#the marcach chronicles

[snackara]

Bonjour, I have a few.

(I’ll elaborate on this one soon)

I don't really post Helluva Boss but I swear these shots are massive meme material so here's one I made, and a blank verison. Please go buck wild.

[snackara]

The Marcach Chronicles

Dragons are extinct.

Magic is forbidden.

But humanity’s greed lives on.

Magic no longer blooms in the world of Gondwana, but in the Empire of Soliterra, life is still perilous. Especially for wildborns, people from the lands of Cinnatala who have been killed off or forced into slavery because of the magic in their blood.

Faolán is one such wildborn, hiding his true powers from the world. He’s constantly on the run from a the dark secrets of his past, and all he desires is to live a peaceful, solitary life. But when he stumbles upon a strange woman with an even more mysterious item, his life changes forever.

Suddenly Faolán finds himself embarking on a journey to his homeland, along with new companions and a dragonet bonded to him. Along the way he discovers the dark underbelly of the empire, and relearns love and hope in a bleak existence.

#1: The Underground Trail

Prologue [Early Draft] Chapter One [Early Draft]

#2: The Broken Country

Out-Of-Universe

An introduction to Faolán

Character Dynamic

The Prophecy (and Analysis)

In-Universe

The Tide: A Brief Summary

Recovered Letter

[snackara]

Here are some random Marcach Chronicle Memes no one is going to get but me

because I just got done with exams and I need some stress relief :D (click for better quality)

[snackara]

Underground Trails Prologue

WARNING: Descriptions of blood, dead bodies, and panic attacks

Everyone in Newbury was dead, and it was all one man’s fault. At first, he didn’t even register it. All he could feel was a deep rage, an anger so intense it made his blood boil and fill his ears with roaring noise. All he could see was red. But finally, his mind started to clear and he began to see the carnage around him.

The first thing he recognized was the fire. It crackled and flared towards the night sky, as though trying to escape. It made the buildings surrounding the man slowly crumble into themselves and charred them to their wooden framework. The heat made his eyes water, or perhaps it was the smoke that wafted above. He felt it burning his lungs and coughed.

The man next looked around and saw the bodies around him. A chill went down his spine. He knew these people. Not personally, but he was familiar enough with them to recognize their faces. Neighbors, acquaintances, men, women. Everyone. Their faces were slack or frozen in expressions of horror, and blood covered their clothes. The cobblestone streets below them were stained red. 

He felt sick to his stomach. Despite his mind screaming at him not to, he looked down at himself. His hands and clothes were splattered with crimson, as well as the knife he was gripping tightly. He dropped it, hands trembling. His breath came is short, ragged gasps. His knees felt like they were about to buckle. There was a ringing in his ears, and his mind could only repeat one thing:

Monster.

The man was a monster. He had just slaughtered an entire town. Butchered everyone like they were merely cattle.

Monster.

He had lost his temper, and now look at what had happened. 

Monster.

His heart pounded in his chest, growing faster and faster as panic flooded his entire body.

Monster.

Without so much as a second thought, the man turned around ran. He bolted out of town, weaving through the destroyed buildings and the haze that hung in the air. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoke or the wind that was causing the tears in his eyes. 

He burst out of town, the cold air and darkness of the night giving a shock to his system. He saw a hill nearby, with a lone tree standing on it. He ran towards it, not looking back for a second. He felt the long grass brush past his legs, already wet with dew.

The man slowed as he finally reached the top of the hill, panting. He stumbled and leaned against the tree as he caught his breath.

The tree was a great oak, older then the town itself, at least that’s what the locals claimed. It’s gnarled roots dug deep into the earth, and the moonlight highlighted the rough bark and the dancing leaves above.

The man had come here often. Sometimes he would come alone when he just needed some quiet and time to think. Other times he would bring his friends up here, whispering nonsense secrets or shouting bold—if not often simpleminded—jokes. 

More often these past few months he had come up here only with one friend in particular. The others teased them about it, but it was all in good fun. They would sit among the tree branches to watch the sunset, or lay in the cool grass to stare at the stars. A few times they had fallen asleep in each others arms, leaning against the trunk of the great oak. They would talk about anything, more often then not about their plans for the future, their hopes and dreams about where they might go and what they might do someday. It was a place where they could simply be.

All of that was gone now, and it was his fault. Everything he cared about was probably burned away by this point. His whole life, just…gone in an instant.

The man broke. He fell to his knees and clutched his shirt that clung to his now rapidly rising and falling chest. The world felt like it was spinning. His vision blurred. His throat closed up. A wave of nausea washed over him. His whole body trembled, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. He felt like he needed to scream. To shout. To cry. But when he opened his mouth no sound came out. All he could do was lean against the tree and try to calm himself down.

Get up, something in his mind said.

The man’s jaw clenched.

Get up, you miserable wrench.

He slowly stood up, taking several deep breaths.

You don’t get to lay down and suffer like a pathetic dog. Not after what you’ve done, you monster.

The man wasn’t sure where to go, but anywhere was better then here. He wiped the sweat from his face, smearing blood on his forehead in the process. He slowly walked down the hill, away from Newbury. He didn’t know what the future held for him, but he knew that his life would never be the same again.

[snackara]

Recovered Letter

James,

I’m very pleased with your help in our project. Montgomery’s insight into wildborns combined with your studies of the Tide and magic have greatly aided my work. I have no doubt that we’ll be able to harness magic of our own soon.

I’m terrified it’s all for nothing. And yet I’m worried. Not about you, I believe your heart is wholly in this project. It’s Montgomery who I fear. On several occasions I’ve questioned her motives on helping us. She’s a military general, and up until recently I figured she was fully indoctrinated into the empire’s suppression of magic. I still wonder if she’s just a spy planning to take us down. There are rumors about her, and especially that boy who ran away from her. Most records of the boy have been wiped clean and no one who met him wants to speak about him. The ones who do though say he was a wildborn, and that she was using his abilities to become a super-soldier of sorts. A fascinating experiment, I must admit. And one that makes me believe she is genuinely interested in our cause. It’s all just hearsay though, so who really knows what she believes.

Sometimes I think that, but other times I believe she is too invested in the project. She does not seem to understand the delicate balance of magic the same way you or I do. I worry what will happen when she finally gets a taste of it. Will it drive her mad? Corrupt her? Hurt her? There’s a lot we still don’t know about it, and we have already seen what it can do to a person who has never been exposed to magic.

I also fear sometimes what she will do with it. Whether she will try to overthrow us or use it against Cinnatala. I pray she’ll use it properly, but you know how these military officers can be.

As much as I hate to admit it, we still need her to aid the project. As I said before, she’s given us the most insight on wildborns, and has given us a steady supply of subjects. We can’t afford to make her angry now, not when we’re so close to getting it right. The last thing we need is the government sticking their noses into this. So I pray, and perhaps you should to.

Clyde Bennet, M.D., FSMA

[snackara]

The Tide: A Brief Summary

By Marcellus E. Davenport, professor of Magic & Magic History at the Laureldale Institute of Science

In it’s simplest possible definition, the Tide is a cosmic force that binds all living thing a on Gondwana— and perhaps even the universe at large —together. It is the basis of which life comes from, and resides in all life forms in the form of magic, even in the most subtle ways. However some beings can express more magic than others, since the Tide is stronger in them. For instance, a dragon can express its magic much stronger than a cow.

The Tide existed strongest in humans, who could use the magic in their blood to manipulate and control the world around them. However, in the modern era, the majority of humans are unable to use magic the way they once did. There are many theories as to why this happened that range from natural selection to more religious interpretations.

The only people left in the world who use magic are Wildborns, who reside on Cinnatala and have a deep connection to nature and the Tide. Their legends say that the other countries turned away from the Tide in favor of false idols, and as retribution the Tide took away their powers and reduced their magic to only a fraction of what it once was.

There was also much debate on whether or not the Tide is “sentient”. wildborn shamans, people who are much more sensitive to the Tide and the spirits of their ancestors, speak about how the Tide “whispers” and “talks” to them. But they are vague about what exactly this means, and are very secretive about their knowledge of the Tide. For the most part it seems the Tide does not have a mind of its own, and is instead a greater cosmic force similar to gravity.

One way or another, the Tide has become a distant memory in most countries. Particularly in the Soliterra Empire, where the Tide and magic in general is associated with sin and the evil. This belief has led to the empire seeking to tap down on all magic, and fear anything that is not considered normal or appropriate in society. The most notable event is their invasion of Cinnatala between 207-213 3E, in which the wildborn population was killed off or forced into slavery. The dragon population was also hunted to extinction, and many other magical species became endangered. It is an unfortunate fate to be certain, and one can only hope future generations can strive to do better.

[THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN BANNED BY THE PEACEKEEPERS OF SOLITERRA. ANY DISTRIBUTION OF THIS MATERIAL WILL RESULT IN A FINE AND IMPRISONMENT]

[snackara]

The juxtaposition between the “tragic backstories” of the protagonists of my current wips is fascinating.

Because on one of end you have Asha. She had a relatively normal life until she was 14, with a loving father and community. And yes, she did have to step up and basically support the entire Hamlet after her father disappeared and developed an eldest sister mentality of sorts, she was still supported by her community and had Sabino to look after her.

And right after Sabino dies and she feels like she’s lost the last close relationship she had, Earendel comes to her, and is nothing but kind to her. And later she gains a partner in Flazino. She goes through rough things all throughout Upon A Star, but overall she turns out okay and most importantly feels positive about who she is as a person.

Faolán never got any of that.

He was whisked away from his homeland before he could even remember it, and constantly had to deal with people looking down on wildborns. He was raised by a military officer, Clara Montgomery, to become a weapon. He was basically a crude experiment to try and show the government wildborns could be used beyond slavery, as a force to wield against foreign nations. He was trained like a dog would be for the fighting ring. Constantly told to release the monster inside him, viewed as a weapon first, and a person second.

But Faolán wanted to prove them wrong, he really did. He wanted to be better, especially when he became a teenager. That’s why he took a few other wildborns he had grown close to and fled to a small village. And Faolán thought he was freed. He thought he had proved, even indirectly, that he wasn’t the monster everyone wanted him to be. That he had won. Life was tough, yes, but he was happy. Though deep down, there was still a lot of resentment and hatred towards Montgomery and how she had raised the boy.

Then the other villagers found out about his friends and killed them. Faolán didn’t know how they knew. But regardless he blames himself, even years later. Maybe if he had just been there with them, if maybe he had taken that shortcut home, he could have saved them. But he didn’t.

Faolán snapped.

And all of that rage, all that resentment, all that hate came pouring out.

He slaughtered the whole village. Not just the men who had killed his friends and lover, but everyone. Men, women, neighbors, acquaintances. No one was safe from him. He burned the whole place to the ground. It’s possible they could have overpowered him, if circumstances were different. But he had been trained for this. Forged in blood and flames to become a killing machine.

And when all was said and done, when Faolán finally saw the carnage he had brought, he knew Montgomery was right. That deep down, he really was a monster, just as everyone had said. What kind of man does what he had? And from that day on, Faolán promised to never grow close to anyone again, to protect them from being hurt by him, by the things he’s done. And every time he’s met with kindness or compassion, he feels nothing but guilt and shame. In his mind, he’s best left alone.

But like his namesake, he’s a pack animal. And eventually, something’s gotta give.

[snackara]

The Prophecy (and Analysis)

Twenty years after the blood and tears A wolf among sheep shall come to reunite the broken Able to weld the power of fire Seeking retribution for those in chains The Prince of Dragons is coming

Sooo…yeah. Here’s a rough draft for the main prophecy in The Marcach Chronicles. Now, I can hear some of you already rolling your eyes at this, but I promise this will go in an interesting direction.

Starting off, the meaning of the prophecy is fairly simple. Twenty years after the war that destroyed the Kingdom in Cinnatala and left many wildborns as slaves, someone will come to reunite the land and free the slaves. This man will be a wildborn living in Soliterra, who will bond with a dragon, hence harnessing the “power of fire”. Fun fact: the “wolf among sheep” part aligns with Faolán’s name (Faolán meaning little wolf in Irish Gaelic). Coincidence, or something more?

The people of Cinnatala- wildborns in general, really -have been waiting a while for some sign of hope. So when rumor spread of this prophecy, they rejoiced and began to revere their soon-to-be savior. It even spread to Cinnatala, where the celebration was more subtle, with slaves even creating songs with double meanings about this Prince of Dragons.

Saoirse was the one sent to find the man. She was deemed the most disposable best suited to go into enemy territory, and the most responsible to carry something as precious as a dragon egg. She was hesitant at first, but after the shaman who foresaw the prophecy (Anarí) told her who to look for, she felt honored to carry out the task. She found it odd that he knew exactly who the prophecy was about when it was so vague, and no one else knew who he was talking about…but who was she to question one of the Tide’s chosen?

So she left for the empire, looking for the son of a Count who was supposedly meant to be the son of the former King Nuada himself. Things were going great, and she managed to remain undercover for a while.

Then Faolán happened.

She didn’t want to go with him at first, but considering she was being chased, she figured his help was better than being torn up by dogs, or worse. She was suspicious of him, but he seemed nice enough. Gruff, sure, but polite and cordial. The healer who helped her too was very kind. Nevertheless, she didn’t trust them to know about the prophecy, and wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible.

But the dragonet hatched, and it…bonded…to…Faolán.

Saoirse was more than a little confused. Surely Faolán couldn’t be the lost Prince of Dragons everyone was worshipping. He’s not the person she was looking for, and he’s the farthest thing from prince material. Even he knows it. And it’s not like she can just take the dragonet and bond it to someone else, that’s not how it works.

But he has to be. The prophecy can’t be wrong. The Tide can’t be wrong. Anarí will know what to do. He knows what he’s talking about.

Right?

[snackara]

Underground Trails: Chapter One

[SCRAPPED DRAFT]

Every morning Faolán had to remind himself he was alone. There was always a brief moment of bliss, where he thought he could faintly hear someone else beside him. Then the second would pass and he would see that the other side of his bed was empty. He tried to cling to those seconds, those first precious moments of the morning where everything seemed right with the world. But they were fleeting, especially when he woke up screaming.

That was how he awoke one autumn morning. He’d had yet another nightmare, an especially bad one at that. He gasped for air, and looking around he realized he wasn’t in his house. He saw that he was huddled on the hard ground, behind a stone building. A tavern, he realized after seeing a few bottles nearby. He had passed out drunk. Again.

Leaves floated down from the birch and oak trees around him, littering a well-worn path into town with orange, red, and yellow. Water from recent rains steadily dripped from the leaves, making the bark a shade darker.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his curly brown hair, smoothing it out. Then they slipped down his face, feeling his stubble scratch against them.

 Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare, he repeated to himself. He plucked a loose thread on his shirt, waiting for the feeling of panic to subside. He slowly sat up, his cold and stiff limbs protesting the movement.

The sound of wood creaking made Faolán look up. The tavern’s back door swung open, and a bearded man stepped out. He saw Faolán and let out an exasperated sigh. “Not again.”

“Good morning to you too, Tom,” Faolán said with a small wave.

“I’ve told you: you’re not welcome in my tavern anymore,” Tom said.

“You know you keep saying that, but then you let me back in.”

“Only because you pay well,” Tom grumbled. “But this time I mean it. You’re starting to upset people with all your drinking and moping. I can’t be loosing paying customers because of you.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll just get my booze somewhere else,” Faolán staggered up to his feet and began to walk away.

“You ought to leave town. You’re not welcome here  anymore,” Tom called after him.

Faolán scoffed and continued walking, towards the very edge of the village. There laid the small old shack that he called home.

Faolán stepped inside with a sigh. The interior of his home was…something. There was a fireplace along the wall, and a table with a couple rickety chairs near it. His rifle was propped neatly next to the door, and a pair of well-worn boots sat at the foot of his cot. It was sparse and rustic, to put it kindly. But it was home.

He decided he was sober enough for a morning hunt. He dressed in a tunic and pants, pulling on the leather boots and a sage green cloak. Finally he grabbed his rifle, loading it. He slung it over his shoulder and stepped outside, taking in the crisp air. 

Faolán trudged down the steps of the wooden porch and stopped as he heard a voice call to him. 

“Hey Faolán.” He turned and saw a younger woman with golden-brown skin walk towards him. Her black ponytail bobbed with each step, as did the basket she was carrying.

“For the last time Laila, it’s Fwey-lán, not Fay-o-lan,” he said with annoyance.

“It’s not my fault you spell it weird. Anyways, mind if I walk with you again? I’m heading out to collect berries for my mother,” Laila said.

“Only to the river.” Faolán turned and walked into the forest. Laila followed at his side. She was the closest thing Faolán had to a friend in the village. Occasionally she would walk with him when he went out to hunt or fish while she foraged. 

Faolan always thought it was odd, how she gravitated to him. They were completely opposites, as far as he was concerned. He was a tall, powerful man with a hardened face and a feral glint in his eye that made most people uncomfortable. He was built like a soldier, with toned muscles and a tendency to stand a little too straight. His movements were calculated and well-balanced, like that of a predator stalking its prey.

Laila, on the other hand, was a lithe and pretty young woman. Most traits of girlhood were gone, but her features of womanhood hadn’t quite settled in either, leaving her with an awkward middle ground. Her eyes were always bright and inquisitive in a way that reminded Faolán of a fawn. Her smile could easily light up a room, and overall just being around her was comforting.

The two barely spoke to one another. Their silence was filled in with birds chirping overhead, and the wind whistled through the leaves. Faolán observed the forest around him, looking for any signs of nearby animals. Trees stripped of their bark by deer, a broken twig on the ground, tracks in the mud. But he found nothing.

“Did you hear the news about the Duke’s daughter?” Laila asked quietly.

“No,” Faolán said, glancing towards her. He didn’t usually listen to gossip, especially concerning political matters, but this intrigued him.

“They say she’s being betrothed to the Duke of Linshire. It’s quite surprising, seeing as how he’s only from a minor province. You’d think they’d marry her to a man of higher status.”

Faolán grunted in response. He hadn’t thought of the young lady in a while. He tried not to. He’d overhear about her occasionally though. People’s opinions about her were quite mixed. Some said she was an uptight and arrogant woman who would drive the Province of Wilbourne into the ground. Others said she was an intelligent and formidable woman who was destined for greatness.

Eventually they reached the river and parted ways. Laila walked along the river while Faolán crossed over a log.

“Hey, if you see any snowberries out there let me know,” Laila called.

Faolán nodded and continued through the forest. He carefully treaded over well-worn paths carved by generations of deer. He followed the paths often, knowing they were the best guides the forest had to offer. He walked silently, placing his heels into the ground first, which softly squelched in the mud. He listened carefully to the forest around him.

There was a flicker of movement ahead, making Faolán stop in his tracks. Through the branches he saw a buck’s head pop up, chewing on grass. As its head went back down, Faolán crept closer. He walked as silently could through the fallen leaves and mud before hiding behind a bush. He held his breath for a few moments, waiting until the buck was looking away again to cock his rifle.

Faolán took a deep breath and aimed his gun towards the buck. It’s head was still down, nibbling on some unseen grass. He pointed the barrel just behind the buck’s shoulder, where its heart would be. He slowly placed his finger on the trigger, trying to steady his own pounding heart.

A rumble of thunder above made Faolán and the deer perk up. Faolán looked towards the sky. That was odd. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky to be seen, and certainly nothing to suggest a coming storm. It had already passed the village. Another rumble sounded, but this time it sounded closer. 

The buck sprang away, bounding into the thicker trees. Faolán tried to follow it with his gun, but it was too quick.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.  He stood up and scanned the area. Perhaps he could still find something else if he went deeper. That was when he saw it.

A giant mass flew up to the skies, and grew closer. It kept swerving from one side to the other, as though avoiding something, and its wide wings beat furiously. Faolán thought at first it was a bird, but it was far too big. He then thought for a moment that, maybe, it could be a dragon. But that was impossible. Dragons had been extinct for decades.

The mass gave a great lurch and spiraled down towards the forest. Faolán heard it give out a mighty roar of pain, followed by a loud thud and distant trees snapping.

Something pulled Faolán towards the sounds. A small part of him said he needed to investigate what just happed. The rest of him had a bad feeling about it, but he pushed it aside. He slung his gun over his shoulder and hurried towards whatever was waiting for him.

As he got closer to the crash site, Faolán found debris, mostly branches and dirt, scattered along the forest floor. He spotted a huge green mass through the trees that were still in tact. He ducted through them and froze, unable to believe what he was seeing.

It was a dragon, though it was clearly dead now. It was bigger then anything he had ever seen, at least as long as two or even three of the village houses. Its scales shone in a brilliant emerald green, and its eyes, now dull and lifeless, were a sapphire blue. Behind the creature several trees had been snapped in half, laying to the sides. A great row of uprooted mud sat in their place, as though a great plow had dug through the earth. Blood seeped from bullet wounds that littered its underside.

It took a few moments for Faolán to notice the man laying at the dragon’s side. He rushed over to the man and checked for any sign of life. He found none. The man had probably snapped his neck from the fall. From the gray streaks in his hair and the wrinkles on his face, the man was older. He wore a dress shirt and trousers with a belt wrapped around his middle, all smeared with mud. Faolán looked over the man, taking him in. There was only one group of people who rode dragons: wildborns.

Wildborns were a people Faolán knew all too well. They hailed from the rugged northern lands of Cinnatala. They had a deep connection to nature and magic, able to command animals and manipulate plants. Decades before, the empire had invaded and they had been hunted down and killed of, and the ones who weren’t had been sent into slavery.

A groan snapped Faolán out of his thoughts. He saw a younger woman, just a little older than Laila, leaning against one of the trees. She clutched a knapsack close to her, as though trying to protect it.

Faolán rushed over to the woman, gently grabbing her shoulder. “Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

The woman coughed, and another quiet moan escaped her lips.

Faolán looked around. He had to get the woman out of here, and soon. The villagers would come looking, and if they found the wildborn all alone in the forest, she would surely be imprisoned, or worse. But where could Faolán take her? Back to his cabin, perhaps. But surely he would need a healer, and Faolán didn’t have the supplies or experience to heal him.

He knew someone who could though.

Faolán brushed a lock of mouse brown hair out of the woman’s face. “I’m going to get you somewhere safe. And then I’ll get someone to help you. Don’t worry.”

He grabbed the knapsack and tried to pull it out of the wildborn’s hands. The woman’s grip was tight though, and the knapsack itself was quite heavy. Eventually Faolán pulled it out of the wildborn’s hands and peered inside. Once again, he was stunned.

There was an egg. One larger then any Faolán had seen before. It was light blue with flecks of black along it, like a robin’s egg. Straw and wool filled the rest of the knapsack to cushion the egg and keep it in place. Miraculously, he couldn’t see any visible cracks in the shell.

Just when he thought he’d seen it all, fate surprised him again.

Faolán carefully slung the knapsack over his shoulders, careful to place his rifle at its side. He dug his hands under the woman and heaved her up. He could now see a spot of blood trickled down the back of her neck. With everything he was carrying, he was glad he hadn’t shot the buck he had seen earlier.

By the time he made it home, Faolán’s legs and back were on fire. He carefully laid the woman in his cot and the knapsack in the corner, behind a coat. He put his rifle down by the front door and rushed out. No time to rest just yet.

Faolán ran to town as fast as he could back towards the forest. He had no idea if Laila was still out there or if she had already headed home. He got his answer as he saw her walking in his direction. She stopped as he ran up to her, brows furrowing with worry.

“Faolán? What’s wrong?”

“I need your help,” he said. 

“What do you need, are you hurt?” Laila responded, already trying to asses him for injuries.

“No, not me. But there’s a woman in my home that looks pretty beaten up. The back of his head is bleeding.”

“Who—”

“Later. Now go get your grandmother, and tell her to hurry.”

[snackara]

Map of Soliterra and Cinnatala

Made using Azgaar’s Fantasy Map Generator

[snackara]

Okay so I’m having some ~thoughts~ again about my writing that may or may not actually end up being used so I want to dump it all here to think it through.

Now, I’ve talked about how Faolán was raised to be a weapon in this post. About how he was only taken in to prove to the government that wildborns could be used as more than slaves. To embrace his animalistic side and become a monster.

Now, what if he met someone who was a mirrored version of him? Someone who was raised specifically to acclimate wildborn’s to noble society and become more refined.

There’s a lot you can do with two characters like this that I’m sure have been done before. Especially with their backgrounds. Because while both were raised as crude social experiments to prove something to other people. But they were done so very differently as well. One meant to become a monster, and one meant to become a gentlemen. Both very traumatized and messed up from it. Two sides of the same coin.

And then they meet somehow, and bond with each other in a way they can’t with anyone else. Because as different as they are, they’re both the only ones who understand the unique situation other has gone through. All the expectations, all the prejudice against them despite that, the lack of knowledge about their own people and culture. They know each other best.

I do really like the idea, but I’m still not entirely sure about it. Especially where it fits in the general outline I have so far. Hopefully it won’t get scrapped, but only time will tell.