk. “It doesn’t matter what you were allowed to do,” he says softly. “You couldn’t have known that this would be the outcome.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as his hand presses over mine. “I just wanted to protect them.”

Five A.M. comes and goes, and I’m alone these days as I’m greeting the sunrise, the coil of cursed energy and RCE flowing through my system like blood through the circulatory system. Oxygenated, deoxygenated, a perpetual motion machine.

Somewhere along the line, I’d gotten comfortable with Nanami. Familiar with the way our morning routines slotted around one another. The pale sky above us like a veil, one that, instead of shielding civilian eyes from the backlash of curses, created a quiet little bubble of companionship that we only shared between the two of us.

I miss him, I realize. Not just the metronomic cadence of his steps as he jogs around the track, not just the easy conversation we had after I’m done meditating and he’s done running, as we’re stretching out our limbs together as the sky blushes with the day’s possibilities.

I miss him.

I’d tried to ask around regarding his absence-- even going so far as to corner Ijichi, seeing as he had been assigned to the missions Nanami was taking, but even he, as usually high-strung as he was, brokered no forthright answers to the query.

“Where is he?”

He’d yelped when he saw me, clutching his stacks of files tighter, looking nervously past me as if hoping a divine intervention or Yaga-sensei might rescue him. “If this is about Nanami-san…”

“Of course it’s about Nanami. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.” I almost felt bad for him-- dealing with Gojo for years on end, being the person who’s in charge of passing along mission reports to the higher-ups, and now, my attempts to shake him down.

The keyword here being, of course, almost.

Ijichi shifts, trying to press his slipping glasses further up his nose. “I-I really can’t say, miss. It’s classified. Highly classified. I-I mean, above even your clearance…”

My eyes narrow. “You’re dodging the question.”

“I-it’s highly classified information. Please don’t ask me anymore, miss!”

And with that, he turns, scrambling with his folders, and bolting toward the car park like a spooked rabbit.

I exhale and watch him go--

And notice the sheet that slipped, unnoticed by either of us, to land at my feet.

I stoop, pick it up, and immediately recognize Nanami’s terse, neat handwriting.

2018 September

Kanagawa Prefecture, Kawasaki City

Kinema Movie Theatre

After the showing of Human Earthworm 3, the disfigured corpses of three high school students were discovered by cinema staff.

Cause of death: Increased cranial pressure and respiratory paralysis due to cranial deformity.

Assigned sorcerer: Nanami Kento

Assigned auxiliary manager: Ijichi Kiyotaka

Signed and stamped, with Nanami’s even-handed scrawl. A pretty pedestrian initial assignment-- but it was what was annotated on the margins that I was more drawn to.

Cursed spirit still in its infancy, unlikely to have been around for long. Its cursed technique involves the reshaping of a being’s physical shape through manipulation of its soul through contact. Victims die, or remain semi-lucid under the curse’s control. Ieiri-san has confirmed that restoring them via RCT is impossible.

I reread the final line twice. Think back to all the curses I’ve exorcised in the past. Even Rashomon-no-Oni, itself a Special Grade due to its longevity and durability, hadn’t been like… this.

It didn’t kill with claws, or teeth, or flame. It wasn’t some brutish physical force. This was precision in its malevolence. A curse that could reshape someone. Twist the soul to become something else entirely.

It relishes in the growth of its power, similar to the unregistered Special Grades fought by Gojo-san, which have mastered Domain Expansions. It is likely for the Patchwork curse to also reach this stage imminently. Its victim count has already exceeded my estimations.

I swallow, staring down at the page. Despite the warmth that lingered in the fall air, and the temperature control in the school building, I suddenly feel cold. Multiple unregistered Special Grade cursed spirits?

Cursed technique incompatible with efficient exorcism. Requesting prompt backup sorcerer on case before curse awakens into its full potency.

My name on the next line-- I feel a strange sense of pride-- that Nanami would consider recommending me to fight alongside him like this, despite my overwhelming dread as I sit back on my heels, digesting the rest of the report.

A cursed spirit with victims likely in the dozens. Potential for Special Grade. Potential for Domain Expansions.

And Nanami, who’d directly admitted in his report that his CT was a bad matchup against the curse’s, was being sent out alone to reckon with it.

The staff common room is quieter than usual-- what with Gojo off gallivanting again, somewhere-- and the space is empty save for a shock of bleached-blonde hair with the roots showing through.

“Akari-chan!” I interject, my dark mood lifted somewhat.

Over the past few weeks, with the rain, I’d decided to go meditate in the shrine instead-- but even the scent of incense was unable to clear away the worry snaking through my mind-- Nanami’s silence. The report I’d snuck back into Ijichi’s filing cabinet before he realized I saw it. The battle inside myself whether or not to confront someone about it-- but who? Yaga-sensei? Gojo himself? Nanami?

She turns, and her frazzled expression cracks into a grin as well. “Well, look who’s here!”

I don’t bother with formalities-- those are for people who aren’t the woman who’s been my friend since we were fifteen, and who’s the only other final girl of our grade level. Boy bands and trauma prove to be equally potent topics of bonding.

“I needed this pick-me-up after Gakuganji’s been sending me on wild goose chases for the Goodwill Event,” she’d sighed, slumping back in her seat.

“Let me guess, he’s just been spamming, ‘per my last email,’ on you on things completely out of your control?” I ask wryly.

“God, yes,” Akari replies. “Like, we’re feeding a bunch of high schoolers-- who gives a crap if the cooking wine doesn’t come from some specific distillery in Yamanashi?”

Nanami, my brain supplies-- ever the gourmet-- someone who preferred to spend his checks exploring new restaurants and bakeries-- perhaps the only pleasure he’d allowed himself in an otherwise thankless set of occupations.

I stick my hands in my pockets, leaning against her desk. “If you need help printing placemats, or rosters, or something, I’m your gal. They have me doing basically nothing around here. I feel bad.”

“I know,” she says, looking up at me. “I missed you.”

“You too,” I admit. As fun as training Nobara was, I missed being out on assignment. Missed the pseudo-roadtrips Akari-chan and I could embark on, grasping at little slivers of joy in-between missions. Learning to live by shopping sprees and dive bar dinners in between mission briefs.

There’s a lull as we both settle in-- Akari turning her attention back to her email inbox, where another message sits from Principal Gakuganji, God bless, and I see her read the subject line, the sender name, and then shut her eyes to exhale slowly through her nose again.

“So,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder. “You excited to see Arata?”

At the mention of her little brother, she brightens. “Yeah!” she admits. “I haven’t seen him in months. He’s been training like crazy. Keeps texting me stuff like ‘You’re gonna be so proud.’ Like I wouldn’t be even if he gets knocked out by someone in the first five minutes.”

“You think he’ll hold his own?” I ask her.

“I’m not a betting woman,” she says. “But I’m almost kind of nervous, too. He’s just-- so young. He said he’s thinking about transferring to Tokyo in junior year to study healing with Ieiri-san.”

I nodded emphatically. “That’s good, you’ll be able to keep an eye on him then. Can’t believe he’s training at school now. I’ve only met him once, and he was shorter than the cursed doll we used to practice on then.”

“He’s taller now,” she says with a snort. “But yeah, it’s so weird. I used to change his diapers and now he’s coming by for the Goodwill event. Is it just in my nature as his big sister to worry?”

I think of Nanami’s silence. Of the mission notes I wasn’t supposed to find. “I think if there’s someone you care about, it’s only natural you’ll worry about them.”

Akari nods. There’s something almost pensive on her face, as she turns back to her work, keyboard clacking as she types in some kind of reply or another to some request sent over from Kyoto.

Then-- “I’m not like you,” she adds suddenly. “Or Gojo. Or-- or how Daiki was. Or how Arata wants to be. I’ve long since hit my ceiling. I’m just here to drive you guys, and forward over reports and assignments. I can barely fight-- just some basic self defense and hand-to-hand. I’m not a combatant at all.”

“Akari,” I say quietly.

“No, it’s fine.” She waves it off, and continues-- breathlessly, quickly, as if she were fighting to get the words out before she can lose her nerve. “I’m making my peace with it. It’s just hard, sometimes. Watching the people you love grow into things you can’t keep up with.”

“I’m still figuring things out,” I admit. “This new technique. My place in it all. The promotion they’re dangling over my head, like there’s something missing there, that I need to prove before I’m worthy of them. I’ve always been in the jujutsu world, but now it’s different. In a way that scares me, sometimes-- because--”

I falter-- think of the names I carried, and the people I couldn’t save. Think of Nanami even now, sent off to shadow a curse he had no hope of winning against. “--Because it means I might stop being the person I used to be.”

Akari meets my eyes then, and the hesitance is gone-- replaced by that fierce, loyal steadiness I remember from when we were seventeen and dyeing her hair together after-hours.

“You’ll always be you,” she says. “That’s the part that matters.”

The mat thuds under my hands as Kugisaki strikes again, but the blow’s off. Unwieldy. More passion than precision, all raw edges from her cursed energy and a weight that mostly feels like she’s trying to just break down a door. I brace behind the mat, reinforcing the padding with a thin stream of cursed energy that cushions the blow, but also tells me exactly where she’s going wrong.

“You’re smaller than every Jujutsu student with the exception of Nishimiya,” I tell her, playing the role of the unflappable supervisor.

What I don’t show-- what I refuse to show-- is the way the entire Goodwill Exchange event has rattled me.

(The way Gojo had bounced over with a grin promising nothing good, a box propped on a dolly. Casually presenting Itadori, unexpectedly alive and well. Like he hadn’t died. Like Kugisaki and Fushiguro hadn’t mourned him.

And that was even before the collusion between the Kyoto students to kill Itadori again became evident from the strategic formations they took up.

Before a Special Grade curse had made its way onto the arena.

Before the curse users invaded our campus.

Before the veil descended-- calibrated to cursed energy level. A cruel joke-- barring only Gojo and I out, leaving the kids defenseless.)

I straighten out my shoulders, repositioning the mat.

“Stop trying to equate your body weight with your cursed energy-- all your opponents are most likely going to be much larger than you. I want you to put the weight of your cursed energy behind the blow, not your body weight.”

Kugisaki huffs at me, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t get what’s the difference-- and besides, it helps with the cursed energy output for me to put my body weight behind the blow too.”

I am suddenly thrown back to arguing (debating) with Yuki just a few months prior, about things like meditation regimes, my RCT, and staying in long-range fights.

And suddenly, I’m also filled with renewed appreciation for what I put the older woman through.

I nodded. “That’s a fair point, but in combat, if you can learn to separate them, that gives you more versatility in your fighting style. You also won’t have to compensate for being thrown off-balance by the force of your punches.”

She looks at me-- half-skeptical still, but nonetheless shifting back into her ready stance. “Didn’t you mostly do long-range fighting?”

“I’ve diversified my options,” I tell her smoothly. “Let’s try again.”

Barely a month in.

Barely a month in, and we’re holding our first report of a student death.

“Itadori Yuuji is dead,” Gojo tells us in the staff conference room, an uncharacteristic stillness to his person. Roiling with some kind of deep-seated tension, like a rip current.

The words filter through the ringing in my ears.

Potential Special Grade.

Jujutsu High first years.

Fell in action.

Why send them at all? Why hadn’t it been me assigned to the mission brief? Or were the higher-ups going to keep feeding children to the meat grinder? I wear the memories of them

The kid from Kyoto.

Itadori Yuuji.

Oda Daiki, and the rest of the graduates from mine and Akari-chan’s year.

And before that too, Haibara Yu.

I recognize the look in his eyes--

It’s the same one he wore in the months after Haibara died.

Me and my paltry crossbow hadn’t even been in the same galaxy as them, let alone the same orbit.

The two of them had gone out together on a mission, with Haibara promising sweet treats as souvenirs. How could any of us have known? They were no

Only Nanami came back.

And as if overnight, a pit formed.

The way we were all expected to just move on, as if a child hadn’t just died on our watch, and we didn’t have the resources necessary to properly mitigate that risk.

Just like now.

He pauses where he’s halfway to the door. “We always say that,” he replies, softly.

I exhale, and stand up, propping my hands upon the desk. “I know. But it feels worse every time now.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“They’re just kids,” I swallow. I don’t know if I believe him. “You and I both know that if I were just allowed to go out there-- none of this would have happened.”

I wonder at the ache behind my eyes. I wonder at the helpless futility I feel. I wonder at the names and faces I carry with me. I wonder at the power I now hold at my fingertips.

I wonder if that was where it started, for Geto.

I squeeze my eyes shut as his hand presses over mine. “I just wanted to protect them.”

“I’ve been asked to supervise your training,” I say, hiding my nerves under the weight of a calm, placid smile and squared back.

I wonder where he is. Picture him on an international sugar rush, rampaging through the world’s pastry shops and candy stores, before checking in on Okkotsu Yuuta’s progress.

And he’d left them to each other, in the aftermath of their classmate’s death. To Kusakabe-san, to Yaga-sensei, and now… to me. The lab rat who hasn’t seen the outside world in literal ages.

“I guess,” I shrug. “Gojo didn’t give much other instruction, but given that you--” in conjunction with the late Itadori-- “haven’t been involved in the Jujutsu world long, he thought it would be beneficial for me to be a guide.” I offer a handshake.

She takes it without hesitation, all bravado and rough edges. “Well, it probably beats the training Panda and Maki-san’s trying to do to Fushiguro right now.”

I dread to think of what that would be, and hope Megumi isn’t getting bullied too badly.

“I’ll be observing,” I inform her as we pace into the dojo. “Take your spot in the ring.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. Cracks her neck, then her fingers, shifting the weight of her hammer from one hand to another.

“Alright,” I say, opening the crates that are stacked to the wall one by one, letting Yaga-sensei’s cursed corpses rise out of the box.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I miss him.

“Where is he?”

He’d yelped when he saw me, clutching his stacks of files tighter, looking nervously past me as if hoping a divine intervention or Yaga-sensei might rescue him. “If this is about Nanami-san…”

The keyword here being, of course, almost.

Ijichi shifts, trying to press his slipping glasses further up his nose. “I-I really can’t say, miss. It’s classified. Highly classified. I-I mean, above even your clearance…”

My eyes narrow. “You’re dodging the question.”

“I-it’s highly classified information. Please don’t ask me anymore, miss!”

And with that, he turns, scrambling with his folders, and bolting toward the car park like a spooked rabbit.

I exhale and watch him go--

And notice the sheet that slipped, unnoticed by either of us, to land at my feet.

I stoop, pick it up, and immediately recognize Nanami’s terse, neat handwriting.

2018 September

Kanagawa Prefecture, Kawasaki City

Kinema Movie Theatre

After the showing of Human Earthworm 3, the disfigured corpses of three high school students were discovered by cinema staff.

Cause of death: Increased cranial pressure and respiratory paralysis due to cranial deformity.

Assigned sorcerer: Nanami Kento

Assigned auxiliary manager: Ijichi Kiyotaka

Signed and stamped, with Nanami’s even-handed scrawl. A pretty pedestrian initial assignment-- but it was what was annotated on the margins that I was more drawn to.

I reread the final line twice. Think back to all the curses I’ve exorcised in the past. Even Rashomon-no-Oni, itself a Special Grade due to its longevity and durability, hadn’t been like… this.

Cursed technique incompatible with efficient exorcism. Requesting prompt backup sorcerer on case before curse awakens into its full potency.

A cursed spirit with victims likely in the dozens. Potential for Special Grade. Potential for Domain Expansions.

And Nanami, who’d directly admitted in his report that his CT was a bad matchup against the curse’s, was being sent out alone to reckon with it.

The staff common room is quieter than usual-- what with Gojo off gallivanting again, somewhere-- and the space is empty save for a shock of bleached-blonde hair with the roots showing through.

“Akari-chan!” I interject, my dark mood lifted somewhat.

She turns, and her frazzled expression cracks into a grin as well. “Well, look who’s here!”

“I needed this pick-me-up after Gakuganji’s been sending me on wild goose chases for the Goodwill Event,” she’d sighed, slumping back in her seat.

“Let me guess, he’s just been spamming, ‘per my last email,’ on you on things completely out of your control?” I ask wryly.

“God, yes,” Akari replies. “Like, we’re feeding a bunch of high schoolers-- who gives a crap if the cooking wine doesn’t come from some specific distillery in Yamanashi?”

“I know,” she says, looking up at me. “I missed you.”

“So,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder. “You excited to see Arata?”

“You think he’ll hold his own?” I ask her.

I think of Nanami’s silence. Of the mission notes I wasn’t supposed to find. “I think if there’s someone you care about, it’s only natural you’ll worry about them.”

Akari nods. There’s something almost pensive on her face, as she turns back to her work, keyboard clacking as she types in some kind of reply or another to some request sent over from Kyoto.

“Akari,” I say quietly.

Akari meets my eyes then, and the hesitance is gone-- replaced by that fierce, loyal steadiness I remember from when we were seventeen and dyeing her hair together after-hours.

“You’ll always be you,” she says. “That’s the part that matters.”

“You’re smaller than every Jujutsu student with the exception of Nishimiya,” I tell her, playing the role of the unflappable supervisor.

What I don’t show-- what I refuse to show-- is the way the entire Goodwill Exchange event has rattled me.

And that was even before the collusion between the Kyoto students to kill Itadori again became evident from the strategic formations they took up.

Before a Special Grade curse had made its way onto the arena.

Before the curse users invaded our campus.

Before the veil descended-- calibrated to cursed energy level. A cruel joke-- barring only Gojo and I out, leaving the kids defenseless.)

I straighten out my shoulders, repositioning the mat.

Kugisaki huffs at me, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t get what’s the difference-- and besides, it helps with the cursed energy output for me to put my body weight behind the blow too.”

I am suddenly thrown back to arguing (debating) with Yuki just a few months prior, about things like meditation regimes, my RCT, and staying in long-range fights.

And suddenly, I’m also filled with renewed appreciation for what I put the older woman through.

She looks at me-- half-skeptical still, but nonetheless shifting back into her ready stance. “Didn’t you mostly do long-range fighting?”

“I’ve diversified my options,” I tell her smoothly. “Let’s try again.”

#fics by mierin #fic: we rot in this oven #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader

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himluv · 11 days ago

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Rook Appreciation Week, Day 1 – "Maps"

Here is my contribution to the first day of Rook Appreciation Week! Today's prompt was for the Aldwirs, and I was inspired by the idea of "Maps" and what that meant for Embria. Big thanks to @rookappreciationweek for running this event!

So, here. Please enjoy my first ever attempt at writing from my girl's perspective, and how she met Varric!

The map. She’d lost the damn map! And, yes, she’d saved people – including her fellow Veil Jumpers – but that map had been critical to their recent progress through Arlathan. And Strife hadn’t finished making a copy of it yet.

He was going to kill her.

“Hey, kid!”

Embria turned to look at the dwarf approaching her. He was older, just beginning to go gray, with a full bead and a wicked set of scars crossing over his right eye. Even with all these differences, she still recognized him from his author portraits.

“Varric Tethras,” he said, offering her his hand. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

She shook it, still more than a little confused at what Thedas’s most popular author was doing in Arlathan Forest. “Embria,” she said. “And… no problem.”

He grunted, then nodded and gestured behind him at the red-headed dwarf following him. “My associate, Scout Harding.”

She smiled at Embria. “Lace Harding,” she said. “I’m not officially a scout anymore.”

Varric frowned. “Says who?”

Harding snorted. “The Inquisitor?” She smirked at Embria. “Pretty tough to scout for an organization that no longer exists.”

Embria glanced between them. “And yet, it seems like you two manage well enough.”

Varric chuckled. “You’re quick.”

Embria shrugged. “What else would bring you to Arlathan but business for the Inquisition?”

The dwarves glanced at each other. “You mean, you don’t get a lot of tourists?” Varric asked.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Not this time of year.”

That made him laugh, and Harding gave him a look Embria couldn’t quite interpret. Like she thought the older dwarf was plotting something – and not just his next novel. But, there was no time for speculation. Embria needed to get her team, and these people she’d rescued, to safety.

The path through the forest had more than a few demons. The Fade bubble that had swallowed the ruin had left the surrounding forest in turmoil. But, her team handled it, along with support from the rescued Veil Jumpers and Varric’s and Harding’s bows.

Still, only once their group reached her team’s camp did Embria breathe easy. They weren’t outfitted for such large party, but at least they had food and shelter. At least they weren’t in a demon-infested, crumbling ruin that got sucked into a Fade bubble. There were worse ends to this day, and they’d managed to avoid them.

She settled down onto a log by the fire pit and sighed. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it,” Varric said. He sat beside her, slinging his crossbow onto his lap. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“At least it’s over,” she said. “I can figure out what to tell Strife between now and tomorrow.”

“What’s to tell?” He asked. “There was trouble. You and your team saved the day.”

“And lost a very important map in the process,” she said. She stared into the newly lit fire and tried not to imagine Strife’s face when she told him.

“Ah,” Varric said, then shook his head. “Shit happens, Rook. No point beating yourself up over it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

She snorted. “Rook?” Was he… giving her a nickname?

“Seemed like a good fit.” He shrugged. “We’ll see if it sticks.”

Embria didn’t disagree. And she knew from reading his book about the Inquisition that assigning people nicknames was just something Varric did. She wasn’t going to complain – in fact, she was honored, pleased even.

“See?” Varric said, holstering the crossbow as he stood. “You’re feeling better already.” He pat her shoulder fondly. “Things with Strife will workout just fine.”

Then he walked off, probably in search of Harding.

****

Things with Strife did not work out just fine.

“You lost the map?!” Strife didn’t yell often – he was more the quiet, but lethal type – but when he did? The whole camp stopped to listen.

Embria winced. “Yes,” she said. “We found the ruin, but the artifact had destabilized the veil. There were demons and–”

“–And you just had to rush in and stage a rescue,” he said. It should have sounded like a good thing. And yet… It didn’t. “You don’t think, Aldwir.” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I knew you weren’t ready to lead a team.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Varric said. He stepped up beside Embria, smiling at Strife.

“Varric?”

“She did a damn fine job of saving our asses.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s much appreciated.”

Strife’s frown deepened. “Saving your asses wasn’t the job,” he said. He glared at Embria. “It was to recover the artifact and bring it back – safely.”

Embria bristled at that, shaking off Varric’s hand. “The artifact was swarming in demons! Varric and some of our people were trapped because of it!”

“And of course, you couldn’t help yourself,” Strife said. “You just had to save the day.”

“Of course!” She was shouting now, and it seemed like the whole camp had crowded around to listen in. It was always like this between her and Strife. They were too similar, both too stubborn. Neither of them ever knew when to back down.

“People matter right now, Strife!” She said. “Recovering the past can’t be more important than that. If it is…” she shook her head. “Then what’s the point?”

Varric grunted beside her. “Hard to argue with that, Strife.”

The elf glared at Varric. “What are you doing here, Varric?”

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Chasing leads, running in circles, always two steps behind. The usual.”

Strife sighed and then glared at Embria. “Get out of my sight, Aldwir. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve had some sense pounded into that thick skull.”

She was the one with the thick skull? Embria clenched her fists and her jaw, lightning crackling around her hands.

“Hey, now,” Varric said, stepping between her and Strife. “You both need to cool it.” He looked at her for a beat too long, as if deciding something, then he turned to Strife. “The kid can come with me.”

“What?!” She and Strife both shouted.

Varric chuckled. “See, I knew I could get you two to agree on something.” He glanced between them. “Think about it,” he said. “You two obviously need a break, and I’ve got a job that could use a quick-thinker. Someone who puts the present before the past.” He gave Strife a meaningful look that Embria couldn’t parse. “What do you say?”

Strife watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Go with him, Aldwir.”

She blinked at him. “You’re sending me away?”

Strife grimaced. “Maybe he can teach you patience,” he said. “Ancestors know, I can’t.”

Embria blinked back an unexpected rush of angry tears.

Varric gave her shoulder a gentle shove. “Go get your things,” he said. “We don’t stay anywhere long, so pack light.”

Embria glared past the dwarf at Strife, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She sniffled, wiped at her face and cleared her throat. “Not a problem,” she said. “I never stay anywhere long, either.”

The muscle in Strife’s jaw fluttered, and that was good enough for Embria. He knew her story. He knew what she meant and now he knew just how badly he had hurt her. Let him sit with that while she was gone.

She hurried to her tent, the one she was supposed to have shared with Erewhen. Now, she and Bellara split it down the middle. It was better for them both not to sleep alone these days.

“Embria?” Bellara asked when she stormed into the tent. “What’s going on? I heard Strife shouting.”

She shook her head. “I’m going away for a while, Bel.”

“Oh,” her friend said. “Okay.”

Embria shoved some clothes in her satchel, along with her emergency stash of halla jerky.

“Oh,” Bellara said again. “So, it’s a long trip, then?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Strife’s sending me away with Varric Tethras.”

“Varric Tethras?” Bellara frowned. “The author?”

“Yeah.” She slung her pack over her shoulder. “Apparently he’s doing something for the Inquisitor and since Strife is being an asshole again–”

”–Embria.”

She took a deep breath, let it out slow. “It’s fine,” she said. “Maybe it’ll be good for me. Get out of Arlathan. See the sights.”

Bellara stood. “Yeah!” She smiled. “Not like traveling with the Varric Tethras will be boring.”

Embria smirked. “Based on his books? Not likely.”

Bellara frowned, wringing her hands. “Just… be careful. Okay?” She bit her lip. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“Hey.” Embria went to her friend and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “I’ll come back,” she said. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

She held Bellara at arm’s length, looked her in the eye. “You have to be careful, too.”

“Right.” She nodded. “I will!”

They hugged one more time, then Embria ducked out of the tent and toward where Varric and Harding stood at the edge of camp.

“All set?” Harding asked. Her smile was bright and true. Welcoming. Embria couldn’t fathom how anyone might not like Lace Harding.

“Ready,” she said. She waited until they’d walked a ways from the camp before she asked the question bouncing around her mind. “So, what’s this job?”

Ahead of her, Harding and Varric shared a look.

“What do you know about the Dread Wolf, Rook?” Apparently the nickname was sticking after all.

She frowned. “Just what every Dalish knows now, thanks to the Inquisitor.” She paused, then sighed. “But, I’m guessing you don’t just mean the legends. You mean the man. Solas.”

Varric chuckled and elbowed Harding. “See? I told you she’d figure it out.”

Harding rolled her eyes.

“That’s the job, isn’t it?” Embria asked. “Hunting down the Dread Wolf for Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“Solas wants to restore the world to what it was in his time. The time of the ancient elven empire.”

“By bringing down the veil?” She asked.

Harding scowled back at Embria. “And burning down our world in the process.”

“Not to mention flooding it with demons,” Varric said.

“So…” she looked between them. “What’s the plan?”

For a long moment, there was quiet. Long enough for Embria to understand there was no plan. They were flying by the seat of Varric’s pants.

“We have to stop him,” Harding said.

Varric sighed, but nodded. “Whatever it takes.” He looked back at Embria. “You read any of my books, kid?”

“Just the one about the Inquisitor.”

“Well,” he chuckled, and it was not a happy sound. “Then you know heroes don’t usually get happy endings.” He met her gaze and pinned her with the sincerity in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to come with us?”

Embria wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. But, she’d joined the Veil jumpers to help people. Normal, everyday people. There’d be no people to help if the Dread Wolf had his way.

She nodded and gripped the strap of her satchel in one fist. “I’m with you,” she said. She glanced at Harding, then back to Varric and nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

#rookweek25 #rook aldwir #veil jumpers #veil jumper rook #embria aldwir #varric tethras #lace harding #strife dragon age #bellara lutare #this was a ton of fun to write #i hope y'all like it :)#arlathan forest

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queereads-bracket · 19 days ago

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Queer Historical Fiction Book Bracket: Round 1B

Book summaries below:

Cantoras by Carolina De Robertis

From the highly acclaimed, award-winning author of The Gods of Tango, a revolutionary new novel about five wildly different women who, in the midst of the Uruguayan dictatorship, find one another as lovers, friends, and ultimately, family.

In 1977 Uruguay, a military government crushed political dissent with ruthless force. In this environment, where the everyday rights of people are under attack, homosexuality is a dangerous transgression to be punished. And yet Romina, Flaca, Anita "La Venus," Paz, and Malena—five cantoras, women who "sing"—somehow, miraculously, find one another. Together, they discover an isolated, nearly uninhabited cape, Cabo Polonio, which they claim as their secret sanctuary. Over the next thirty-five years, their lives move back and forth between Cabo Polonio and Montevideo, the city they call home, as they return, sometimes together, sometimes in pairs, with lovers in tow, or alone. And throughout, again and again, the women will be tested—by their families, lovers, society, and one another—as they fight to live authentic lives.

A genre-defining novel and De Robertis's masterpiece, Cantoras is a breathtaking portrait of queer love, community, forgotten history, and the strength of the human spirit. At once timeless and groundbreaking, Cantoras is a tale about the fire in all our souls and those who make it burn.

Setting: Uruguay, 1977 through modern day

Historical fiction, literary fiction, 1970s, adult

The Woods All Black by Lee Mandelo

Leslie Bruin is assigned to the backwoods township of Spar Creek by the Frontier Nursing Service, under its usual mandate: vaccinate the flock, birth babies, and weather the judgements of churchy locals who look at him and see a failed woman. Forged in the fires of the Western Front and reborn in the cafes of Paris, Leslie believes he can handle whatever is thrown at him—but Spar Creek holds a darkness beyond his nightmares.

Something ugly festers within the local congregation, and its malice has focused on a young person they insist is an unruly tomboy who must be brought to heel. Violence is bubbling when Leslie arrives, ready to spill over, and he'll have to act fast if he intends to be of use. But the hills enfolding Spar Creek have a mind of their own, and the woods are haunted in ways Leslie does not understand.

The Woods All Black is a story of passion, prejudice, and power — an Appalachian period piece that explores reproductive justice and bodily autonomy, the terrors of small-town religiosity, and the necessity of fighting tooth and claw to live as who you truly are.

Setting: 1920s Appalachia

Historical fiction, horror, religious horror, 1920s, novella, adult

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hephaestiions · 1 year ago

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author reclist: toomuchplor

a few months ago, when i was coming back to fandom in earnest, i came across this post from @sitp-recs. explorations of faith, divinity and worship are some of the tropes i find most furiously compelling, so i had to jump into o come, all ye faithful as soon as possible. i did, only to fall headfirst in obsessive, wide-eyed, awe-inspired love. @toomuchplor writes a desire that's both slow and heady, relentless and gentle, all-consuming and a rest stop to breathe easy. i couldn't help but read through (most of) their catalogue in a matter of days. this author's thematic range is astonishing, their characterisations lead to delicious stories where two headstrong, wilful and perennially longing men crash, fumble and rush into achingly sweet love and burning lust.

what always spools me in with plor, though, is their use of circumstance, especially in longer fics. every fic has a premise iron-clad in its fascinating, inventive, raw and exciting potential. more often than not, i've found them doing something i haven't encountered before in fandom at all, or reworking a popular trope in ways that make you go, 'oh. oh, i never thought about that happening, how did i never think of that happening?'

i've loved everything i've read from them, but here's a selection of some of my absolute favourites that i'll be going back to, over and over:

i've got a beautiful feeling (everything's going my way) (E, 3.5k)

“I’ve got such a boner,” Harry says, voice scratchy, just slitting his eyes open now, turning his head on his pillow to face Draco. “Oh, lovely, good morning to you, too,” Draco says.

a slice of life like the plush inside of a ripe mango— a love that's mature, constant, beating like a strong heart. the filthy, hilarious, gorgeous portrait of harry and draco's married life— the familiarity of sex, the rush of wanting each other as much as ever.

o come, all ye faithful & all the angels cry amen (E, ~22k total)

In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.

an achingly tender rumination on faith as love, and love as worship. one of the most heartbreaking and realistic depictions of the reckoning it would take for harry potter to accept he has found refuge and rest in draco malfoy's arms. i loved the non-chronological, dual timeline storytelling— that particular form works so well when there's a taut, twinging thread holding both narratives together, and harry and draco's gravitational attraction to each other, fraught in parts and at peace in others was the perfect anchor.

time and too much don't belong together (E, 23k)

A Malfoy family heirloom gets triggered in a raid, binding Draco Malfoy to Ron Weasley; neither of them is too chuffed about this.

a masterclass in revelations. the reader can tell, from the outset, there's more here than meets the eye. the reader can also guess, from the beginning, what the dynamic in the shadows is. tense and breathtaking writing, you know what's coming, but every time you're fed a morsel you cling to it with both hands. one of the most inventive takes i've seen on the lust potion/spell trope in this fandom, and done in a way that makes you want to see it over and over and over again.

polar night/midnight sun (E, 54k)

Harry travels to arctic Norway on the trail of dragon egg poachers, only to find he's been assigned to work alongside the only NorMagPol Auror north of sixty: one Draco Malfoy. It's been ten years since they crossed paths, and Malfoy isn't exactly what Harry expected or remembered. For one thing, he wears a lot more hand-knits? When a sudden winter storm strands the pair, unable to use magic to rescue themselves, they take shelter in a one-room Norwegian hytte.

exquisitely atmospheric. uses extenuating circumstances in some of the most delicious ways. builds character and interpersonal dynamics through those small little elements of storytelling (draco in knitwear! brynjar the dog! the mundane pillowtalk! the quirks of their miscommunication!) that go the longest way in having characters leap off the screen into your personal space. also the sex in this is absolutely mind-blowing, i was hooked on every glorious word.

truth to materials (co-written by lately) (E, 58k)

In which Harry learns to appreciate art and other pleasures of the flesh.

decadent. in premise, in language, in characterisation, just absolutely decadent. this version of harry, bewildered and captivated by draco's out-there artistry is one of the funniest and most endearing i've encountered in fic, ever. his head, so full of determination and good intentions and terribly flawed and completely believable thinking, was such a brilliant place to set this fic. and draco— lord. you know that moment of transition, that click, when a piece of art goes from something untouchable and distant to a soulful thing you keep close because you recognise it as a cultural, emotional response? this fic felt like a literary project trying to capture that click, except it's a shift in perspective about a person. draco— the cool, untouchable, subversive artist who becomes irrevocably, warmly, achingly human.

probationary action (E, 63k)

As part of the terms of the probationary contract, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY shall submit for inspection his WAND on the last day of every month, such inspection to be carried out by a duly registered and fully qualified AUROR in the employ of the MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and such inspection to include a PRIORI INCANTATEM spell to ensure that no PROHIBITED MAGICS as heretofore described have been practised by the aforementioned probationer.

*incoherent screaming*. a fic that starts with a premise so lighthearted and filthy that you think it's going to be a long, kinky fic about two rather hilariously perverted men getting it on, except it also gets into some of the most resonant discussions of post-war revenge tactics and human rights neglect i've ever read. the dynamic between harry and draco is simultaneously so light and so weighted, this is a fic that holds you down and keeps you there till you're done.

in conclusion: an entrancing author, a gift of a writer. i can't wait to see what else they have in store for this fandom.

#drarry #drarry fic rec #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #geets recs #hpdm fanfic #hpdm #draco x harry #toomuchplor #haven't stopped thinking about this author since i first read them #so i thought i'd do something with that #also WHY has tumblr ruined the quality of my header #i am not a reccer forgive me the fact that i have no clue how to rec #i tried

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yuurei20 · 1 year ago

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Crowley Facts Part 8 of 21: Portraits, Random Selection and More

We learn in the Prologue that the portraits around the school can speak, which makes Crowley's devotion to the portraits of the Great Seven very interesting:

Crowley says he dusts their frames every day as a sign of respect, and, "the portrays are all so chatty that sometimes I get carried away conversing with them and forget to work."

Crewel says, "I wouldn't put much stock in what the paintings around campus say. Some of them purposely try to mislead unsuspecting students."

Ortho hacks into the school's security system (and attempts to vaporize the main building) during Phantom Bride.

Idia calls Crowley via a number he should not know to let him know that he remotely accessed his email to contact the press on his behalf during Wish Upon a Star.

According to Leona transformation potions are forbidden, making it interesting that Crowley has one on hand in the prologue.

Azul, Jade and Floyd all have access to them, however, with Riddle explaining that they require government authorization and specialist supervision ("licensed pharmacists are the only ones who can formulate them") so it is not impossible that Crowley, too, carries them legally.

(But as he does not seem to be a mermaid, as far as we know, it makes one wonder why.)

Crowley uses a "magical raffle box" to select the participants for Glorious Masquerade, but Idia seems suspicious of how "random" the process supposedly is, saying, "How do three housewardens just 'coincidentally' get drawn in a raffle? I'm telling you guys, that box is rigged."

Crowley says that the Starsending participants were selected "via astrology" with roles assigned by birthdate, but Trey is suspicious, saying, "You don't think (the headmage) was lying about that, do you?"

#twstfacts #twstcrowley #Dire Crowley #twisted wonderland #crowleyfacts

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ladystoneboobs · 2 years ago

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@sunflowersansa, #catelyn was raised to be hosters successor for almost a decade wasnt she?

the annoying thing is we don't have an approximate age for edmure, nor any age for cat when minisa died (in childbirth with a last, stillborn son, not edmure). i've seen fanart depicting him as anywhere from a toddler to a younger teen/tween when catelyn and lysa were teenagers. but i feel pretty confident in my estimation of ~7/8yrs age difference between eldest sister and baby brother, and not just bc of symmetry with the next generation. my reasoning is thus:

we all assume catelyn had some grooming as an heiress, rather than it just being a nominal status in early childhood. how much training can one really give a 3 or 4yo, y'know? we know rickon never had any manly lord lessons from ned since he was still so young when they parted. if she was closer to 7 or 8 when edmure came along, that leaves more realistic time for education, and a sizable number of years with only daughters for hoster to try to accustom himself to lack of a son and make do accordingly. even only 1 or 2 years of rulership lessons would still matter when minisa's death left hoster more dependent on her as not just hostess but later a trusted confidant of a sort until she got married.

ned thinks of edmure as "the boy" in his pov when hearing of the mountain's first attacks in the riverlands. we know ned's not great with keeping up with ageing from his earlier comments about tommen, and he surely hasn't seen edmure in many years, but this tells me that when they did meet at riverrun, edmure was not that close in age to himself, catelyn, and lysa. (i think it's less likely to see someone as frozen in childhood if they're anywhere near your age cohort.) ned could still be wrong about edmure's age thinking he couldn't possibly be at least 25 and any green knight younger than that was still a boy or youth, but that miscalculation makes more sense to me if he was around ~26 rather than a fellow thirtysomething or a guy pushing thirty.

we also know that edmure acted as brandon's squire in his duel with littlefinger, which i read as more someone playacting at some squirely practice when not yet consideed old enough to be anyone's assigned squire, with the informal nature of the duel which meant lightly-armored littlefinger having no squire of his own, and brandon having an actual squire who likely could have been present. so that lines up with a ~10yo edmure to 15yo littlefinger, 16yo lysa, 18yo catelyn, and 20yo brandon. (this is admittedly the most subjective point and i wouldn't consider it strong evidence if not consistent with the rest.)

catelyn doubted her memories of her mother, including her appearence, which in this world strangely devoid of portraits, still makes me think she was quite young when they lost her. so, yeah, not a large gap between edmure's birth and minisa's death in her next childbirth. if catelyn was 8/9 or even 10 when her mother died and she became de facto lady of riverrun, that could line up with the lannister twins losing their mother at 7 and not having strong memories of joanna.

idt catelyn really did think of riverrun as her birthright when her brief time as conscious heiress was a small fraction of her life, with at least 6yrs knowing she'd move away to be lady (consort) of winterfell instead and the rest of her life living out that responsibility as northern wife and mother. but it must still sting to be used to such a position of importance in her earlier time in riverrun and have no real authority when she returned to live there again as an adult, especially when edmure still seemed to act (to her) like the baby of the family not entirely matured into the authority he held all for himself. there's a part in her time in renly's camp when she thought robb was years younger but still knew what he was doing more than the southern king and his knights of summer playing at war. i'd imagine a simaliar feeling whenever edmure annoyed her. that's another difference between robb and edmure, that robb was a dutiful eldest sibling like his mother, formerly catelyn's baby but never anyone's baby brother. while edmure, even if he was (my by headcanon) a few years older than renly and unlike renly was meant to be a male heir from birth, was still a youngest child of 3 like renly.

#sunflowersansa #valyrianscrolls #catelyn tully #catelyn stark #edmure tully #minisa tully #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #one fish two fish red fish blue fish #like hmmm i think its often taken for granted that catelyn dosent question or resent patriarchical limitations #but imo its more shes had to pick her battles and make do with things in her life she could not change #she is diff from cersei in that respect trying to be pragmatic not stewing in what could be hers as an eldest sib if not for being born f #or if all westeros had genderblind primogeniture like dorne #but we do see that questioning and unhappiness w her lot grow as her sl shows the limits of ladlylike 'soft power'#unofficial influence on male relatives only works so long as theyre willing to listen #and that lack of power was even present w ned fucking scaring her into not asking qs abt jon #but im not touching that can of worms #(c)lsb #spare me the sermon septa

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deathcupcake · 7 months ago

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DATV Characters and (mostly) Niche Perfumes

I have a long daily commute which gives me a lot of time to think (when I'm not reading, that is). I love perfume. I am currently all about Veilguard. Ergo, I'm making some of my hobbies collide. Please indulge me.

Methodology is fairly simple:

I must own a full size or a tester of the perfume, therefore am very familiar with it, and

Going with my gut feeling and ignoring whatever the creator/house says the scent evokes

Obviously, this is only my interpretation, either from playing the game or the head canons I have created for my own Rooks. But I'd be really interested in whether others have also thought about this (I'm thinking this is way too niche - no pun intended - but still).

Rook

F!Rook | Frederic Malle - Carnal Flower M!Rook | Carine Roitfeld - Kar-Wai N/B!Rook | Fugazzi - Orange Crush

Companions

Other Major Characters

And the rest (I haven't yet found a scent that fits the following)

Ghilan'nain Antoine Evka Solas Varric (maybe Kouros) Morrigan Irelin Illario (I really want to assign him something really loud and obnoxious like an Axe or Drakkar Noir or Kouros, but I don't own the first two and I refuse to associate Illario with a scent I remember fondly haha) Caterina Asher/The Viper Tarquin

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #da:v #niche perfume #things no one cares about #amusing myself over here #dragon age personal

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colorfulandblack · 2 years ago

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Marion's Starburst Scar is Not a Bleed Scar and Also the Case of the Missing Soul

Here's some theories and thoughts so buckle up

So, ok let me begin with comparing the scars and reviewing what we know about them.

A person gets a scar whenever they receive 4 marks in either body, brain or bleed. This also changes one's character.

We saw Howard's scar, might I add self inflicted, then Charlotte's scar and we saw how the fact that they got them changed their personalities ever so slightly but also what's notable is the difference of the body/brain scar to bleed one. Howard performed a tracheotomy on himself and Charlie arm is rendered useless.

However, Arlo Black, who entered the latest assignment with already one bleed scar which was a result of her sticking her hand into a portal and being exposed to the Flare. Because of this her next bleed scar expanded beyond her hand onto her side of the face and heightened her abilities as an ocultist. Whenever she is exposed to bleed she feels it in her hand.

Sound familiar, doesn't it?

Marion also entered the assignment with a scar. However it was never specified how he got it and which sort is it. Seems pretty certain it is a bleed scar but hear me out cos that's not necessarily the case in my opinion.

Based on previous observations (especially Arlo and the fact that they are both under Weird category) and the fact that the scar seems to soak on the bleed as the blue veins show a bit more each time Marion uses his abilities much like Arlos points to it being a bleed scar. And the fact that after receiving a (second?) bleed scar it expanded up his neck.

But what drives me insane is why the hell is it starburst shaped? How the fuck would that manifest as a sign of bleed or be an indicator that he was exposed to the bleed? Arlo's scar makes sense because her hand was exposed to another dimension/plane.

What if Marion's first scar was a result of body marks?

First of all the fact that it's starburst shaped, for me immediately brings an image of an explosive. Which makes sense as Marion was a soldier and mortars were flying left and right on the battlefield.

It is also not specified when his premotions manifested in terms of had he already have the scar or not? See it is possible that once he started getting those premotions he maxed out on bleed scars pretty quickly. But his abilities are not inherently a sign or result of bleed. He soaks up other people's marks and given the fact he saved Sean and Nathaniel probably several times his tally for body must have been full. They had not encountered bleed during the war!

Again because of the shape of his scar I imagine that it is possible that the last mark he took was a body from a bomb going off. Now that wouldn't just leave a scar, that just puts you in the ground.

Now this is when it gets interesting both based on facts and on my headcanons.

Have you noticed how Marion's "Medium" underneath his portrait looks like a toetag?

I mean it could be just a little note thingy that you attach to gifts or use as a bookmark as a stylistic/aesthetic choice but if the fact that Luis names his character Marion Collodi like the author of Pinocchio who's a MARIONette and sings how he doesn't have any strings left (while Spencer graphically described the Eldrich terror reaching for their soul strings and finding nothing) taught me anything is that NOTHING is random here.

So, here's the thing. Marion dies. Marion dies in an explosion. He dies because he soaked up that last body only it wasn't just a body mark. It was entire fucking life. His scar is a result of body marks being full.

And because it was an entire fucking life his starburst scar becomes the centre of the bleeds that starts to enter his life well before Candela. Because this life that he exchanged was a result of some powerful magik that in the world of Newfaire ways manifests in the form of bleed and therefore marked this spot as it's home and now whenever Marion uses his abilities the scar pulsates and grows.

That is also a reason WHY he hasn't got a soul, because he exchanged it, saving someone's life. I like to imagine it was Sean and they are literally soulmates, two people, one soul. I mean I don't know if their relationship will play out more romantically or platonically/brotherly but they do have an insane bond together and it would make more sense, based on the conversation between Marion and Sean in the metro tunnels alone that they would fight alongside more often that they would alongside (literally in close proximity) Nathaniel. Sean said that Marion would often call the shots, how to maneuver the battlefield and Nathaniel being the lieutenant would put him in more commanding position. I just don't imagine he would tag along Sean and Marion having entire troup to command.

Either way bleed has already entered Marion's body/soul before Candela or any previous contant with bleed and marked him and that's why the thing said that he's a perfect vessel already prepared for whatever evil plan the monster have.

This of course DOES NOT explain the definitely DELIBERATE choice on Luis part of naming his character Marion Collodi, as elaborated above and what the fuck does it mean but perhaps we will learn about it later on.

Or perhaps because Marion is a vessel, because he exchanged his soul for other person's life he will become possessed and become a plaything, a mariontte to some Eldrich terror puppetier. Like some sort of cruel cosmic joke that prays and exploits Marion's heart of gold and innate inability to take care of himself and just soaking those marks left and right.

#shit thats a loooonngg rant #sorry about that #just have a lot of feeling about this #none of my friends watch candela and i have noone to talk to #candela obscura #critical role #candela spoilers? its been long since chapter 1 but ig #candela spoilers #marion collodi #luis carazo #needle and thread #sean finnerty #brennan lee mulligan #spencer starke #nathaniel trapp #travis willingham

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 4 months ago

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I read about your perfume ask and I thought, “oh wow that’s super cool,” and also “oh thank god maybe I won’t have to guess wtf my OCs smell like anymore 🙃”

So, if you have time, can you pls assign the main 4 some scents?

@3-2-whump

Not only do I have the time, I've had these locked and loaded, and was waiting for you to ask (and I was gonna send it in case you missed the game)

Here is the whole cast of Eternal and North Star, please enjoy, I hope I got these right!

Tom (<3) - Kutay by Unique'e Luxury

Okay, so I have a sample of a UL scent, that I am in love with, it's rich and simple and it smells like honey and tobacco, and if I hadn't assigned it to one of my DnD characters, it would be his.

So I stayed with the same brand, and picked this, because of the whiskey and tobacco notes (I know I asked this during the OC takeover, but I don't remember if he actually likes/drinks whiskey, but he does have the vibe of it)

It also has caramel and vanilla, because he's such a sweet guy these two make the other notes smoother, and not overpower them, and I think he does kinda have that sort of silver lining on his personality

There are also some fresh citrus notes (lemon and bergamot) that make it slightly fruity gay fresh, and there's also some sandalwood and agarwood in it that make it masculine and classy.

Khaled with Tom - Colognise by Nishane

I chose this one because the chapter The Scent of Jasmine lives in my head rent free, and this is a Jasmine scent, with green tea (I would've preferred to find something with black tea or chai-like spices, but there wasn't anything with that and jasmine)

and some citrus notes, lemon and bergamot that match with Tom (and I feel like a genius for that), grapefruit as well, lily-of-the-valley and neroli for some nice flower scents, and musk and vetiver as base, which is very a very nice, masculine scent.

Julio - Smoking Hot by Kilian

Do I need to explain? Because the name says it all... But I will explain, because that's why we're here!

The main notes are apple, cinnamon and smoke, I don't want to pick these apart because I was looking for the vibe together, the smoke note was important to me to appear here, because I think he does smell like smoke, maybe from the repair shop, maybe from firing guns at evil bastards...

There is also some tobacco and vanilla here, that are great additions to the previous soft/sweet apple and cinnamon + harsh smoke scents, and there are also some chemical notes, which make me think of repairing cars.

Nico - Armani Code Sport by Giorgio Armani

I wanted something very classic for Nico and also Italian to honor his familial ties with the mafia, but it had to be something fresher, and with a twist to make it his, so this something old+something new gave me this idea, it's a version of Armani's Code, that's a very classic, fancy and elegant scent. It has all the light fruity-minty good stuff in it.

free Khaled - Portrait - Revival by Afnan

The name fits the recovery arc so well!!!!! But also the scents are all things I kinda associate with him. There are some lovely sweet notes in here, like caramel, dark chocolate, honey, praline and dates, especially the dates I think he'd like, or remind him of his childhood. There are some stronger spices, like saffron, incense and cinnamon too. And to make it more sophisticated and masculine there's oak and sandalwood, that sound really good here. (The sandalwood, though it's a very versatile scent matches with Tom again, for the trauma he left Khaled with I guess) (or maybe in remembrance of the *not too bad things* Tom was/did)

Cade - A City on Fire by Imaginary Authors

Okay, so he gets this because this is my favourite scent, and though we don't know him too well yet, I think he'd vibe with this one.

It mainly smells like smoke and juniper, that I think does have a really cool pagan vibe, and I think the other flowers, cardamom and wild berries that pop up in there from time to time (you really have to focus to smell it, but it's there) are a good match with him.

Eric - DGAF by BORNTOSTANDOUT

I chose this mostly based on the name, I was looking through a catalogue of Korean brands, and this was like a perfect match to whatxfwe already know about him. I was focusing on *twitch streamer with bleached hair* and hopefully got that right, this one is really fresh, citrusy with sage and some flowers, but it also has peppers and sandalwood in it. And the base is amber and tonka beans with cashmeran and musk, which just sounds like a dream, honestly.

Vik - Oudh Al Junaid by Junaid Jamshed

Honestly, Vik seems like the most mature and well-adjusted person in the whole cast, or at least to me he does feel like that, so I chose this scent for him based on that, it's leathery and woody (agarwood) with a lemon note for the adventurousness (taking in Khaled) and musk for well... idk it's just a good base for anything. I like Vik a lot <33

#elias answers #others' ocs #ask game #whump community #oc whump

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alliluyevas · 11 months ago

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re: last night's discussion of classic lit/assigned readings/Reading Faulkner...I do want to read Absalom, Absalom sometime in the near future but I am also interested in reading some critical analysis on Faulkner's work. I obviously have my own thoughts but there's also been a ton of really interesting scholarship including a few books I've flagged for myself that sound really promising. For instance:

Faulkner, Mississippi by Edouard Glissant

In 1989, while teaching literature in Louisiana, the Caribbean writer Edouard Glissant visited Rowan Oak, William Faulkner's home in Oxford, Mississippi. His visit spurred him to an original and powerful reappraisal of Faulkner's work. Like Faulkner's literary descendants in the United States, Glissant is fascinated by the stories of Yoknapatawpha County and disturbed by the author's equivocations about the racism there. Glissant, however, stands in a distinctive relation to Faulkner and his county: as a black Martinican, he is descended from slaves; as a native French speaker, he first encountered the great novelist's work in translation. Faulkner, Mississippi is a distinctive look at an American icon by a writer deeply involved in the issues of Faulkner's work. Glissant sees the racial complexities of Faulkner as the key to his influence in the next century, and presents Faulkner as the progenitor of Flannery O'Connor, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Alejo Carpentier, and Toni Morrison, who all write fiction in which the characters are implicated in a single multiracial calamity. He exhorts the reader to "Look him straight in the eyes, the son of the slave and the son of the slave owner" -- and Glissant's own clear-eyed gaze makes this book a revelation about the work of one of our greatest but still least-understood writers.

The Saddest Words: William Faulkner's Civil War by Michael Gorra

How do we read William Faulkner in the twenty-first century? asks Michael Gorra, one of America’s most preeminent literary critics. Should we still read William Faulkner in this new century? What can his works tell us about the legacy of slavery and the Civil War, that central quarrel in our nation’s history? These are the provocative questions that Michael Gorra asks in this historic portrait of the novelist and his world. Born in 1897 in Mississippi, Faulkner wrote such iconic novels as Absalom, Absalom! and The Sound and the Fury, creating in Yoknapatawpha County the richest gallery of characters in American fiction, his achievements culminating in the 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature. But given his works’ echo of “Lost Cause” romanticism, his depiction of black characters and black speech, and his rendering of race relations in a largely unreconstructed South, Faulkner demands a sobering reevaluation. Interweaving biography, absorbing literary criticism, and rich travelogue, The Saddest Words recontextualizes Faulkner, revealing a civil war within him, while examining the most plangent cultural issues facing American literature today.

William Faulkner and Southern History by Joel Williamson

Indeed, to a degree perhaps unmatched by any other major twentieth-century novelist, Faulkner remained at home and explored his own region--the history and culture and people of the South. Now, in William Faulkner and Southern History , one of America's most acclaimed historians of the South, Joel Williamson, weaves together a perceptive biography of Faulkner himself, an astute analysis of his works, and a revealing history of Faulkner's ancestors in Mississippi--a family history that becomes, in Williamson's skilled hands, a vivid portrait of Southern culture itself. Williamson provides an insightful look at Faulkner's ancestors, a group sketch so brilliant that the family comes alive almost as vividly as in Faulkner's own fiction. Indeed, his ancestors often outstrip his characters in their colorful and bizarre nature. Williamson has made several the Falkners (William was the first to spell it "Faulkner") were not planter, slaveholding "aristocrats"; Confederate Colonel Falkner was not an unalloyed hero, and he probably sired, protected, and educated a mulatto daughter who married into America's mulatto elite; Faulner's maternal grandfather Charlie Butler stole the town's money and disappeared in the winter of 1887-1888, never to return. Equally important, Williamson uses these stories to underscore themes of race, class, economics, politics, religion, sex and violence, idealism and Romanticism--"the rainbow of elements in human culture"--that reappear in Faulkner's work. He also shows that, while Faulkner's ancestors were no ordinary people, and while he sometimes flashed a curious pride in them, Faulkner came to embrace a pervasive sense of shame concerning both his family and his culture. This he wove into his writing, especially about sex, race, class, and violence, psychic and otherwise. William Faulkner and Southern History represents an unprecedented publishing event--an eminent historian writing on a major literary figure. By revealing the deep history behind the art of the South's most celebrated writer, Williamson evokes new insights and deeper understanding, providing anyone familiar with Faulkner's great novels with a host of connections between his work, his life, and his ancestry.

I think all of these books sound really interesting and would provide new critical lenses with which to analyze the books :)

#ive read as i lay dying + sound and the fury + go down moses and then several short stories so obviously still faulkner novels yet unread #but critical scholarship is also really good

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loeyshandtattoo · 11 months ago

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the lady of moonreach

THIRD CHAPTER, Flames of Departure

chapter summary: Namra recalls the life she had in moonreach and makes a decision, but everything is foretelling the dangers behind the walls of her own home, even the depths of her mind

a/n: yes. i got to make a confession, i was heavily inspired by game of thrones in creating this fanfiction, if you surely have watched the series, i decided to have moonreach as a resemblance of riverrun and ironhold (though located in the capital) i visioned it more to be the ones in highgarden.

wc: 4.3k + did not proofread sorry whoops, first book has to be the boring one for me, wait out for the next two books chapter warnings: chanyeol itself is a warning, nightmares

picture is from Pinterest

THE SCENT OF POLISHED WOOD AND AGED LEATHER filled the air as I entered the grand hall of Moonreach. I had never seen a place so magnificent, and the sight before me was almost overwhelming. The walls were adorned with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, their eyes seeming to follow every movement. I clutched the edges of my coat tightly, feeling small and out of place amidst such opulence.

I glanced over Asia, I can see the quiver and how of a nerve wrack she was, mirroring how I am feeling as of the moment. "You think this is the best way?"

"We are to end helpless if we don't have any influence or power at all. You'll find that being Greenwell is going to have us at an advantage."

Lord Greenwell stood at the far end of the hall, a tall, imposing figure with an air of authority. His gaze was steady, a mixture of kindness and expectation. Beside him was Lady Greenwell, her warm smile offering a stark contrast to the formality of her husband.

My heart raced as I took tentative steps forward, guided by Ser Gareth, who had been assigned to escort me here. Lord Greenwell approached me, his expression softening as he neared. His eyes were a deep, thoughtful brown, and I could see the kindness behind his stern exterior. He extended a hand, and I hesitated for a moment before placing mine in his. His touch was firm but gentle.

"Welcome to Moonreach," he said, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and warmth. "I am Lord Greenwell. This is my wife, Lady Greenwell."

Lady Greenwell stepped forward, her smile radiant. "We've been waiting for you, Namra, Asia. We hope you will find Moonreach to be a place where you can feel truly at home."

I swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up. I had been so accustomed to uncertainty and instability that the prospect of a new beginning was both exhilarating and frightening. "Thank you," I managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Thank you for choosing us to be your children." Asia whimpered as she held back a sob.

Lord Greenwell led us through the hallways, showing us the various rooms and spaces that would become our new home. As we walked, he spoke with a quiet authority, explaining the history of Moonreach and the Greenwell family’s legacy. His words painted a picture of a proud and noble lineage, deeply rooted in the land.

"House Greenwell has long served the royal family of Iris, the records of this estate dates back two-hundred years ago. We have been loyal to the crown, and that's what makes us powerful all these years."

Then Lord Greenwell, head downturned as he sighed, "However, for the last twenty-seven years, nothing but uncertainty has flooded the kingdom. After the assassination of the royal family that night, it all seemed that life ended. We tried to remain to king Fritz just so we may save this house, can you blame me for siding with the usurper?

Felicity and I have not conceived an heir, and the bloodline ends with me."

I looked at him as though as I have understood everything about what he's trying to say, sympathizing with him, having to grow without a family for more than two decades, changed how I am to interact with people.

"So you chose to adopt us." Asia added.

"It was pure coincidence, children. I saw you both in the fishing village up north, near the borderlines, and I just thought that to help you ease you from your life." He replied.

In the evening, the Greenwells hosted a small welcoming feast in our honor. The dining hall was filled with the scent of roast meats and fresh bread. As I sat at the table, I noticed how different it felt from the stark meals I had grown accustomed to. There was laughter and conversation, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of belonging.

Lord Greenwell raised his glass in a toast. "To Namra and Asia Greenwell," he said, his voice resonant with sincerity. "May Moonreach be a place of warmth and strength for you, as it has been for us."

I looked around at the faces surrounding me—faces that seemed genuinely pleased to welcome me into their lives. The warmth of the evening, the kindness of my new family, and the beauty of Moonreach combined to create a profound sense of peace.

After the welcoming feast, I was escorted back to my new quarters by Lady Greenwell. However, as night settled and I couldn’t shake off my curiosity, I found myself wandering the halls of Moonreach, eventually ending up in Lord Greenwell’s study. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see the flickering light of the fire within.

I hesitated for a moment before gently pushing the door open. Lord Greenwell looked up from his desk, where he was engrossed in a stack of papers. He seemed surprised but not displeased by my presence.

“Come in, Namra,” he said, gesturing to a comfortable chair near the fireplace. “It’s quite late, but if you wish to talk, I’m happy to oblige.”

I settled into the chair, feeling both nervous and curious. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just—” I paused, unsure how to continue.

“It’s all right,” Lord Greenwell said with a reassuring smile. “Is there something on your mind?”

I took a deep breath, my thoughts drifting back to the stories I had heard about the kingdom’s tumultuous history. “You said that the Royal family of Iris has been assassinated. What happened?”

Lord Greenwell’s expression grew somber, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. “It’s a painful subject, but if you wish to understand, I’ll tell you.”

He began, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “Twenty-seven years ago, the royal family of Iris was assassinated in a ruthless coup. The official history claims that a faction within the court orchestrated their deaths, but the truth is far more unsettling.”

I listened intently, my curiosity piqued. “What happened afterward?”

“The kingdom was engulfed in chaos,” Lord Greenwell continued. “The usurper King Fritz seized the throne amid the turmoil. Many nobles, including myself, were faced with a choice—align with the new ruler or risk our estates and lives.”

He paused, his eyes reflecting the weight of the memories. “I chose to remain neutral, not out of indifference, but because I had doubts about the legitimacy of anyone claiming to be the rightful heir. The royal family was completely wiped out that night, and there was no clear successor.”

I was taken aback by his revelation. “So you had doubts about Chanyeol’s claim to the throne?”

“Yes,” Lord Greenwell admitted. “Without any surviving members of the royal family, the legitimacy of Chanyeol’s claim was questionable. I chose to focus on preserving Moonreach and ensuring the safety of those under my care, rather than risking everything on a claim that might not be genuine.”

His gaze met mine, and there was a depth of regret in his eyes. “It was a difficult decision, one that has haunted me for years. As Chanyeol returns to claim his throne, I remain cautious. It’s not that I wish him ill, but I must weigh the risks carefully.”

I sat in silence, absorbing the gravity of Lord Greenwell’s words. The history of Iris and the Greenwell family’s role in it was more complex and uncertain than I had imagined. This understanding deepened my appreciation for Moonreach and the responsibilities that came with it.

Lord Greenwell’s voice broke the silence. “I hope this knowledge helps you understand the weight of the legacy we carry. Moonreach is not just an estate; it’s a symbol of resilience amidst the uncertainty of our kingdom’s history.”

As I left the study, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Lord Greenwell’s revelations had provided me with valuable context and reinforced my commitment to Moonreach and its restoration. It was not just about the estate; it was about contributing to the legacy of a family and a kingdom striving to find its way through the shadows of its past.

This takes me back to the present time as I stride towards the council chamber, father's words echoes in my ears. Asia and I owe our life to him after everything that we have endured.

The council chamber was alive with murmurs as I entered, the air thick with anticipation. Chanyeol sat at the head of the table, his gaze piercing as he took in the room. The council members, each with their own agendas, shifted in their seats, waiting for the proceedings to commence.

I cleared my throat, drawing their attention. "I have an announcement to make."

“If we can make them believe that you’re heading back to Moonreach, it might draw them out. We need them to reveal themselves.” Junmyeon raised his pointer finger and directed it towards me.

I nod, my fingers brushing over the map where he’s pointed. Moonreach has always been more than just a location to me; it’s a piece of my past, a symbol of my connection to this land. The idea of using it as bait doesn’t sit well, this can cost everything that we have planned for the restoration, but it’s a necessary risk.

“What if they don’t fall for it?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of worry. “What if they see through our plan?”

Junmyeon looks at me with a determined expression. “That’s why we need to be meticulous. We have to ensure that our departure is seen as genuine. The more convincing we are, the more likely they are to take the bait.”

I take a deep breath, the memories of Moonreach flashing in my mind. The echoes of laughter, the warmth of family, and the fire that consumed it all. The emotional weight of it hits me again, a reminder of why this is so important.

“We can use the upcoming council meeting to announce your departure,” Junmyeon continues. “We’ll make it clear that you’re going to oversee the restoration and ensure that Moonreach is secure. The loyalists will think they have a clear opportunity.”

I look up at Junmyeon, catching his gaze. His eyes hold a steely resolve, and for a moment, I see the same determination reflected in his face that I felt during our earlier, more dangerous assignments. It’s a reminder that we’re in this together, despite the risks.

“What about Chanyeol?” I ask, my voice softer now. “He’ll be left in the dark about our true intentions.”

Junmyeon’s expression softens, but there’s a note of pragmatism in his eyes. “We can’t afford to involve him in this part of the plan. It’s too risky. We’ll have to handle this carefully and ensure he doesn’t suspect anything until it’s too late for the loyalists to retreat.”

I nod again, feeling the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. “Alright, let’s do it. But we need to make sure we’re prepared for whatever comes next.”

The room fell silent. Chanyeol's eyes narrowed, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I am preparing to return to Moonreach," I said firmly. "The restoration efforts are crucial, and I intend to oversee them personally."

A ripple of surprise moved through the council members. I could see the questions forming on their faces, but I held up a hand to forestall any immediate reactions.

"Moonreach is not just a strategic location; it holds great personal significance for me," I continued. "I will use this opportunity to reinforce our position and gather more intel on the northern regions."

Chanyeol’s face tightened, his eyes flashing with unspoken concerns. "Namra, are you sure this is the right course of action? The risks—"

"I am aware of the risks," I interrupted, meeting his gaze steadily. "But Moonreach needs someone who understands its importance. Besides, this is an opportunity to address certain issues directly and ensure the restoration proceeds as planned."

There was a pause, and Chanyeol's gaze flickered toward Junmyeon, who had been unusually quiet. Junmyeon met Chanyeol’s look with a calm expression, as if ready to support whatever decision was made.

"You must understand," Chanyeol said slowly, "Moonreach is not without its problems. I am concerned about your safety."

"I appreciate your concern," I said, my tone softening slightly. "But I am determined to make this work. It’s not just about the restoration; it’s about securing our future."

The council members exchanged glances, their interest piqued. I could sense a shift in the room, a growing acknowledgment of my determination.

"Very well," Chanyeol said reluctantly. "If this is what you believe is best, then I won’t stand in your way. But please—take every precaution."

"I will," I assured him. "Thank you."

As the meeting concluded, the atmosphere remained tense, the weight of my decision hanging heavily in the air. I could feel Chanyeol’s eyes on me as I left the chamber, his worry palpable.

Later that day, I met with Junmyeon in private. We discussed the plan to use my departure as a strategic move to lure out any potential threats. Junmyeon seemed satisfied with the plan, though his expression remained serious.

"This will work," Junmyeon assured me. "We need to be careful, though. The council is watching closely."

"I understand," I said. "It’s crucial that we remain one step ahead."

As I prepared for my departure, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the upcoming days would be pivotal. I had to balance the restoration of Moonreach with the underlying tensions and hidden threats that lay ahead.

The strategy room was eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fireplace and the rustling of papers as I reviewed the latest reports from Moonreach. The weight of the kingdom's struggles pressed heavily on my shoulders. Just as I was about to close my eyes and rest my head on the table, the door creaked open.

Chanyeol entered, his presence immediately filling the room. He looked tired but resolute, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of determination and frustration.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low but firm.

I straightened, feeling a flare of irritation. "About what?"

He crossed the room, stopping just a few feet away from me. "About your decision to return to Moonreach. It's reckless, and you know it."

Anger surged through me. "Reckless? Moonreach is my home. It's our home. I have a responsibility to see its restoration."

Chanyeol's eyes flashed with anger. "And I have a responsibility to keep you safe. You don't understand the dangers out there."

"I understand perfectly," I shot back. "I don't need you to protect me. I can take care of myself."

His expression hardened. "This isn't just about you. It's about the kingdom, about the people who depend on you. You can't just run off and—"

"Run off?" I interrupted, stepping closer to him. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Running away?"

Our faces were inches apart now, the tension between us palpable. I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin, the intensity of his gaze boring into mine. The room seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

"You don't get to decide what's best for me," I continued, my voice shaking slightly, though I tried to mask it with defiance. “You don’t get to dictate my choices.”

Chanyeol's eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through them. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down Namra’s spine.

“I’m not trying to dictate anything,” he said, his voice softer but still tinged with frustration. “I just… don't want anything to happen to you."

My breath hitched, my defiance faltering as I looked up at him. The raw emotion in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and it pulled at something deep within me.

“I’m asking you to trust me.” I assured him.

For a moment, we stood there in tense silence, the only sound the crackle of the fire. Chanyeol’s gaze dropped to my lips, his own parting slightly as if he were about to speak, but the words seemed to escape him. His hand, still resting on my face, slowly slid down to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, and I found herself leaning into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief second.

“Chanyeol,” I whimpered, voice barely more than a whisper, “please…”

The plea was enough to break the dam of his restraint. Without another word, Chanyeol closed the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a desperate, heated kiss. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of us and the fierce connection we shared.

In the kiss, I responded with equal fervor, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The kiss was passionate, filled with a mix of frustration, longing, and an undeniable attraction that had been building between them.

Chanyeol’s hands roamed over my back, pulling me flush against him, as if he was trying to fuse our bodies together. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows that danced on the walls, mirroring the tumultuous emotions that swirled between us.

But as quickly as it began, it ended. Chanyeol pulled back, his expression a mix of hope and trepidation. I could see the longing in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by my own mounting regret.

“What… what have we done?” I whispered, stepping away from him, my heart pounding with a tumult of emotions.

Chanyeol looked at me, his face a mask of confusion and hurt. “Namra, I…”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, my voice trembling. “This… this isn’t right. We can’t—”

“Namra, wait—” he began, reaching out to me, but I took another step back, the reality of the situation crashing over me like a cold wave.

“No, Chanyeol. We can’t do this. We have duties, responsibilities. This kiss… it changes nothing. I can’t let myself be swayed by… by this.”

He looked at me with a mix of sadness and understanding, but there was also a flicker of frustration in his eyes. I could see the hurt in his gaze, and it twisted the knife of my regret deeper.

“Is this about Junmyeon?” Chanyeol's voice was tight, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen the way you two are together,” Chanyeol said, his voice rising with anger. “The way you look at him, how you interact with him. I can’t ignore it anymore.”

I stared at him, my heart racing. “You’re being irrational. Junmyeon and I are working together. It doesn’t mean anything beyond that.”

Chanyeol’s eyes flashed with hurt and jealousy. “It’s more than that, Namra. I’ve watched you two for weeks. There’s something between you, and it’s clear to me now. This kiss—was it just a way to push me aside?”

“No!” I shot back, my voice laced with frustration. “This kiss was a mistake. I let my emotions get the better of me, but it doesn’t change what we need to focus on.”

Chanyeol’s expression hardened. “It feels like you’re trying to push me away. First, there’s Junmyeon, and now this. It’s like you’re using me as a distraction while you have something else with him.”

I felt a pang of guilt. “That’s not true. I’m not using you. I’m trying to do what’s right for everyone. But this… this kiss was a lapse in judgment.”

"Oh come on. We know that kiss means something, Namra." Chanyeol continues to argue. "Tell me right then, at this very space."

"I don't feel anything at all for you. My loyalties lie with my purpose right now. I'm sorry if the way I act for the past few weeks told you otherwise." I apologized.

"I have been set up for marriage, you know." He said. Trying to clench to his last bit of hope. "To the lovely Lady Ambers of Dawnspire, we need their reinforcements to secure power in the west."

"Then I wish you both good luck. Thank you for aiding us in restoring my family's estate. We owe the crown a lot, and we will assure you that the debt will be paid."

The early morning light filtered through the mist as I stood alone at the edge of Stonehearth, my breath visible in the cool air. The city, still in its sleepy state, seemed distant and almost surreal, as if the bustle and energy I had grown accustomed to were nothing but a distant memory. My carriage awaited, dark and imposing, its wheels poised to carry me away from the city and toward Moonreach.

The argument with Chanyeol still lingered in my mind, a sharp edge against the calmness of the dawn. We had both been on edge, and our emotions had flared in the heat of the moment.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside as I approached the carriage. Junmyeon was already inside, reviewing the documents with a concentrated expression. He looked up as I climbed in, his gaze sympathetic but guarded.

“Everything is set,” he said, handing me a final checklist. “The route is clear, and we’re prepared for any complications.”

I took the checklist, nodding. “Thank you. I know it’s been a challenging few days.”

Junmyeon’s eyes softened slightly. “We’re all here for the mission, Namra. It’s important to stay focused, especially with the obstacles we might face.”

"Which reminds me I have to return to Stonehearth in few days time. I cannot be absent longer in the council meetings especially leaving him alone there to be feasted by those vultures." I just nodded in reply.

I glanced back at Stonehearth one last time, the city’s skyline now a silhouette against the rising sun. The warmth of the early light did little to chase away the chill of the previous argument. My thoughts were clouded, but I forced myself to concentrate on the task ahead. Moonreach awaited, and there was no room for doubt.

The carriage doors closed behind me, and the rhythmic sound of the wheels on the cobblestones began. The cityscape gradually shifted to the rolling countryside as we traveled north. The sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the landscape in a golden glow.

As we journeyed, the terrain changed from the gentle hills surrounding Stonehearth to the rugged, more challenging landscape of Skybound. The road was winding, and the carriage rocked slightly with every turn. Junmyeon was quiet, his focus on the documents in his lap, but his presence was a steadying influence.

I reviewed the maps and notes we had prepared, mentally going over the plans for Moonreach. The estate was crucial to our mission, and every detail needed to be accounted for. The need to restore Moonreach and uncover the secrets within its walls drove me forward, pushing aside the personal conflicts that clouded my mind.

The journey was long, and the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. As we neared Moonreach, the estate’s dark silhouette emerged against the fading light, its grandeur marred by the scars of the recent fire.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance of Moonreach. The once-majestic estate stood silent and solemn, the damage evident but the essence of its former glory still present. I took a deep breath, the cool evening air biting at my skin. The estate was a formidable presence, and the weight of our mission pressed heavily on my shoulders.

Junmyeon joined me as I stepped out of the carriage, his face reflecting a mixture of determination and professionalism. Together, we walked toward the grand entrance, ready to begin the next phase of our work.

As I approached the imposing structure, the last light of the day cast a soft glow over the estate. The shadows of the damaged walls seemed to whisper of the challenges that lay ahead. But with a steely resolve, I entered Moonreach, greeted immediately by the workers.

"Lady Greenwell, we didn't expect you to arrive so soon." He greeted.

"How's the progress so far? It was fortunate that some parts of the structure are not fully in ruins."

"We hadn't been operating for days, my lady. We were expecting the materials the other day, but still haven't arrived."

"I'll write back to Ironhold for new batch of shipments." Junmyeon interjected. I assented and allowed him to do what he needed to do.

The candlelight flickered softly, casting shifting shadows on the stone walls of my chamber. The room was one of the few spared by the inferno that had consumed Moonreach. Though it retained some semblance of its former grandeur, its emptiness felt like a ghost of its past. The bed, though clean and neatly made, seemed heavy with the weight of the estate's history.

Exhausted from the day's efforts to salvage what remained of Moonreach and coordinate the necessary repairs, I collapsed onto the bed, hoping for a few moments of rest. The familiar strains of fatigue were setting in, and I found my thoughts drifting, merging into the quiet lull of sleep.

As I surrendered to slumber, my dreams took on a strange and vivid quality. I found myself in a dimly lit room that felt oddly familiar, though its details eluded me. The space was filled with an ethereal mist, and the air was heavy with a sense of foreboding. The atmosphere was charged with an unspoken tension that prickled at my senses.

In the midst of this dreamscape, a figure emerged from the haze—neither distinctly familiar nor entirely strange. The figure’s features were obscured by the mist, and their presence was commanding yet enigmatic. They moved with a quiet, intense energy, their eyes never meeting mine directly but always seeming to observe me closely.

"Namra," the figure’s voice resonated, echoing with an authority that made me shiver. "You’re growing too close to this place. I can sense it."

I tried to step back, but the mist seemed to constrict around us, making it difficult to move. The figure approached, their gaze piercing through the fog. "You’re letting yourself be swayed," they continued, their tone edged with a mix of urgency and reprimand. "Chanyeol is nothing more than a distraction. You were sent here for a reason."

The dream felt strangely real, the air between us charged with an emotional current. The figure’s presence was almost suffocating, their words a reminder of the mission’s importance. "I can’t let you lose focus," they said, their voice a low, insistent whisper. "Remember why you came here. The secrets you need to uncover are far more important than any personal attachment."

As the figure's presence began to dissolve into the mist, their voice lingered, a haunting reminder of the mission at hand. "You must stay true to your purpose. Do not let emotions steer you off course."

The mist began to recede, and the dreamscape dissolved into darkness. I awoke abruptly, my breath quick and shallow. The room was still and quiet, the candlelight casting gentle flickers on the walls. I sat up in bed, my mind racing to make sense of the dream. The mysterious figure’s possessiveness and the urgent reminder of my mission weighed heavily on me.

The dream had been a stark reminder of the delicate balance I had to maintain. Despite the growing connection I felt with Moonreach and its people, the mission remained my primary focus. I had to stay vigilant and remember why I was here. The fate of Moonreach and the larger purpose of my mission rested in my hands, and I needed to be ready for whatever lay ahead.

The morning light filtered through the partially restored windows of Moonreach, casting a warm glow over the chamber.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts and adjusting from the restless slumber. I reluctantly rose from the bed. She pulled on a simple robe and opened the door to find a servant standing with a note.

“This arrived for you, my lady,” the servant said, handing her the sealed parchment. “It’s from Lord Baekhyun of Verdantia.”

Namra’s eyebrows shot up. She had not expected any correspondence from him. She broke the seal and unfurled the letter, her eyes skimming over the elegant script:

Lady Namra,

I trust this letter finds you well despite the recent trials. I have been informed of your presence in Moonreach and would like to offer my assistance. I am en route to meet with you personally to discuss matters of mutual interest. Please expect my arrival by midday.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Baekhyun of Verdantia

Namra folded the letter and turned to the servant. “Prepare the guest chamber for Lord Baekhyun. And ensure that the preparations are made for a formal greeting.”

“Yes, my lady,” the servant replied, hurrying off.

By midday, Moonreach had transformed into a flurry of activity. The great hall, once a charred shell, had been cleaned and arranged for the noble visitor. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meats filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of polished wood.

As the grand doors to the hall were flung open, Lord Baekhyun strode in, his presence commanding immediate respect. He was dressed in the fine attire of Verdantia’s elite—an elegant green and gold ensemble that spoke of both his wealth and his status.

Baekhyun’s gaze swept the room before settling on Namra. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he offered a courteous bow. “Lady Namra, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

Namra returned the bow, masking her curiosity with a polite smile. “Lord Baekhyun, welcome to Moonreach. Your presence here is most unexpected.”

Baekhyun’s smile was warm but held a glint of something more. “I have been following the events closely and felt compelled to offer my support. Verdantia has long valued the alliance with Iris, and I believe we can be of help to each other.”

They exchanged pleasantries as they walked toward the dining table, where a small feast had been prepared. As they took their seats, Namra’s curiosity got the better of her. “You mentioned in your letter that you have matters of mutual interest to discuss. What did you have in mind?”

Baekhyun’s expression became more serious. “We will be glad of assistance in restoring the Greenwell's residence after all our fathers have been of mutual respect for the last twenty years."

Namra nodded, her interest piqued. “I appreciate your willingness to assist. My primary concern is the recovery of Moonreach and the restoration of order within the kingdom. But there are also matters of intelligence and security that need addressing.”

Baekhyun’s gaze grew more focused. “Oh indeed. The force that weakens the crown."

"It was actually Lord Junmyeon who rallied me to your side. He spoke highly of your dedication and the challenges you face. His endorsement was enough for me to prioritize your cause. Verdantia stands ready to offer support in various capacities, whether through information, resources, or strategic alliances.”

Namra raised an eyebrow. “Junmyeon did this?”

“Yes,” Baekhyun confirmed, nodding. “He believes that your mission aligns with the broader goals of stabilizing and strengthening the kingdom. His trust in you was a strong influence on my decision to assist. We believe in Chanyeol's claim to the throne as well."

I sighed as I remember the dream I had last night.

"What? You don't believe in Chanyeol's rightful claim to the throne?" Baekhyun questioned my loyalty to the crown, trying to search any signs of treason in my behavior.

The dreams of last night still continued to bug me. "It's just my father has been loyal to the Royal family, but when Chanyeol conquered Iris once again, he doubted him of his claim." I replied.

"I guess your father never had the chance to explain to you before his death." He mumbled.

This caused me to peer my gaze towards him, inquiring the meaning behind his words, what my father failed to tell me, and hearing it here from the walls of my own home.

"Polymos is indeed a beautiful home to our house before."

"That must have been the reason why father, the member of the king's council years ago, fled to Polymos to save the infant Chanyeol."

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