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sapphic-woes · 2 years ago

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Ambessa x Fem!Reader - Rumors

A/N: So...you're a bard taken to entertain while a political treaty is being made between Noxus and your kingdom, however, you end up becoming part of the deal oh no :(

Word Count: 6k AO3 link

_____________

You had never sung as though your life was on the line if you failed, but as you looked into the gray, narrowed eyes pinned on your body…

Your voice rang out like never before.

You flicked over the strings of your lute, notes echoing over the walls as you nimbled across the floor.

Your melody filled the grand halls of Noxus, resting on the ears of the warriors around you. Don’t think. Just sing. They were fearsome people to say the least, hardened by war with hearts blackened by cruelty. You’d rather never come across a single Noxian in your life, yet a treaty between this kingdom and your very small one was to be signed, and you were called to provide entertainment in the days to come.

Three. Just three nights and then I’ll be safe back home. You closed your eyes, somber tunes captivating the hearts of those around you. Though you hated it, you weren't surprised when your rulers ordered that you come along. You were the most celebrated bard in your kingdom for a reason, with your voice making you a legend amongst musicians everywhere. Your name was known throughout all the lands, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d perform for more powerful people–but gods–how you wished your first big performance was for any other ruler than her.

You could feel it drilling into you, gray eyes watching your every move. Every note you strung, pivot of your foot, and tilt of your head was being observed, studied, and judged. It made you shiver, and you could only hope you’d pass whatever test this was with flying colors.

Ambessa, the infamous warlord, eyed you as you sang. The woman sat back on her throne, looking down at you with nothing but a straight face. Her left hand rested flat on the throne’s arm, with her right lifted up, balled into a fist to support her cheek. Her legs were sprawled out, accommodating the armored attire she wore, red shimmering under the palace lights. Ambessa’s eyes were blank, yet they followed every step you took, as though she were assessing you.

Was she impressed? Was she bored? You couldn’t tell–didn’t dare to guess–instead focusing on appearing relaxed. The song was a slow one, but the message was about peace and unification, something your kingdom desperately needed with Noxus. She’s destroyed other kingdoms double our size, and now that she’s set her eyes on us… You shuddered, hitting a particularly high note near the end of the song.

She’d wipe us out in a matter of days. Perhaps we’d last a week at best. If we don’t get this alliance…your voice waned off as you dramatically gazed up into the ceiling, fingers racking through your lute as the final note strung.

We’re fucking doomed.

When you finished the song you swallowed, turning to face Ambessa. Manners… You dipped down into a deep curtsy, keeping your eyes away even as you lifted yourself back up. Booming applause echoed around you, and you winced. The warriors were so loud in this hall, worse than any pub you’d ever performed at, and it pained your ears, though you resisted the urge to cover them–

Suddenly the noise was cut off, so sharply it startled you into looking up. You swallowed when you met Ambessa’s heavy gaze, the warlord's hand raised to silence all the other warriors in the room. For a moment you could do nothing but quiver, heart pounding in your chest as her gaze dragged over your body. Finally, her eyes rested on your own, voice surprisingly gentle.

Though, what she spoke of was anything but.

"Now, what do I have to do to make a person a part of this deal…" You froze, dread washing over you as an icy smile slowly spread across Ambessa’s face. The entire hall was trapped under a thick fog of tension, and although you could hardly breathe in this atmosphere, Ambessa thrived. The warlord let out a lax sigh, fingers somewhat covering her crooked smile as she spoke.

"I thought it was ridiculous, forming a treaty with a kingdom so weak. Why not just take what I want? Why listen to these pathetic ambassadors…" The ambassadors you came with paled, terror sparking in their eyes. However, the warlord didn't order their immediate beheading, or proclaim that the treaty was annulled. Rather, she waved her hands at them, tilting her head as she fixed them with a steely gaze.

"So? For the little bard–what do you demand? Don’t be too greedy with me…" Her eyes narrowed, voice a deep, threatening growl, "I don’t take well to parasites leeching off my kingdom." They wouldn't. If you weren't under the watchful eye of the warlord, you would have vigorously shook your head. All you could do now was beg them with your eyes–pleading that they don't give you up to certain death.

How would you survive such a person? The warlord was inconceivable. She sat on her throne as a god would, and the size of her even from here, frightened you. Surely, you would not last a day with her, let alone a night. Those thick hands would break you, and the strength of those arms could snap you in half. You shut your eyes to block out the image, heart a painful pounding in your chest. To your dismay, one of the ambassadors finally spoke up, with his regretful expression already confirming that your fate was sealed.

"Y/N, as you know Lady Medarda, is a pride to our humble kingdom. Her voice and music is like no one else’s. To give her up to be…” The ambassador shuffled as he tried to find the right words, “under your care is a painful process for us. Therefore…we ask for limited access to the trading posts under your rule." Fuck, go big or go home I guess. The request almost made you take back your horror. Gaining access to a vast supply of materials through Noxus would change the lives of thousands.

Ambessa raised an eyebrow, scoffing before sitting up on her throne. She placed both elbows on her knees, leaning forward to clasp her hands together as her eyes amusedly gleamed. Her smile was wide, but it was sharp–making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. She looks ready to murder him.

The ambassador trembled under Ambessa' unyielding stare, and the warlord eyed him for a moment longer before finally focusing her gaze back on you. Oh. You stiffened, flinching when the corner of Ambessa’ mouth lifted, and she let out the smallest of laughs, frosty chimes echoing in the room.

"Fine. Consider the treaty done. Aren’t you grateful? Now you can keep your measly little kingdom. But you…” Ambessa cocked her head towards your trembling form, a faint, sinister smile on her face as she did. “You will come to my chambers tonight, is that understood?”

You understood alright. You understood so well that it took everything in you not to refuse as you dipped into a curtsy. You felt you would nearly faint, fear gripping your heart. You fought the urge to cry, silently nodding instead. You took a deep breath, steadying your heart before answering your new ruler.

“Of course my lady…it would be my honor.”

_____________

The steam did nothing to help hide her body. However, you thought it might ruin your lute. You focused on the second thought to keep yourself calm.

“Little bard,” those sharp gray eyes held your own. You swallowed. “Come closer.”

Of course, you knew better than to refuse.

“Yes, Lady Medarda.”

The bathhouse was large. Larger than your own measly place back in your homeland. Your bare feet against the tile echoed mercilessly. The guards’ eyes on you were nauseating. The gaze of the servants attending to Ambessa even more so. You did not feel welcomed, and you knew why, glancing at your reflection through the pools of water you passed by.

The light silk of your new dress brushing against your skin was foreign to you. It fell at your thighs, black and lined with intricate red designs. With a necklace at your throat and bracelets jingling as you walked, you were dressed in Noxian colors like a doll, a possession…and it reminded you that your life was no longer your own. Am I no different than a maiden being married off between two kingdoms? You supposed you were not. From the look in her eyes, your warlord thought the same.

“Sit.” As you stood by the edge of the pool, Ambessa waded towards you, leaving nothing to be imagined. Your eyes shifted away to your precious lute, skin growing hotter than the humid air around you. Not trusting your own voice, you nodded, settling down cross legged before her. You did not know what to say, let alone what to do, but it seemed she didn’t mind your uncertainty.

“Do you know why I bargained for you?” You didn’t. Not really. You could guess, but it felt disrespectful to say your thoughts aloud. But to lie, you worried, would make the soft way she spoke to you harden. Anything but that. You chose to be honest with as little words as possible, voice quiet as you murmured.

“I do not, Lady.” May I ask? Sat on the tip of your tongue, but you held it back. Questioning her felt like you would be poking a bear. However, it seemed that was exactly what she wanted.

The sloshing sound of water made you sharply intake your breath. The humidity around you increased, and the warmth of her body alone was nearly suffocating. Instinctively, you shrunk within yourself, making room for large, soaking hands to be placed themselves on either side of your hips. Your grip on your lute was desperate, and your neck hurt from dipping down, staring at your lap to avoid peeking at the woman before you.

Her rolling chuckle at your actions had embarrassment painting over your cheeks. You shook, eyes widening when droplets fell, decorating the cheap wood of your instrument as Ambessa leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“Do you not want to know?” How deep. You felt each syllable like a soft tremor over your entire body. You thought her voice held you in a vice grip, not allowing you to breathe. Her next words were tangible against your ears.

“Your value to me.” Did you? You feared she’d be too honest. Let you know that despite the glittering jewelry wrapped around you, you were still nothing but a toy. Hesitantly, you shook your head.

“I need not know, Lady. As long as I have value at all…I am grateful.” You spoke hoping you’d said the safest option. Her silence did not assure you of that. Instead, it made your body tremble more, waiting on every slow breath she took. In fact, everyone was waiting for Ambessa to speak, and like before, she took the attention with ease. Eventually, she lifted her hand to trace the edge of your bottom lip. The movement was so sudden it startled you into looking up, finally able to see her up close.

Oh. You wanted to trace the tips of your fingers across the creases of her face. Run them along the edge of her jaw. High cheekbones made her rich skin catch the lights of the room perfectly, complementing the scars on her face. You wondered who would dare attack her like that. Somehow, you knew whoever did hadn't lived to tell the tale. How then, would she tell them? The poet inside you was curious, more so than you thought would keep you safe.

“I have only brought you here for your voice. Nothing more. I do not enjoy forcing others to have sex with me. Besides…” you flushed at her blunt words, watching her shift away to move towards another servant. You held your breath as Ambessa caressed the crook of her servant's neck, and the servant melted under her touch. Ambessa smiled, speaking in a definitive tone to you.

“Why would I ever need to do that, when others are so willing?” Her words made your insides squirm. It was true, yet to hear it so confidently spoken aloud was maddening. Ambessa waved a hand in your direction, moving to focus all her attention on the flushed servant before her.

“Now go. Sleep. I will call for you when you are needed.” At her sudden and swift dismissal, you squeaked out a farewell, rising with a rush to speed walk out of the baths. Desperately you tried to calm yourself down, lute clutched to your chest. You left with the voice of the servant echoing in your ears, a sweet melody akin to your heart's.

_____________

Your days in Noxus were better than you'd hoped. You were given your own guest room to sleep in, clothes, and a terrifyingly expensive lute. Despite its quality, you still preferred to practice on your own, merely becoming used to the newer one before never touching it again.

At first, you had been attended by many maids until you insisted you could dress yourself, much to their amusement. It seemed everyone in Noxus was more…open than you were, leading the maids of the palace to quickly fawn over your hesitant nature. You'd take this new development over their initial hostility any day, but still…the teasing was becoming hard to handle.

“Y/N, our warlord has taken great interest in you,” hands fixed the silver at your neck, moving to adjust the rest of your jewelry. “They say it is why she bargained for you. She fell in love with the beauty of your voice, and wanted it for her own.” The words made your chest flutter, but you shook your head immediately.

“Those are merely rumors, and I am only a bard. She has…attendants as well.” The single maid now assigned to you, Emily, laughed at your denial, eyes mischievous as she looked over your attire.

“I have never seen someone be appointed as a royal bard before, let alone dressed better than any woman our warlord has had relations with. Do you not know how expensive you've become?” Emily tapped the necklace tight on your throat. “This alone costs more than either of our lives combined.”

Her teasing words made you blush, and she only snickered harder, moving to fix up the very last of your attire. “Have you not been with a woman before–or, more importantly–have you never been with a Noxian before?”

You could not bring yourself to answer her straight forward questions, but Emily continued nonetheless, “I understand you are from a much more docile land…so I will let you in on a little secret.”

Emily stood up straight. She was taller than you, as many Noxians seemed to be, looking down at you with wicked eyes. “We Noxians are quite ravenous, but I have never heard of any as merciless as Lady Medarda."

She spoke like an adult talking of fabled ghosts and monsters to a child. Yet while you knew she was only joking, you trembled regardless. "They say she does not tire, and it is nearly impossible to satisfy her. She takes what she wants, and when she is done with her partners? They are bedridden for days."

Emily took a menacing step towards you, working hard to keep a straight face as you jolted in alarm. Emily reached up, fingers brushing against your pounding chest.

“You're so delicate Y/N. I fear you'll become but a tiny little morsel for her to completely gobble up, or worse…” Emily whispered, making sure to emphasize her words to scare you the most, “she might accidentally break you.”

“But,” the maid clapped, snickering as you jumped at the sound. “That is also simply a rumor, and you are much too easy to tease. I’m sure she will treat you like a precious flower." You could only silently stare back, and at your bright red, frightened face, Emily couldn’t help but finally burst out laughing, deciding she had toyed with you enough.

“Okay, okay–I jest Y/N, really. Though Lady Mederda definitely has interest in you, she is not some ravenous beast... at least, not like that. Honestly, is that what foreigners believe Noxians are like?” Well, we basically do.

You didn’t say that aloud of course, merely letting out a breath of relief. If Emily had been serious, you wouldn’t have known what to do. As she fixed your makeup, you shut your eyes, hopeful that you wouldn’t come across the warlord anytime soon.

_____________

It was during the maids' lunch break that she appeared a few days later. In hindsight, you should have known your actions would have brought the unwanted attention.

You sang with an uplifting tune. The music at a steady, fast pace. A swift turn had your jewelry jingling, and a stomp as you emphasized beats shook the anklets at your feet. You moved to command the room, to lift the faces of tired maids and keep the others happy. You clapped to have your audience join in, shimmied to the sway of your own music, and overall? You had fun.

You had been given one task from Ambessa, delivered through a messenger. Observe my kingdom, and create songs for my people. Of course, you did as you were told, creating tunes and lyrics about various things that caught your eye in Noxus. To test them out, you performed for the lovely maids of the palace, which they greatly enjoyed during their breaks.

It felt like you were back to the simpler days before your fame, performing in everyday, run of the mill pubs and bars. To stand on the seats and belt out a whopping tune, and playfully tease a fawning maid by leaning over, singing softly just for her before abruptly turning away. To join in with others in terrible harmonies, to improvise solos with your lute…you hadn't felt this way in years. It was amazing, how being bargained for had resulted in this–

Your back hit a warm, hard wall you swore hadn't been there before. At the frozen faces before you, dread sank into the pit of your stomach. Oh no. The wall released a deep, droning hum above your head, and it took everything in you not to panic when Ambessa spoke.

"I see you’re already fitting in?" Was that a bad thing? You hoped not, gulping before turning around. You didn't dare look up, eyes trained on the boots before your own red, laced sandals.

"Lady Merada, it is an honor to see you again…” Your words trailed off, breath hitching in your throat. Ambessa’s hand came forward to gently cup your chin, making your skin warm. She could hold your entire face in the palm of her hand, though she did not guide it up to focus on her own. Rather, she simply held it, calloused fingers softly squeezing your rogue cheeks.

“I have not had time to call on you as I said. The maids say you are faring well, is that true?” Your small nod made her voice hint at a smile, “good. Though I must admit…seeing you dance and sing for the maids has made me a little jealous. Do I not deserve a show as well, my little siren?” Huh? You were in a bit of a daze when she called you her siren, but at the rest of her words you perked up in alarm, shaking your head aggressively.

“I–of course you do my Lady! My apologies, I did not–”

"My Lady Medarda, forgive me, but we must speak of our defense strategies!” The other voice had you looking up, and you gasped, realizing Ambessa wasn't alone. Other important figures in Noxus stood behind her, with warriors also there to guard them. They all looked back at you, observing the way Ambessa delicately handled her little bard, not even forcing you to look her in the eyes when you spoke. To you, she was just as gentle as usual, but to them?

Clearly, you had some kind of value to the warlord, and Ambessa’s reaction only made that theory worse. Her plush crimson lips twisted into a frown, and she sighed, eyebrows pinched together.

“However, I have that to deal with first, so any such shows would have to wait.” Ambessa’s thumb traced over your cheekbone. The touch made you shift from fretfully eyeing the intimidating people behind her to focusing on her own face, swallowing nervously. Your mind was becoming mush, and you blamed it on her intoxicating touch. It made you sputter out a suggestion with little thought.

“T-then I'll wait! Till tonight! As you are so busy. I can–I will perform any song for you tonight, when you are available…?” You hadn't realized the gravity of what you'd said until a fork loudly clattered, eyes shifting to the source to see Emily with wide eyes of disbelief on her face. However, that was all you saw before the soft grip on your chin suddenly grew firm, forcing you to look back up at Ambessa again. She stared at you for a moment longer, eyes searching for something. You did not know what she wanted, but whatever it was, she found it.

"...Then I will look forward to tonight, little bard." It was all she said before she straightened. You hadn’t realized she’d bent to meet your gaze, eyes widening as she towered over you again. She left with the static she'd brought into the room, and suddenly you could breathe again–only to have Emily rip all the air out of you as she swung you around to face her.

"Holy shit Y/N. Do you realize what you've gotten yourself into?"

_____________

Admittedly, you had not.

You were dressed in shimmering black silk and perched atop her healthy thighs. The expensive lute in your hand strung away, and your voice, though wavering, softly carried throughout Ambessa's chambers. You had expected to put on a show like earlier that day, to dance and sing a merry tune. But this was far more…intimate.

You were much too aware of her hand on your lower back, rubbing slow circles into your skin. Too cautious of her heavy gaze, and where it landed–over your dancing fingers, downcast eyes and quivering lips. Perhaps this is what Emily meant. It felt as if she was eating you up with her gaze alone, and still, she was hungry. You could tell by the way her eyes darkened at your hesitant glances, and how they lingered over your bobbing throat. Surely, you would suffocate under this tension alone, letting out a breath when you sang your final note.

"Then, s-shall I sing another?" Ambessa raised an eyebrow.

"This is the fifth one, and it has hardly been a month since your stay began. How many songs have you composed already?" You embarrassedly wrung your hands together.

"I didn't know how many songs you'd require from me, and Noxus is…frankly, a beautiful land." You smiled softly.

"The people are like none other. Neither is the vegetation. The weather is unpredictable, and even in the air there is a sense of, I am. A resilience to simply be. I find it a grueling land of beauty. As a refined gem or diamond." You let out a tiny laugh, unsure if you'd made any sense to Ambessa. "…There so much to notice and make music about, I found myself making music about almost everything I saw–"

"Almost?" Her voice made you stop. You looked up into an amused, quizzical gaze. You sucked in a breath at your slip up, looking down at your lute.

"Oh, it's nothing. I only thought of…well, it's truly an odd thing to sing about–"

"Tell me Y/N. You know by now I will give you what you need…" Her scalding gaze made the words itch under your skin. "To sing, of course." Of course. Your cheeks grew a flame, and you chastened yourself for how your mind wandered.

"I do not mean to offend but, Lady Medarda…from the moment I saw you in the bathhouse, I wanted to know the story of your scars. There are so many, some I'm sure are more grand than others, some more intimate. To spin a song for them, I thought, would be…." A quick glance at her face made your heart skip a beat. The burning in her eyes had you looking away, voice tittering.

"...Nice." Her laugh was damning, as your heart became a flimsy drumming against your ribcage.

"Only nice?" The hand at your back shifted. She gripped your hips and brought you closer, eliciting a gasp from you. Ambessa's lips brushed against the curve of your ear, sending shivers coursing down your spine.

"Would you like me to show you, little siren? These scars of mine?" Her alluring voice in your ear was sweet. It commanded you to nod, biting your bottom lip as Ambessa hummed in approval.

"Then I shall."

_____________

"Tell me then, what is it you see?" In all honesty? Despite being a master of words, you found nothing could describe what lay before you.

Amongst the furs of her bed, was Ambessa. Her right leg was prompted up, letting her elbow rest over her knees. The other was stretched out, leaving nothing unseen as you stood before her.

"...Excellence…" The word slipped out before you could stop it, mumbled just loud enough for her to hear. She raised an eyebrow, lips curling. She lifted her hand to beckon you closer. You let out a shaky breath, climbing onto the bed to crawl towards her.

"Go on." It was dangerous to do so. Yet you nodded anyway.

"I have not seen such jagged marks before, let alone so many on one body. They add to the splendor." Ambessa let out a small chuckle, watching you come closer.

"Splendor?" You nodded. You were still anxious, frightened of the warlord's piercing gaze on you. But you were also mesmerized by her muscles rippling as she laughed, making your skin tingle all over.

"Y-yes. I have never seen a person exude so much power before. M-may I write songs about you? Of how captivating your body is, and how…" You stopped just at the edge of her feet, breathless as you nervously spoke.

"…How one can become enchanted by you, Lady?" You were unaware of the effect your words had on Ambessa. Her rationality was coming undone from your awed stare and charming words. Ambessa wanted that tiny, tentative mouth against her own. She wanted to coax out sweet melodies from you, again and again, until she was satisfied.

So, the warlord thought to herself, she would simply do that.

Ambessa reached out to grip your wrist, pulling you flush against her. You could hardly let out a gasp before her lips captured your own. There was no sense of urgency in her touch, as she had no need to rush, but within her steadiness, you were drowning.

There was an overwhelming passion in her kiss, sapping all your strength from you. You melted against the teeth dragging across your bottom lip, offering you a single breath before Ambessa kissed you again. It was as if she was taking in your very essence, sucking the marrow of your bones and leaving you weak in her grasp. When her hands began to wander, slipping under your dress to fondle your breasts, you shuddered. Her touch was unforgiving, electric over your skin as she held you closer. Suddenly, her gruff voice was in your ear, cutting through the fog of your mind.

"Write as many as you please," her hand pressed against the peak of her breasts, and you let out a soft moan, "and I shall reward you for each one." Reward?

You jolted as her lips kissed the side of your neck, growing wet from her wandering touch. Oh. Your stomach twisted in delight, letting Ambessa ease the silk dress off your shoulders. Her mouth over your chest had you gasping, unable to stop squirming in pleasure. Truly, to indulge yourself with Ambessa's body was a reward. To have her strong hands hold you as she wanted, to feel your heat slick over the top of her thigh.

Your own hands tentatively moved to grope her shoulders and trace the scars on her arms. You adored the dips and curves of her biceps, murmuring through faulty breaths how beautiful they were. Your actions earned you a rugged laugh, and swiftly Ambessa pulled you up until your legs straddled her waist. Goodness. She leaned back herself, back flush against the sheets. You didn’t need any further instruction.

“That’s good, just like that…” You set to work, worshiping Ambessa’s body with praising kisses and adoring suckles, pleasuring your lady to the best of your abilities. Her shoulders, toned arms and plentiful breasts–you couldn’t get enough of her, and it showed. She chuckled at your fervent need to hear her moans, cooing over how hard you worked to please her. To look down and see your pretty, kiss-bruised lips against her chest, devotion brimming in your eyes…it made her burn with need.

“Lady, you are truly–ah!” Suddenly your back arched. You hadn’t been ready for her to drive two thick fingers into your dripping heat, smirking as you stretched around her. Before you knew it, your voice was a keening melody, hands shuddering over the hard muscle of her abs.

“L-Lady–” She moved effortlessly, leaving you a weak mess against her. Over and over, she thrust her fingers into your slick folds, humming in content as you jolted. Your body was reduced to helpless quivering, unable to focus on your original task. Her voice rumbled through you as she spoke, mockingly full of disappointment.

“My…I’ve hardly done anything, and you’re already like this?” How was this hardly a thing? She was drilling her fingers into you in just the right places, turning your brain to mush. They were slow, rough thrusts that filled you whole, ruining any chance of coherent thought. Still, you wanted to prove her teasing words wrong, pressing your lips to the skin under your cheek. You were sloppy in comparison to before, lips wet as you traced the shape of Ambessa’s abs.

“How adorable…” It was the only reward she gave before shoving her fingers in deeper, and you choked against her waist, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes. She’s playing with me. Ambessa wanted to see if you could handle her, and you wanted to show her you could, moving down until your head hovered above her own dewy folds.

You dipped down to taste her, flattening your tongue against her heat as you indulge yourself. Tentative laps grew more confident as Ambessa moaned above you, only faltering when her fingers hammered into your sweet spot. You groaned against her, feeling her twitch in response to the vibrations you released. Your fingers, known for delicately stringing along the notes of your lute, were forceful now–digging into the thick thighs around you to pull her closer. Your own strength was fruitless, but Ambessa obliged regardless, letting more and more of her weight press onto you–but still, it was not enough.

“My Lady, my Lady please.” You lift your face from its place between her thighs simply to beg, a string of her arousal still clinging to your lips. She knew what you wanted, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you as she removed her soaked fingers from your slick folds. With little hesitation she shoved her glistening fingers into your mouth, raising an eyebrow at your desperation.

“Needy girl, do you want me that badly?” You nodded around her fingers, sucking your own taste off of them. Her eyes darkened, voice husky as she removed them only to push you down. Again, you were faced with her dripping heat, heart skipping a bit in anticipation. The sight of her thighs on either side of you, with the outline of her body hovering above you, and blocking out the lights of the bedroom was enough to make you throb. She’s beautiful.

Ambessa started out slow, taking her time to rock against your mouth and fall into a rhythm. The pressure was intense, but nothing you weren’t determined to take, focused on wrapping your lips around her twitching bud. Eagerly you sucked, feeling her hips shudder and raspy voice praise you.

“That’s it, right there, perfect love…” It made your own wetness beg for relief, and you squirmed, clutching her thighs to let her know you could take it more. Your willingness to worship her was enough to send Ambessa over the edge, gripping a fistful of your hair to roughly jerk you harder against her pearl, grinding down at the same time.

You obediently licked and suckled her earnestly, growing more turned on as she forcefully used you. The pleasure mixed with the pain, butterflies beating around in your chest as her thighs squeezed down around your cheeks. The bed loudly creaked as Ambessa rode your face, somehow moaning even louder. You found it exquisite, to watch such a powerful woman turn breathless as she treated you as nothing more than a way to get off, back arching as she reached her peak. You didn’t stop until she rode out her euphoria, finally releasing you to breathe.

I…actually lived?

“Such a good girl…” You hardly were given a moment to rest before two fingers plunged knuckle deep into your dripping heat, swift, ruthless strokes sending your already sensitive body over the edge. “You’ve done so well, been so precious to me. How can I not reward you now?” She was relentless against your sweet spot, drilling into you over and over as you cried out. You twisted, hands gripping the sheets and toes curling as she easily brought you over the edge, cooing when you came for her.

Once you were cleaned up and could truly rest, Ambessa gathered you up in her arms, lips tickling your temple.

“…Might you sing for me again?” The drowsy voice was soft, almost as gentle as the half lidded gaze Ambessa fixed on you. They were filled with content, coaxing out a tiny smile of your own. You nodded, voice a delicate lullaby for your Lady. Ambessa met your compliance with tenderness, wrapping her strong arms around you in a warm embrace. She let out a deep hum, voice a mumble as she began to sleep. So what Emily spoke of really were rumors…partially. You couldn’t help but giggle at that, fingers brushing against her sleeping face as you whispered.

“Goodnight, My Lady.”

#ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane #arcane x reader #league of legends #arcane headcanon #lesbian

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cappymightwrite · 3 years ago

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Jon Snow, Manfred & The Byronic Hero: Part 2

Previous Posts: PART 1

Hopefully Part 1 served as a good introduction on the topic and characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as how Jon Snow in particular is likely an iteration of this figure. But now we come to the real meat of this meta series — a closer look at Byron's dramatic poem Manfred (1816–1817), and more importantly, its titular character in comparison to Jon Snow. I was originally going to do an analysis and comparison of two key episodes in Manfred and A Storm of Swords, Jon VI, but have since decided to give that its own post... that's right kids, there will be a part 3!

(Detail from Lord Byron, Thomas Phillips, 1813)

So... why Manfred? Why not Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, or The Corsair, or Don Juan, or any other work by Lord Byron? Well, I'll tell you why, my sweet summer children. It's because of THIS:

Manfred/Manfryds and Byrons in ASOIAF, by order of first appearance and publication:

Ser Manfred Swann (ASOS, Jaime VIII)

Ser Manfred Dondarrion (The Hedge Knight)

Manfred Lothston (The Sworn Sword)

Manfryd o' the Black Hood (AFFC, Brienne I)

Manfryd Yew (AFFC, Jaime V)

Ser Byron the Beautiful (AFFC, Alayne II, TWOW, Alayne I)

Ser Byron Swann (ADWD, Tyrion III)

Manfryd Merlyn of Kite (ADWD, Victarion I)

Manfryd Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool (The Princess and the Queen, TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (TWOIAF)

Manfred Hightower, Lord of the Hightower (Fire and Blood)

Like... what the hell, George?

I find this very interesting, very interesting indeed! *cough* intentional, very intentional *cough* And I have to thank @agentrouka-blog for reminding me of the existence of these Manfreds/Manfryds, and thus pointing me in this particular direction. This evidence is, for me, my smoking gun, it's why I feel justified in exploring this specific work. In my opinion, it really strongly confirms that GRRM is aware of Manfred, he is aware of its author — as a literary name, it is pretty much exclusively connected to Byron, it's like Hamlet to Shakespeare, or Heathcliff to Emily Brontë. In fact, GRRM likes it enough to use this name several times in fact, its frequency of use aided by a slight variation on its spelling.

So, as we can see, there are a striking number of Manfred/Manfryds (9!!) featured in the ASOIAF universe, whereas Byron (2) is used a bit more sparingly — perhaps because the latter, if more liberally used, would become far more recognisable as an overt literary reference? Interestingly, though, we can see a direct link between the two names as both bear the surname Swann: Ser Manfred Swann and Ser Byron Swann (note the exact spelling of Manfred here, as opposed to Manfryd). Ser Byron was alive during the Dance of Dragons and died trying to kill the dragon Syrax, whereas Ser Manfred was alive during Aegon V's reign and had a young Ser Barristan as his squire. So, in terms of ancestry, Byron came before Manfred, which makes sense since Lord Byron created the character of Manfred; he is his authorial/literary progenitor, if you will.

But why Swann, though? Is there any significance to that surname? Well, I did a little bit of digging and turned up something very interesting, at least in my opinion. In Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem Lines written among the Euganean Hills (1818), in its sixth stanza, the poet addresses the city of Venice... the “tempest-cleaving Swan” in the eighth line is clearly meant to be his friend and contemporary, Lord Byron, that city’s most famous expatriate:

That a tempest-cleaving Swan Of the songs of Albion, Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee;

(st. 6, l. 8-12)

Ah ha! But let's not forget that the Swanns are also a house from the stormlands — stormlander Swanns vs. "tempest-cleaving Swan." It seems a nice little homage, doesn't it? You could also argue that the battling swans of House Swann's sigil are a possible reference to Byron's fondness for boxing (he apparently received "pugilistic tuition" at a club in Bond Street, London). But to make the references to Byron too overt would ruin the subtly, so it isn't necessary, in my opinion, for the Swanns to be completely steeped in Byronisms.

All in all, it would be very neat of GRRM if the reasoning behind Byron and Manfred Swann is because of this reference to Lord Byron by Shelley. How these names and the characters that bear them might further reference Byron and Manfred is a possible discussion for another day! It's all just very interesting, very noteworthy, and highlights how careful GRRM is at choosing the names of his characters, even very minor, seemingly insignificant ones.

(Illustration of Villa Diodati from Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, Edward Finden, 1833)

Now onto the actual poem, and the ways in which Jon Snow could being referencing/paralleling Manfred. First things first, a bit of biographical context. Take my hand, and let's travel back in time, way back when, to 1816, the year in which Lord Byron left England forever, his reputation in tatters due to the collapse of his marriage and the rumours of an affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh (plus he was hugely in debt). No doubt, most of us are familiar with the story, but in 1816 Byron travelled to Switzerland, to a villa on Lake Geneva, where he met the Shelleys and suggested that they all pass the time by writing ghost stories.

The most famous story produced by them was, of course, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818) — which may have served as the partial inspiration behind Qyburn and Robert Strong! Byron himself did begin a story but soon gave it up (yesss, we love an unproductive king); it was completed, however, by his personal physician, John William Polidori, and eventually published, under Byron's name, as The Vampyre (1819). But Byron didn't completely abandon the ghost story project, as later that summer, after a visit by the Gothic novelist M. G. Lewis, he wrote his "supernatural" tragedy, Manfred (1817).*

*I've seen it dated as 1816-17, but the crucial thing to rememeber, in terms of Byron's own biography, is that unlike The Bride of Abydos, he wrote it after his departure from England... this theme of exile will come up later.

Manfred is what is called a "closet drama", so is structured much like a play, with acts and scenes, though it wouldn't have actually been intended to be performed on stage. Indeed, Lord Byron first described Manfred to his publisher as "a kind of poem in dialogue... but of a very wild—metaphysical—and inexplicable kind": "Almost all the persons—but two or three—are Spirits... the hero [is] a kind of magician who is tormented by a species of remorse—the cause of which is left half unexplained—he wanders about invoking these spirits—which appear to him—& are of no use—he at last goes to the very abode of the Evil principle in propria persona [i.e. in person]—to evocate a ghost—which appears—& gives him an ambiguous & disagreeable answer..."*

*As in Part 1, more academic references will be listed in a bibliography at the end of this post.

To sum up the narrative for you, Manfred is a nobleman living in the Bernese Alps, "tormented by a species of remorse", which is never fully explained, but is clearly connected to the death of his beloved Astarte. Through his mastery of poetic language and spell-casting, he is able to summon seven "spirits", from whom he seeks the gift of forgetfulness, but this plea cannot be granted — he cannot escape from his past. He is also prevented from escaping his mysterious guilt by taking his own life, but in the end, Manfred does die, thus defying religious temptations of redemption from sin. He therefore stands outside of societal expectations, a Romantic rebel who succeeds in challenging all of the authoritative powers he faces, ultimately choosing death over submission to the powerful spirits.

According to Lara Assaad, the character of Manfred is the "Byronic hero par excellence", as he shares its typical characteristics found in Byron's other work (as discussed in Part 1), "yet pushed to the extreme." As noted above, there is a defiance to Manfred's character, which is arguable also found in Jon. Certainly though, in all of Byron's works, the Byronic Hero appears as "a negative Romantic protagonist" to a certain extent, a being who is "filled with guilt, despair, and cosmic and social alienation," observes James B. Twitchell. I'll come back to those characteristics presently.

As noted by Assaad, "Byron scholars seem to agree on this definition of the Byronic Hero, however they focus mainly, if not exclusively, on the dynamics of guilt and remorse." Indeed, it is only in more recent years that the incest motif, as well as the influence of Byron's own biography, have been more widely discussed. But perhaps the most compelling aspect of the Byronic Hero is his complex psychology. Although trauma theory only really started to flourish during the 1990s, thus providing deeper insight into the symptoms that follow a traumatic experience, it nevertheless seems, at least to Assaad, that "Byron was familiar with it well before it was first discussed by professionals and diagnosed." As we know, GRRM began writing his series, A Song of Ice and Fire, during the 1990s, and character trauma and its effects feature heavily in his work, most notably in the case of Theon Greyjoy, but also in the memory editing of Sansa Stark in terms of the infamous "Unkiss".*

*The editing, or supressing, of memories is not exclusive to Sansa, however. E.g @agentrouka-blog has theorised a possible memory edit with regards to Tyrion and his first wife Tysha.

But if we return back to that original quote, in which GRRM makes the comparison between Jon and the Byronic Hero, his following statement is also very interesting:

The character I’m probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Theon [Greyjoy] is the one I’d fear becoming. Theon wants to be Jon Snow, but he can’t do it. He keeps making the wrong decisions. He keeps giving into his own selfish, worst impulses. [source]

As noted by @princess-in-a-tower, there is a close correspondence between Jon and Theon, with each acting as the other's foil in many respects. In fact, Theon does sort of tick off a few of the Byronic qualities I discussed last time, most notably standing apart from society, that "society" being the Starks in Winterfell, due to him essentially being a hostage. Later on, we see him develop a sense of deep misery as well due to his horrific treatment at the hands of Ramsey Snow. Like Theon, his narrative foil, Jon is also a character deeply informed by trauma (being raised a bastard), but the way they ultimately process and express that specific displacement trauma differs profoundly — Theon expresses it outwardly through his sacking of Winterfell, whereas Jon turns his trauma notably inwards.*

*Obviously, I'm not a medical professional — I'm more looking at this from a literary angle, but the articles I've read for this post do include reference to real medical definitions etc.

Previously, I observed how being "deeply jaded" and having "misery in his heart" were key characteristics of the Byronic Hero, as well as Jon Snow — this trauma theory is a continuation of that. Indeed, to bring it back to Manfred, Assaad goes as far as stating that the poem's titular hero "suffers from what is now widely recognised as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)." I am purposely holding off on discussing what the origin of that trauma is, in relation to Manfred specifically, because, well... it needs a bit of forewarning before I get into it fully. Instead, let's look at the emotions it exacerabates or gives rise to, as detailed by Twitchell, and how they might be evident in Jon and his feelings regarding his bastard status.

(Jonny Lee Miller as Byron in the two part BBC series Byron, 2003)

Guilt

Does Jon suffer guilt due to him being a bastard and secretly wanting to "steal" his siblings' birthright? I'd say a strong yes:

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. – AGOT, Jon VIII He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. – ASOS, Jon XII

But I think Jon's sense of guilt also extends to the high expectations he sets for himself, his "moral superiority" in the face of his bastard status, as discussed in Part 1. He feels guilt pulling him in two different directions, in regards to Ygritte: guilt for loving her, for breaking his vows, and potentially risking a bastard, but also guilt for leaving her, for abandoning her, and potentially leaving her unprotected:

His guilt came back afterward, but weaker than before. If this is so wrong, he wondered, why did the gods make it feel so good? – ASOS, Jon III Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body... and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he'd left Jon's mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night's Watch. – ASOS, Jon VI "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her..."I wasn't strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I..." His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool. – ASOS, Jon VI

This guilt surrounding leaving the women/girls he cares about unprotected also extends to Arya. Yet it was his need to prove himself as something more than just a bastard, by joining the Watch, which initially prevents him from acting, and which also makes him feel guilt for being a hyprocrite:

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. – ADWD, Jon VI

I think there is a lack of reconciliation between Jon and his bastard status, between what being a bastard implies in their society: lustful, deceitful, treacherous, more "worldly" etc. Deep down, subconsciously, Jon really rebels against it. You can see that rebellion more clearly in his memories as a younger child, less inhibited:

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. – ASOS, Jon XII

But Jon knows this truth about himself, he knows that he has "always wanted it", and that causes him so much guilt because he can't allow himself to be selfish in that regard, because to do so would confirm for him his worst fears... that he truly is a bastard in nature as well as birth — treacherous, covetous, dishonourable.

Despair

As he grows up, learning to curb his emotional outbursts from AGOT, Jon appears more and more stoic upon the surface. But beneath that, buried in his subconscious in the form of dreams, you have this undyling feeling of despair, this trauma connected to his bastard status, his partially unknown heritage:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. – AGOT, Jon III

These recurring dreams, sometimes explicitly involving his unknown mother, sometimes not, represent a clear gap, a gaping blank in Jon's personal history and his perception of his identity:

"Sometimes I dream about it," he said. "I'm walking down this long empty hall. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. I don't even know who I'm looking for. Most nights it's my father, but sometimes it's Robb instead, or my little sister Arya, or my uncle." [...]

"Do you ever find anyone in your dream?" Sam asked.

Jon shook his head. "No one. The castle is always empty." He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. "Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf's shaggy white fur. – AGOT, Jon IV

"That always scares me", he says quite tellingly. From this key passage, in particular, we can see that Jon feels a deep rooted despair at essentially being unclaimed, unwanted... being without a solid (Stark) identity around which to draw strength and mould himself. He's afraid of being a lone wolf, because as we all know, "the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," (AGOT, Arya II).

This dream points him in the direction of the crypts — "somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to" — which actually does have the answers he seeks because that is where Lyanna Stark is buried. Yet Jon is "afraid of what might be waiting for [him]", and wants to "scream" with dispair because of the darkness. So, this need for a confirmed identity is a double edged sword, which will no doubt be further complicated when his true parentage is revealed.

Elsewhere, Jon's dreams continue to have this despairing quality to them, often involving Winterfell, the Starks, and especially Ned, which is very interesting on a psychological level:

The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night's Watch. – AGOT, Jon IV

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night's Watch now, not a frightened boy. – AGOT, Jon VII

But it is never "only a dream", is it?

And when at last he did sleep, he dreamt, and that was even worse. In the dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father's face, but he dared not tell Mormont that. – AGOT, Jon VIII

Even Jon's conscious daydreams in AGOT revolve around his dispairing search for a solid identity:

A lot of these early dreams occur in A Game of Thrones, probably in response to his removal from Winterfell... his self exile. But later on in the series Jon continues to have dreams that tie him to the Starks and to Winterfell, ominous and sometimes despairing too. There's honestly too many instances to list, but if you want to understand the root of Jon's existential despair... it's in his dreams.

Cosmic Alienation

Cosmic alienation, now that's an interesting one in regards to Jon, since he definitely hasn't reached this state... yet. Life and his belief in the divine (the old gods) still hold meaning for him, but then he gets murdered by his black brothers. In the show, the writers hint at some cosmic alienation through Jon stating that he saw "nothing" whilst dead, but then they take it no further and generally do a piss poor job of post-res Jon. This characteristic of Manfred coming to the fore in Jon depends on what happens in The Winds of Winter, but I don't think it is at all that far fetched to assume that Jon will return to his body with a darker, altered perception of things.

Social Alienation

In Part 1, I discussed how Jon, like Byron's heroes, could be read as a "a rebel who stands apart from society and societal expectations." On a more psychological level, we can see how this Otherness, stemming from his bastard status, deeply affects Jon and his perception of himself and the world:

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. "Don't you usually eat at table with your brothers?"

"Most times," Jon answered in a flat voice. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them." – AGOT, Jon I

In his very first chapter, we see him quite literally alienated from the rest of his siblings, made to sit apart from them, an apparent necessity he seems fairly resigned to. Also in Part 1, I gave examples of instances in which Jon is mockingly called "Lord Snow," as well as a "rebel", "turncloak", "half-wildling", all of which serve to alienate him from the rest of the brothers of the Night's Watch.

Stannis gave a curt nod. "Your father was a man of honor. He was no friend to me, but I saw his worth. Your brother was a rebel and a traitor who meant to steal half my kingdom, but no man can question his courage. What of you?" – ASOS, Jon XI

The above interaction may seem on the surface to be about one thing — whether or not Jon will be of help to Stannis, offer him loyalty etc. — but tagged onto the end we have quite a poignant question: "what of you?" What are you, essentially. Who are you? The truth of his parentage may, in part, solve these questions... but it may also serve to alienate Jon from his perception of himself further. Ultimately, who exactly he is — what he believes in, who and what he fights for, etc. — will be solely his decision to make going forward.

So, the Byronic Hero, certainly in Manfred's case, but also in later iterations, is arguably traumatised by his own past. But regardless as to whether his trauma is related to a mysterious past, a secret sin, an unnamed crime, or incest, aka "secret knowledge", what is clear in Assaad's interpretation, is that the Byronic Hero is "living with the traumatic consequences of his own past and so suffers from PTSD." But why is Manfred traumatised, what is the specific cause of this trauma, or how might it reveal something deeper about Jon's own trauma? Now, here we come to the unavoidable... I'm going to start talking about Byronic incest and the pre-canon crush/kiss theory, and how it potentially parallels certain aspects of Manfred.

I should preface this by stating that I don't think Jon is suppressing trauma because he committed intentional incest with Sansa, but I do think (or at least somewhat theorise that) Byronic incest does come into play regarding his intense feelings of guilt and existential despair.

But still, stop reading now if are opposed to discussions of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory and the literary incest motif as a whole!

(Detail from The Funeral of Shelley, Louis Édouard Fournier, 1889)

Hey there to the depraved! If you aren't already familiar with the theory, here are some previous discussions/metas on the subject:

Full Blown Meta:

A Hidden and Forbidden Love by @princess-in-a-tower

Ask Answers (Long):

Jonsa as a more positive mirror to Jaime and Cersei? by @princess-in-a-tower, with additional comment by @jonsameta

Discussing the theory by @jonsameta

Evidence for pre-canon Jonsa? by @agentrouka-blog

Kissing in the godswood? by @agentrouka-blog

Why don't we read about Jon's reaction to Sansa and Tyrion? by @agentrouka-blog

More on Jon's supposed non-reaction by @agentrouka-blog, with additional comment made by @sherlokiness

A Jonsa "Unkiss"? by @fedonciadale

A hidden memory? by @fedonciadale

Sansa's misremembering by @fedonciadale

Descriptive parallels between A Song for Lya and Jonsa by @butterflies-dragons

Ask Answers (Short) & Briefer Mentions:

Jealous Jon by @princess-in-a-tower

Your new boyfriend looks like a girl by @butterflies-dragons

Like in Part 1, I've tried to cite as much as I could find, but as always, if anyone feels like I've missed someone important or that they should be included in the above list, please just drop me a line!

Now, it's a controversial theory, and not everyone's cup of tea — I think that's worth acknowledging! I myself am not wholly married to it, I'd be fine if it wasn't the case, but that being said, I can't in good faith ignore it when considering Lord Byron and the Byronic Hero. The incest is, unfortunately, very hard to ignore, both in his work and in his personal life. It's pretty hard to ignore in Manfred, for that matter, which is why I've held off talking about it... until now!

All aboard the Manfred incest train *choo choo* !!

First stop, Act II, scene one. Oh, wait, an annoucement from your conductor... apologies everyone, I purposely neglected to mention quite a key detail. Remember "Astarte! [Manfred's] beloved!", (II, iv, 136)? Yeah... it's heavily implied that Astarte is in fact Manfred's half-sister. *shoots finger guns* Classic Byron! *facepalms*

Oh, and that's not all! Let's consider the context surrounding the writing of this work for a moment, shall we? Unlike The Bride of Abydos (1813),* Manfred was written notably after the fallout of his incestuous affair with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, composed whilst in a self-imposed exile. *spits out drink* Woah, woah there cowboy... what in tarnation?! EXILE?!

*As referenced in Part 1, @rose-of-red-lake has written an excellent meta on the influence of Lord Byron's work (and personal life) on Jonsa, paying special attention to the half-siblings turned cousins in The Bride of Abydos.

Although, as noted by rose-of-red-lake, The Bride of Abydos bears strong parallels to the potential romance of Jon and Sansa, as well as Byron’s own angst regarding his relationship with Augusta Leigh, the context surrounding Manfred seems... dare I say it, even more autobiographical. Because like Byron himself, Manfred wanders around the Bernese Alps, solitary and guilt ridden, in a state of exile heavily evocative of Byron's own — as I mentioned earlier, the beginnings of Manfred occured whilst Byron was staying at a villa on Lake Geneva, in Switzerland... the Bernese Alps are located in western Switzerland. In light of this, I think it's very understandable that some critics consider Manfred to be autobiographical, or even confessional. The unnamed but forbidden nature of Manfred's relationship to Astarte is believed to represent Byron's relationship with his half-sister Augusta. But what has that got to do with Jon?

Look, I don't know how else to put this:

Byron self-exiles in 1816, first to Switzerland, to Lake Geneva, where it is unseasonably cold and stormy — his departure from England is due to the collaspe of his marriage to Annabella Milbanke, unquestionably as a result of the rumours surrounding his incestuous affair with his half-sister.

Displaced nobleman Manfred wanders the Bernese Alps, in a kind of moral exile, where "the wind / Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows / Began to glitter with the climbing moon" (III, iii, 46-48), traversing "on snows, where never human foot / Of common mortal trod" (II, iii, 4-5), surrounded by a "glassy ocean of the mountain ice" (II, iii, 7). He feels extreme, but unexplained guilt surrounding the death of his "beloved" Astarte, who is heavily implied to also be his half-sister.

In A Game of Thrones, Jon Snow chooses to join the Night's Watch, with the reminder that "once you have taken the black, there is no turning back" (AGOT, Jon VI). By taking the black, Jon arguably exiles himself from the rest of the Starks, from Winterfell, to a place that "looked like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice" (AGOT, Jon III). But we aren't given any indication that he does this due to incestuous feelings regarding a "radiant" half-sister, akin to Byron/Manfred, are we? And it's not like we have several Manfreds/Manfryds AND Byrons namedropped within the text, is it? Oh wait... we do. *grabs GRRM in a chokehold*

What the hell, George?!

(Lord Byron on His Deathbed, Joseph Denis Odevaere, c. 1826)

But lets get back on track here and take a closer look at that section of Manfred I mentioned at the beginning — Act II, scene one, aka the part where all the incest and supressed trauma really JUMPS out.

So, early in Act II, in the chamois hunter's abode (a chamois is a type of goat?), according Assaad's analysis, Manfred is "hyper-aroused by a cup of wine." The wine is offered in an attempt to calm Manfred; however, to the chamois hunter's great dismay, it instead agitates him and makes him utter words which are "strange" (II, i, 35). Rather than wine, Manfred sees "blood on the brim" (II, i, 25). His sudden agitation and erratic behaviour confound the chamois hunter, who observes that Manfred is losing his mind: "thy senses wander from thee" (II, i, 27). Assaad's analysis of this scene, which she believes "is the most revelatory in the entire play" discloses "a bitter truth: Manfred's traumatic past informs his present life."

We might compare this with Jon, in particular, how his dreams reveal certain bitter truths to do with his past, now subconsciously informing his present. I've already looked a bit at his crypt dream from AGOT, Jon IV, but we see a sort of recurrence of this dream again in ASOS, Jon VIII. The imagery of being in a crypt, somewhere underground, buried, in the dark, a place of ghosts and spirits, is extremely evocative. Indeed, to go back to Byron's own description of Manfred, the setting of a crypt is extremely suggestive of certain bitter truths "left half unexplained", of secrets buried... and we know that's true because the secret of Jon's parentage is hidden down there, in the form of Lyanna Stark.

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark... – ASOS, Jon VIII

I don't think it's outlandish to state that, unquestionably, Jon's bastard identity is a source of ongoing pain for him. I talked about the theme of despair in Jon's characterisation and it is very evident in the above, and it stems from this "bitter truth" of not being a trueborn Stark, of not being "welcome", or having a true place. The emotions/mindset this trauma, concerning his birth and identity, evokes in Jon is arguably what brings him, on first glance, so closely in line with the Byronic Hero:

Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed / The crypts were growing darker = A mysterious past / secret sin(s)

You are no Stark / I am no Stark = Deeply jaded

There is no place for you here / I am not welcome there / This is not my place = standing apart from society and societal expectations / social alienation

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell / He walked deeper into the darkness = Moody / misery in his heart

He fell to his knees / Forgive me = Guilt

He walked deeper into the darkness / Please, Father, help me / He fell to his knees = Despair

These aren't all the Byronic characteristics I've addressed in relation to Jon, but it is a substantial percentage of them, all encapsulated, in one way or another, within this singular dream passage. As far as what is fairly explicit in the text, being a bastard is Jon's "bitter truth", it is the "traumatic past inform[ing] his present life." But what is Manfred's "bitter truth", what past trauma is informing his present? And can it reveal a bit more about another layer to Jon's trauma? Because there is a key distinction — Manfred's trauma, his PTSD, stems from a specific event, notably triggered by the (imagined) "blood on the brim" of his wine, whereas for Jon, we have no singular event, we have no momentus experience, we just have this "truth."

As mentioned previously, Assaad has recognised the character of Manfred as displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). In Assaad's article, she remarks that "an experience is denoted as traumatic if it completely overwhelms the individual, rendering him or her helpless," and this is quite evident in the interaction between Manfred and the chamois hunter. Sharon Stanley, an educator and clinical psychotherapist, writes that "the word trauma has been used to describe a variety of aversive, overwhelming experiences with long-term, destructive effects on individuals and communities."

So, if trauma is related to an experience, or experiences, is it still accurate to say that Jon experiences trauma, connected to being a bastard? Because there is seemingly no singular or defining root experience, or event that it stems from, it just is… it is a compellation of several moments, revealed to the reader through Jon’s memories and/or dreams. What is being "left half unexplained” here?

Assaad makes reference to the American Psychiatric Association's definition of PTSD, in which it observes that for an individual to be diagnosed with PTSD, they have to suffer from one or more intrustion symptoms, one or more avoidance symptoms, two or more negative alterations, and two or more hyperarousal symptoms. The dreams Jon has certainly suggest something, but it seems like a stretch to say that, like Manfred, he is suffering from PTSD, right? We and Jon are very much aware that he is "no Stark", at least not in the sense that he is Ned's trueborn son, this isn’t something Jon is actively suppressing. By comparison, it is incontrovertible that Manfred committed something in the past, which he deeply wishes to forget and disassociate from:

Man. I say ’tis blood—my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours When we were in our youth, and had one heart, And loved each other as we should not love, And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, Where thou art not—and I shall never be. C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half—maddening sin

(II, i, 28-35)

However, we cannot be sure what this traumatic point of origin is, though we know that it is related to something he has done to his beloved Astarte, which subsequently led to her death. Many critics have suggested that his sin is that of incest, and as I noted earlier, that Manfred as a whole is more than just a bit autobiographical and/or confessional in nature. Manfred's incestuous sin therefore re-enacts Byron's incest with his half-sister Augusta. But regardless of the true cause, Manfred is traumatised by his past and cannot overcome it. Is there something in Jon’s past, that may have subconsciously, or consciously, influenced his departure to the Wall — his self exile — which he cannot overcome, and which is closely tied to the issue of and pain he feels due to being a bastard, not just the illegitimacy, but also the negative characteristics it assigns? Is there an event, or experience, we can pinpoint as the origin of Jon’s trauma and potential PTSD?

To circle back to Jonsa, there is some, not unfounded, debate amongst us concerning the validity of the pre-canon crush/kiss theory. I've always found it an interesting theory, but until now, I haven't really given it too much thought. In light of the Byron connection, however, as well as the textual analysis I have for Part 3, I think this scenario, as detailed by agentrouka-blog, seems more and more likely. And I don't say that lightly, I really don't. It is a somewhat uncomfortable speculation to make, even if the interaction was more innocent rather than explicit (this is the side I firmly fall down on), however, it’s ambiguity does potentially parallel Byron’s Manfred and Astarte. This post would be even longer if I included my side-by-side text comparisons, so you may have to trust me for the moment that there are some very striking similarities between Act II, scene I of Manfred, and Jon's milk of the poppy induced dream in ASOS, Jon VI, as well as the actual buildup to that vision.

But, that sounds frankly terrible doesn't it? And it doesn't bode well for his future relationship with Sansa, does it? And what does it mean if Jon is suffering from PTSD due to an incestuous encounter with Sansa? What does that mean for Sansa, Sansa who is doggedly abused and mistreated by men within the present narrative? This is awful, why would GRRM root their romance in something traumatic? Oh I hear you, and these are questions I needed to ask myself whilst compiling this. But you see... now bear with me here... it isn't the actual encounter itself that was traumatic, for either Jon or Sansa, and that is reflected in both their POVs, because, though they think about each other sparingly (explicitly at least), it is never done so negatively. No, the potential PTSD Jon suffers from this experience isn't connected to Sansa, to whatever occured between them. Rather, I believe, it's connected to either the fear, or the reality, that Ned, his assumed father, saw and/or caught him (either Sansa had left at this point, or didn't fully grasp the issue), and this fear, this guilt, this sense of despair, is made evident in this passage:

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father’s face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn’t, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night’s Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red. – ASOS, Jon VI

That's the traumatic experience, I believe, not the kiss — yep, I strongly suspect there was a kiss. Moreover, Jon's recurring assertion, throughout the series, that he "will not father a bastard" is tied to this in some way, it’s tied to Ned, it’s tied to some sense of guilt and shame. It’s not tied to Sansa. But we'll look at this passage, what it means, what it parallels, and what directly precedes it, in comparison to Manfred, a lot more closely next time.

I'll leave you with a slight teaser though — the parallel that made me really sit up and take notice:

C. Hun. Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day 'T has thaw’d my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine. Come, pledge me fairly. Man. Away, away! there’s blood upon the brim! Will it then never—never sink in the earth?

(II, i, 21-26)

Note this imagery!!!

Maester Aemon poured it full. "Drink this."

Jon had bitten his lip in his struggles. He could taste blood mingled with the thick, chalky potion. It was all he could do not to retch it back up. – ASOS, Jon VI

In both instances, a drink is offered, with "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled". In Manfred's case, this is an explicit trigger for him, whereas for Jon? Well, it bit more hidden, a bit more buried, but this moment is, to my mind, the catalyst, because its imagery strongly evokes the colours of the weirwood tree — "blood" red and "chalky" white — you know, the "huge white weirwood" he later on envisions.

*spits out drink*

Maybe the magnitude of this parallel isn't completely evident as of yet, but it will be... or at least I hope it will be, so stay tuned for Part 3!

(Starting to run out of Byron pics so... I dunno, here's Rupert Everret, from The Scandalous Adventures of Lord Byron, 2009)

In Conclusion

To summarise, why is the Manfred connection so monumental to me? Why do I find the pre-canon kiss theory, specifically the scenario detailed by agentrouka-blog, now very hard to dismiss? Because:

The nine (!) Manfreds/Manfryds included within the text, as well as the two Byrons, one of which, the first mentioned in fact, first appears in Sansa's POV. But crucicially the direct link made by GRRM between Byron Swann and Manfred Swann.

The strength of the similarities that can be observed between Jon and the Byronic Hero, but also notably to Byron's Manfred, the "Byronic hero par excellence", according to Assaad. Especially the recurring emotions of guilt and despair, the latter exemplified perhaps most clearly in Jon's dreams.

The prominent theme of self-exile to escape something, something that perhaps cannot be openly stated, present in Manfred, Byron's own life, and Jon's narrative.

Those pesky half-sisters: Augusta, Astarte, and Sansa.

The PTSD symptoms clearly present in Manfred, but left "half unexplained", and seemingly not explained at all in Jon's POV — I'll dig more into this in Part 3.

The "blood upon the brim", and "blood mingled" — more on that in Part 3, I hope you guys like in depth imagery analysis!

Obviously, this is all still just speculation on my part, and it's speculation in connection to a theory that is understandably controversial. I'd be happy to dismiss it... if it weren't for the above. So, I suppose I'm in two minds about it. On the one hand, however you look at it, it's more trauma in an already traumatic series... which is *sighs* not what you want for the characters you care strongly about. But on the other hand, that literary connection to Manfred (and by extension to actual Lord Byron), the way it's lining up, plus that comparison GRRM himself made between Jon and the Byronic Hero... that's all very compelling and interesting to me as a reader, as a former English literature student. So, I don't want it to be true because... incest hell. But then, I also want it to be true because then it makes me feel smart for guessing correctly.

But anyway, we're going to be descending into incest hell in Part 3, so... we'll just have to grapple with that when we come to it. I hope, if you stuck with it till the incesty end, that you enjoyed this post!

Stay tuned ;)

Bibliography of Academic Sources:

American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edn (Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Publishing, 2013); online edition at www.dsm5.org

Assaad, Lara, "'My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep': The Byronic Hero’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder", The Byron Journal 47, no. 2 (2019): 153–163.

Byron, George Gordon Noel, Byron’s Letters and Journals. Ed. Leslie A. Marchand. 12 vols. London: Murray, 1973–82.

Holland, Tom, "Undead Byron", in Byromania: Portraits of the Artist in Nineteenth- and Twentieth- Century Culture, ed. by Frances Wilson (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2000).

MacDonald, D. L. "Narcissism and Demonality in Byron’s 'Manfred'", Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal 25, no. 2 (1992): 25–38.

Stanley, Sharon, Relational and Body-Centered Practices for Healing Trauma: Lifting the Burdens of the Past (London: Routledge, 2016)

Twitchell, James B., The Living Dead: A Study of the Vampire in Romantic Literature (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1981).

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa meta #jon as the byronic hero #byronic hero #lord byron #tw: incest #cappy's thoughts #grrm and the Romantics #Jonsa and Romanticism #percy bysshe shelley #romantic poets #literary references #damn this was a long one!#glad a split it into another part!#i started to get a bit unhinged by the end not gonna lie

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lesvegas · 3 years ago

Text

The Rat Pack Lexicon, or Frankenspeak

In the 1960's the Rat Pack created their own language. It was a mixture of slang and cool terms that helped make them undisputably the ‘kings of cool’ in their heyday in Las Vegas.

Decided to paste the whole glossary from here just so we can have it on tumblr. Under a readmore because it’s long as hell. Original post (some definitions were cut off).

18 Karat All the way, full-out: "An 18 karat idiot."

Baby Used as an exclamation as well as a term of endearment.

Bag A person's particular interest; as in "singing's my bag"

Barn Burner A very stylish, classy woman

Beard A male friend who acts as a "cover"; usually for extramarital affairs

Beetle A girl who dresses in flashy clothes

Big-Leaguer A resourceful man who can handle any situation

Big Casino Death

Bird The male or female genitalia; standard greeting: "How's your bird"?

Bombsville Any kind of failure in life; see ville

Broad Affectionate term for a girl or woman with sex appeal

Bum A person who is despised, most frequently linked to people in the media

Bunter A man who fails in almost everything he does; the opposite of gasser

Cash Out Leave, as in "Cash me out of this party" = "I'm leaving."

Charley What the rat-packers called one another

Charlies Admiring word for a woman's breasts

Chick A young and invariably pretty girl

Clam-Bake A party or get-together.

Clyde A word used to cover a multitude of personal observations; e.g., "I don't like her clyde" means "I don't like her voice", etc.

Coo-Coo! See crazy

Cool A term of admiration for a person or place. An alternative word meaning the same thing is crazy.

Crazy A term of admiration for a personal, place, or thing; similar to cool.

Creep A man who is disliked for any reason

Croaker A derogatory term for a doctor.

Crumb A person it is impossible to respect

Dame A generally derogatory term for a probably unattractive woman

Dig A term of appreciation; e.g., "I dig that broad."

Dimmer Eyes (as in "I gotta see the croaker about my bad dimmers.")

"Drop it, charley" Change the conversation; see "good night, all”

Duke Tip

Dying An exaggerated term to mean slightly upset; e.g. "I'm dying"

End A word to signify that someone or something is the very best; "the living end"

Endsville Total failure; similar to bombsville; see ville

Fink A person who cannot be relied upon or trusted, especially someone in the media; a crumb

First Base The start of something, usually applied in terms of failure when someone has failed to reach it.

Fracture To make laugh; as in "that fractures me"

Gas A great situation; as in "that set was a gas"

Gasoline Alcohol

Gasser A highly admired person; the end!

Gofer Someone who performs menial jobs and tasks; "go for drinks"

Good Night All A term of invective used to change the subject of conversation

Groove A term of admiration or approval; as in "in the groove"

Harvey A person who acts in a stupid or naive fashion; sometimes shortened to "Harv"

Hacked Angry; as in "he's hacked off"

Hello! A cry of surprise to no one in particular when a beautiful woman is seen

Hey-Hey Indulging in anything of a sexual nature with a woman.

Hunker A jack-of-all-trades; see gopher

Jokes An actor's lines in a screenplay

Let's Lose Charley A term used among intimates who want to get rid of a bore in their company

Little Hey-Hey Romance; a little action with a broad

Locked-up As in "all locked-up," a term for a forthcoming date or engagement, private or public

Loser Anyone who has made a mess of their life, drinks too much, makes the wrong enemies, etc.

Mish-Mash Similar to loser, but refers specifically to a woman who is messed up

Mothery Terrific; wild and wicked

Mouse Usually a small, very feminine girl who invites being cuddled

Nowhere A term of failure as in "he's nowhere."

Odds Used in connection with important decisions, as in "the odds aren't right," meaning it's a no go

Original Loser A person without talent; sometimes more fully expressed as "He is the original Major Bowes Amateur Hour loser

Pallie Dean's nickname for everyone, whether a lifelong friend or a bellhop

Platinum Having a big heart, generous. "You're platinum, pussycat!"

Player A man who is a gambler by nature, makes friends easily, and never gives up trying

Punks Any undesirables, in particular criminals, gangsters, or mobsters

Quin Derisive term for a woman who is an easy pick-up

Rain As in "I think it's going to rain" indicating that it is time to leave a dull gathering or party

Ring-a-Ding A term of approval, as in "What a ring-a-ding broad!"

Sam Used in the same way as Charley for a person whose name has been forgotten, most often applied to females

Scam To cheat at gambling, as in "Hey, what's the scam?"

Scramsville To run off

Sharp A person who dresses well and with style

Smashed A word used to describe someone who is drunk. On occasions it has been replaced with "pissed."

Solid Definite, reliable. (Note: this was also used by Linc in "The Mod Squad.")

Square A person of limited character, not unlike a harvey.

Swing v. To hang out and drink, smoke, sing, generally get real loose.

Ta-Ta Goodbye

Tomato As in "a ripe tomato" a woman ready for seduction or even marriage.

Twirl A girl who loves dancing

Ville A suffix used to indicate changes in any given situation; see endsville, splitsville, etc

Witchdoctor Member of the clergy.

Wow-ee Wow Wow Figured importantly in the Rat Pack lexicon for a while in the late 50s and early 60s. It was an expression of glee, joyful anticipation and a euphemism for lubricious fun.

The following examples are a fictitious sample of Frank in conversation using his infamous lexicon:

The English version

The bartender gives me another drink. The gathering is dull, with a surfeit of ugly women and men unworthy of respect and an insufficient number of attractive ladies and easy-going fellows. I spot an untrustworthy-looking man over by the jukebox making overtures to a woman. He fancies himself an impressive fellow, flirting with this woman who is more than just another sweet thing to cuddle with. In fact, she is extraordinary. I am awestruck by her beauty.

Now the would-be Romeo is leaning closer, pressing his romantic attack. So I cast my gaze in her direction. She gazes back: A confident connection is made. She crosses the room, stands beside me, orders a drink, tells a joke that I find quite amusing, then says she found her previous companion uninteresting. I like her and believe the reverse is also true. I sense the party is on its last legs and say so. We leave.

The Frank version

The barkeep fills me up with gas. The joint ain't hopping; it's no clambake, brother - too many dames and crumbs, not enough broads and players. I spot a fink over by the jukebox making the moves. He thinks he's a big-leaguer, scamming on a chick who - hello! - is more than a mouse. An 18-karat barn-burner, boy- the end. Ring a ding!

Now the big-leaguer's leaning closer, feeding her a line, but she's not biting. It's bombsville. He's nowhere; he knows it, and so do I. So I shoot the broad a come-hither look, and she shoots back: Solid. She crosses the room, sidles up next to me, gasses up, tells a joke that fractures me and says the big-leaguer was a Harve. I dig her, and she digs me. "I think it's going to rain," I say. And just like that, we're scramsville.

#the ratpack lexicon #fnv #the chairmen #tops casino #benny gecko #fonv #fallout new vegas

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daevastanner · 3 years ago

Text

Gwynriel: Starfall

Gwyn and Azriel re-evaluate where they stand

(Warning: trope and fluff overload incoming)

Azriel arrived at the river house with a half hour to spare.

The stars would begin falling soon, but that wasn’t why his footsteps were taken with haste or why he nearly tripped over his own feet entering the foyer.

He was late and nearly five minutes from breaking his promise to Gwyn.

At their last training session she’d informed Azriel that she was leaving the priestesshood. That she no longer felt she required protection and that there were other people more in need of sanctuary than herself.

“I feel… liberated. But also sad,” Gwyn frowned as they did their cool down stretches. “Does that make sense?”

Azriel nodded, stretching his arm behind his head. “Of course. It’s always sad when something comes to an end.”

Gwyn smiled wryly. “They said I’m still welcome to the dusk services to sing. Though I will admit, the crowd at Rita’s is a far more interactive audience.”

Azriel had smiled fondly. This past summer Gwyn had taken to joining the inner circle at Rita’s and in autumn she’d allowed Morrigan to drag her to the platform for a duet. At first her teal eyes had been wide with fright but the moment she had opened her mouth, harmonizing with Morrigan and saw the patron’s enthusiastic response any sign of stage fright vanished. She had been radiant. Azriel’s jaw had dropped at her voice, at her smile, and when he applauded their performance it hadn’t just been to flatter Morrigan as usual, it had been pure awe that brought his hands together.

“You are becoming the bar’s most infamous customer,” Azriel grinned. “But it’s understandable to miss what you no longer have.”

Gwyn exhaled, a lock of copper hair blowing out of her sweaty face. “I haven’t decided if I’m attending the priestess’s Starfall party. I know I’m welcome but… it feels strange.”

Azriel didn’t waste a breath. “Come to the river house.”

Gwyn’s brows raised and a smirk spread on her lips. “How very forward of you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel was grateful they’d been sparring or else she may have noticed that he was blushing furiously. It had been a little less than a year since that night by the Sidra. That night where they had both confessed their feelings for one another… and decided to hold off. Hold off until they were ready.

Well, Azriel was ready now. He had been for sometime. But the shadowsinger didn’t dare make the first move. Of the two of them, Gwyn needed to be the one to initiate. The one to take that first step. It was an unspoken agreement. She was in control of what happened between them, but it wasn’t a mystery that her feelings had persevered despite her hesitance to move forward.

The two had become well versed in flirting and exchanging banter. It came second nature. So second nature that Azriel’s entire family snickered and teased that the two were blind. That they were oblivious to one another’s affections. How very wrong they were and how little desire Azriel and Gwyn had to correct them. Not out of fear but because they didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

“I’m sure everyone would be glad if you attended, Gwyn,” Azriel added, trying to sound nonchalant. “Your call. It would also be a good way to ask Rhysand about employing you full time as a Valkyrie.”

He glimpsed in those clever eyes that she had seen right through him. That Gwyn knew this had nothing to do with the convenience for her recent life change. No, this was all Azriel wanting her to come to Starfall. To spend the evening with her.

“Very well. I’ll go. But promise you’ll be there…”

Azriel sent a crooked smile her way - the one he knew made her knees weak. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

And so she had agreed, grousing that she had nothing to wear. It didn’t take much convincing the following day to get Nesta to take her shopping.

And now here he was, straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair in the foyer of the river house.

He leaned against the bannister of the staircase to catch his breath, all the while he felt his shadows dancing excitedly on his shoulders.

…Gwyn? Gwyn? Gwyn?… they chorused.

“Relax,” Azriel muttered. “She’ll be here.”

“Look at you,” Rhysand whistled, striding into the room with Nyx on his hip. “Since when do you take this occasion so seriously, Az?”

Azriel gestured to Nyx. “It’s the heir to the Night Court’s first Starfall. It’s a serious occasion.”

“Mm, I’m sure that’s it.” The High Lord locked eyes with his son. “Yes, I’m sure it has nothing to do with the priestess upstairs pacing a hole in my floor.” He cast a knowing look Azriel’s way. “Or former priestess, as it were.”

Azriel felt his chest swell with pride. So it was official. She’d come out with it. “She told you then.”

Rhys nodded, returning his full attention to his son. “We’ll set her up with some quarters in the House. I’ll have her on my tab by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Rhysand,” Azriel said, his gratitude nearly palpable.

But the High Lord shook his head. “I’m lucky to have her in my employment. She’ll make a fine member of our defense.” He smirked. “And she will continue to put you and Cassian’s reports to shame.”

Azriel ducked his head, smiling to himself. He was so, so very proud of her. Not just for already being such a promising member of Rhysand’s inner circle but also for her courage.

So many bold steps forward she had taken. Never once looking back. Always taking a deep breath and then plunging head first into uncharted waters.

She’d left the library. She’d started taking on assignments. She’d roamed the streets of Velaris. And now she’d left the priestesshood.

Azriel marveled to himself about what she would do next.

Joint laughter sounded from above drawing Azriel’s eyes up to the top of the staircase.

Feyre, Elain, and Morrigan softly treaded down the steps. Each of them looked more dazzling than the last.

At the foot of the stairs Feyre outstretched her arms for Nyx, smiling ear to ear. Rhysand surrendered his son and the High Lord and Lady took their leave cooing at their nearly one year old heir.

Morrigan and Elain cast a quick look Azriel’s way. He greeted them both with a wave to which they responded with knowing smiles.

Azriel’s brows furrowed at their behavior, but his attention didn’t linger on their retreating forms for a second longer. His shadows very quickly herded his line of sight back to the top of the staircase.

He heard her before he saw her.

“You look amazing,” whispered Emerie.

“You’re going to pull a thread loose if you keep up your fidgeting…” said Nesta.

Azriel’s lips parted as Gwyn, Nesta, and Emerie came into view. The three of them wore matching shades of silver. Nesta in a backless, beaded dress and Emerie’s gown bell-sleeved and form fitting.

But between the two of them, freckled cheeks pink, was Gwyn.

And he had never seen her so exposed. So… exquisite.

Her glossy copper hair was pulled over one shoulder, and she wore no jewelry, exposing the slender column of her throat.

But most startling, most ravishing, was the gown she donned. The straps were slim and put her freckled shoulders and clavicle on display, the neckline plunging down all the way to her breastbone.

The shadowsinger struggled to keep his eyes from roving lower and admiring how the dress hugged her waist and flared out subtly at her hips and thighs.

Gwyn ran her palms down the front of the soft, silver fabric, grumbling something to Nesta. The eldest Archeron elbowed her in the ribs then jerked her chin in Azriel’s direction.

Gwyn’s head snapped up and he saw her jaw tighten. She paused at the top of the stairs meeting his gaze.

Azriel swallowed hard, and felt his knees go weak. He nearly slipped from his position leaning on the bannister but quickly caught himself, standing up straighter.

When she didn’t move, Nesta and Emerie linked their arms through hers and the three descended the stairs.

Watching them Azriel was reminded of the Valkyries in their armor. A unit that made one another stronger. A group that brought out each other’s best traits.

Emerie leaned in whispering something to Gwyn that made her smile.

Arriving at the bottom of the steps, Emerie split off and Nesta practically pushed Gwyn into Azriel, smirking.

… beautiful…. beautiful… beautiful…

I know.

But they were taking it slow. They were not moving forward just yet. Gwyn was not ready.

And that was fine.

The shadowsinger was merely glad to be in her company. All along, his shadows singing that familiar melody he couldn’t exactly make out.

He smiled at her, taking in her appearance from head to toe. “You look incredible.”

Gwyn’s fingers combed through her hair and she grimaced. “Nesta picked out the dress. I agreed to matching with her and Emerie but I didn’t agree to something so… so…”

“It’s perfect,” Azriel finished with an encouraging nod. “It’s… You’re perfect.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks once more. “Thank you.”

Azriel bowed his head then gestured to the double glass doors that led to the patio. “Shall we?”

“Mm.”

The two headed outside and Azriel felt the strangest sensation to take her hand.

But he refrained. Not yet. Perhaps someday but not tonight.

“I heard you told Rhysand the news.”

“I did,” Gwyn confirmed. “I pretty much told everyone.”

“And?” probed the Shadowsinger. “How did it feel?”

“Exhilarating,” she smiled. “Freeing.”

The patio was dimly lit by fae light so they would better be able to see the stars. The inner circle mingled over food and drink, and Azriel saw before him nothing but pairs.

Emerie making Morrigan laugh by the lattice. Cassian with his arm around Nesta’s shoulders. Elain and Lucien conversing quietly. Varian resting his hand on the small of Amren’s back. Feyre and Rhysand kneeling on the patio, helping Nyx stand, beaming with pride.

Perhaps he and Gwyn weren’t a pair in the same sense as everyone else at the party. Not like Emerie and Morrigan openly flirting. Or Lucien and Elain tentatively courting. But that was surprisingly fine with Azriel. He felt no envy walking to the patio by Gwyn’s side. He only felt a warm sense of content.

“You look nice too, by the way,” Gwyn said as they joined his family on the patio. “Sorry I didn’t say so sooner.”

“Oh, my feelings were very hurt,” Azriel smirked.

Gwyn snorted and grabbed two glasses of champagne off of the round table at the edge of the patio. She handed him one and before she could take a sip, Azriel raised his glass to her.

“To you. To Gwyn the Valkyrie.”

Gwyn delicately tapped her flute to his then took a sip, smiling behind the rim of her drink.

The two turned their attention to the sky that seemed to glow brighter with every passing moment.

“I’m excited,” Gwyn said. “From the House we could watch the stars, but I’ve heard that in Velaris you can see them overhead.”

“Lucky for you, I know the best way to get a view of the stars.” He leaned in. “But it involves potentially dirtying your dress.”

Gwyn tore her eyes from the sky and gaped at the shadowsinger. “Well, fuck this dress in that case.”

Azriel met her gaze, arching a brow. “You’re sure?”

She bobbed her head enthusiastically.

“Very well. Once it starts I will share my secret with you, Berdara.”

She beamed at him and Azriel nearly gasped at how breathtaking the sight was. The way her teal eyes lit up and the freckles on her nose scrunched.

It did not escape Azriel’s notice, the murmurs and the glances of approval that were sent their way. The secret smiles and snickers of how blind and oblivious that Gwyn and Azriel were. He could practically hear Cassian and Nesta making bets.

Azriel grinned to himself as he imagined disclosing to his family that he and Gwyn were more than aware of each other’s affections. He imagined how Cassian’s jaw may drop as he took offense. He imagined Rhysand scoffing at his brother for keeping it all a secret from them.

“What are you smiling about?” Gwyn asked, tilting her head at Azriel.

The shadowsinger nodded his head towards Cassian and Nesta who eyed them both circumspectly. Upon noticing that both Gwyn and Azriel had caught them, the couple quickly averted their gaze.

Gwyn snorted. “Subtle.”

“When has that ever been the case with them.” He laughed into his champagne flute, taking a gulp. “They’ve been hounding us for ages.”

Gwyn did not share in his laughter. She only held her glass in both her hands and turned her eyes back to the sky.

Azriel felt guilty for saying the words. For pointing out the fact that it was obvious to everyone how happy they would be together. They didn’t know everything. They didn’t know the truth. That happiness would only come with their relationship if they waited till Gwyn was ready.

“Listen, Gwyn, I—“

And she gasped, eyes widening. “Look!”

Azriel followed her gaze to the sky where a single star streaked across. Gwyn took a step closer and the patio hushed.

“Did you see?” Gwyn said, eyes still skyward.

Azriel couldn’t help the way the corner of his lip lifted at her startled expression. “I did.”

Another star fell and another and Gwyn staggered forward, off the patio and onto the lawn.

“Oh!” She looked over her shoulder at Azriel, eyes sparkling and a heart-stopping smile on her face. “Az! Come here!”

Az. Az, she’d called him. Not Shadowsinger. Not Spymaster. Az.

Just Az.

Azriel felt Rhysand’s stare and glanced over at his brother who watched with a fond smile.

The High Lord angled his head. What are you waiting for brother?

Azriel’s ears were hot as he turned back to Gwyn. “Coming.”

He stood at her side, looking up at the sky with her as more and more stars made their way across the heavens. With each one Gwyn bobbed in place, gasping.

Behind them he heard more whispers of excitement from his family and an eager shriek from Nyx.

Azriel shifted his gaze to Gwyn. The starlight made her teal eyes sparkle and the moon set her skin glowing. Her lips parted in awe, Gwyn gazed upwards in wonder and Azriel couldn’t help the slight smile that broke out on his face.

He inclined his head, letting his knuckles brush against hers. “Follow me.”

She met his eyes with an excited grin and nodded.

Azriel started for the back of the river house. His family continued to watch the stars, only Morrigan glimpsed the two of them disappearing to the back lawn. She said nothing, only observed with a warm smile.

Alone behind the house, Azriel reached for Gwyn’s hand. She accepted and let him guide her to the center of the grounds. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to the grass, gently tugging Gwyn with him.

Without protest she descended, carefully smoothing her dress beneath her.

“Alright, lay back,” the shadowsinger said, reclining to lie down.

Gwyn mirrored his action and shivered against the grass, damp with night dew.

Azriel frowned. “Too cold?”

“No. I’m already used to it.”

And as though for once the Mother was blessing Azriel, the stars fell in a glorious parade overhead.

Gwyn gasped, hands raising to cover her mouth. “Oh, you were right. This is… amazing.”

Azriel smiled smugly, turning his attention to the night sky and the luminescent orbs that streaked across.

He remembered when it used to be him, Morrigan, Cassian, and Rhysand doing this. Watching the stars in the grass and musing softly about the future. What sort of lives they’d build and promising that it would always include one another.

It was strange to think he’d known Gwyn for only fourteen months. It felt like she’d always been there. If he didn’t think about it too hard, he could’ve sworn she’d been there during those Starfalls from centuries past.

Azriel turned his head in the grass to look at Gwyn. She watched the sky with a plaintive smile, one he could barely see.

Azriel sighed contentedly, and though above him the stars fell, he only had eyes for the female beside him. The female with eyes like shallow pools and freckles like constellations.

And then… her hand found his. She turned his palm over, eyes not leaving the sky, then threaded her fingers with his.

Azriel felt the kernel of warmth in his chest expand. He cleared his throat and looked back up at the star streaked sky.

After a moment, Azriel realized that he had never, ever, been this happy. He realized that time after time he felt this way around Gwyn. That he often found himself remarking he had never been so happy as he was in Gwyn’s presence.

“Az.”

“Yes?”

A pause. “I’m… I have a question.”

“Sure.”

She took a shaky breath and Azriel did her the courtesy of not observing her. Though he was curious as to why she’d become this quiet.

“Do you still,” she finally began, “want me?”

Azriel tried not to grip her hand tighter. His heart skipped a beat and he struggled to get himself under control.

Azriel worked a swallow down his throat. “I do.” He brought himself to turn his head and found she was staring at him. “If you’ll have me, Gwyneth Berdara, I do.”

She smiled at him.

“Are you… are you ready?” Azriel asked.

Gwyn didn’t answer. She only shifted close enough that their arms touched. Then, she tilted her head to rest on Azriel’s shoulder.

They laid in silence a few moments longer.

Azriel finally summoned the courage to speak again. “So… this is it then? We… we are… erm…”

“We are,” she said. “But let’s wait another day or so to say anything. Tonight… I want tonight to belong to us.”

Where he mustered the bravery Azriel wasn’t sure, but he allowed himself to do what he’d wanted to for so, so long.

He pressed his lips to the crown of Gwyn’s head.

Gwyn. Gwyneth Berdara.

He belonged to her and she him.

And all the while his shadows watched and sang in that same note that continued to elude him:

…mate…mate…mate…

#gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn and azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #ao3 #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fic

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oingo233 · 4 years ago

Text

Rapture is a Boy (7)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior? And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader(neutral)

Warning: cussing, some school taunting/bulling?(very brief and not anything super bad, like under the cut), ABBA mania/silliness

Authors Note: For best experience I have linked the song in the song title so you can listen while you read. I wrote this in a haze of excitement, it is just so silly but I have no trouble believing the Marauders would completely embarrass themselves like this for someone they love. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Part Seven

****Take A Chance On Me****

The great hall was silent, I had to actively keep my eyes off of the boys just a couple seats down. Lily was trying her hardest not to stare with longing and regret too. I placed my hand within hers and squeezed as if to say I’m here for you, and though it isn’t my fault, I’m sorry. She squeezed my hand back, returning the sentiments, and bounced back with a smile, pretending to be happier than she was. I wanted to roll my eyes at her change of mood but instead I appreciate the attempt to brighten the morning. You can always count on Lily Evans to empathize and surprise in every situation.

We heard it before we saw it. Loud, pulsing sound. As it got closer I couldn’t help the gasp that fell embarrassingly loud from my mouth. It was one of our favorite muggle bands, Abba, their song was blasting through corridors Take a Chance on Me, but there was no lyrics yet, just the background music as if waiting for the performers. Just like it had countless times before on karaoke nights with the marauders.

Suddenly, the great hall doors were slammed open by two large flying speakers, obviously charmed. A feeling of knowing washed over me and I whip my head towards the boys. Just in time to watch as they climb onto the table, their faces adorned with a beautiful blue color, Remus in gold.

Lily sucked in a deep breath beside me while watching James standing tall despite the spouts of laughter. Sirius throws off his robe, it lands on the head of a flabbergasted Gryffindor, Sirius is revealed to be wearing bright blue bell bottom sparkly pants, his white school button up is tucked underneath.

Remus was right after him, throwing off his robes and ripping off his shirt. Buttons flew onto the people around them but no one paid them any mind. All eyes were on the infamous Marauders, because Remus was now wearing a sparkly blue jumpsuit just like the ones ABBA preform in, with flare pants as to match the rest of the boys His gold lips sparkled and I had to stop myself from wanting to kiss him senseless. His eyes seemed even brighter under the gold hue of his makeup, he was golden.

Nothing was more attractive then the confidence and savvy of the boys before us(didn’t help that I had a fat crush on David Bowie and ABBA). Nothing sweeter than the way they stood and smiled at Lily and I while everyone around us laughed, pointed, whispered and some even smiling themselves.

Sirius picked up a cup by his foot, while James threw off his own robes, wearing an ABBA band shirt Lily bought him ages ago, he was wearing swaying bell bottoms too. Peter flipped his robe inside out to reveal the other side as bright blue with obviously badly glued on glitter, clusters of glitter fell on the table very time he nervously tapped his foot.

Remus brought his wand to his lips, as if a microphone and somehow the lanterns around us dimmed.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, getting over the shock much faster than everyone else, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as the music started to play from the very beginning and this time the voices of four boys joined in, singing the lyrics.

The lights flashed as James sang first, his voice cracking and in the fleeting light you could see him blush. Lily slapped my arm in shock and excitement. Then light flashes again like lightning, as Sirius joined in, singing much louder, he always said he’d like to be a rock star just once (granted this is much different, but he will no doubt pretend there is no difference at all). The next light cued in Peter who sang with his eyes closed, his voice shaking with nerves but he new every line.

It wasn’t until the second verse that their voices died down and the lanterns illuminated the great hall completely again as Remus’s voice rang out strong and clear. His eyes on me. His voice took my breath away, he sounded both awful and yet beautiful.

“If you’re all alone,” he sings, “When the pretty birds have flown,” gasps join in with the music as hundreds of paper doves fly in through the doors, whizzing past me and putting my hair in array, then soaring way over my head, circling up in the ceiling. I could hear Professor McGonagall stifle both her surprise and joy. Everyone was laughing and cheering, but then silence fell again to listen. I could not take my eyes off of Remus, who in turn, would not take his eyes off of me.

“Honey, I’m still free, Take a chance on me...” He must have finished his solo part because the boys start to sing along after that and they all begin to strut down the table towards us like a cat walk. Remus stops just short of us and hops, on beat, off of the table.

Peter, James and Sirius walk right towards me. Sirius slitting his eyes and stooping low, pointing at me with one hand as he sings into the cup with the other. They all stand in front of Lily and I, hips shaking to the beat and James has eyes for Lily only. All the boys sang to us in union.

“If you need me, let me know, gonna be around,” Sirius eye’s turning oddly soft as they sang, “If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down.“

Then they quickly turn towards the crowd again, but I felt it. I felt their hidden apology. For the first time in days I felt some of my anger and sadness slip from me, with every lyric, and every bright, bashful smile. My anger left me as they sang and embarrassed themselves for the sake of a grand apology.

Lily started to laugh. She doubled over and tried to hide her smile with a hand but it was just too ridiculous, all of it really was. James did a double-take when he saw this, then he broke out into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and his voice no longer sounded so shy. I start giggling myself as Sirius jumps off the table like a rock n roller and dances over to Minnie and Dumbledore, their foot tapping did not go unnoticed by him.

James waltz over to Lily and bows low before her, extending his arm, he sings “We can go dancing,” Lily giggled and takes his hand, she surprises everyone and joins in

“We can go walking,” She sings. James smirks and carries on with a raised brow.

“As long as we’re together...” Then he runs with her past the table, his pants waving and tossing, Lily’s laughing uncontrollably by his side, joining in indefinitely for the song. Remus’s voice still rang loudest over the boys, my eyes searching for him in the room, I seem to have lost him in the commotion of others jumping up and dancing, and the sweet moment between James and Lily.

Then their voices left the serenade and once more it was just Remus. He sounded so close to me, I turned around and my heart did a back flip. He was right behind me, smiling sadly as he say...

“When I dream I'm alone with you, it's magic You want me to leave it there Afraid of a love affair But I think you know that I can't let go” Remus sings, everyone falling quite again as the lights dim once more and a single light is glowing above us. It was in the shape of a white butterfly, and a shooting star darting around it. The great hall grew silent once more. Dumbledore’s voice was heard quietly singing the song, for the music has died down, Minnie hit him and watched us anxiously.

She only grew tenser as Remus sang without music, he looked so vulnerable under the soft white glow and under the eyes of everyone in the room. But above that, he was being vulnerable to me, his voice more of a plead than song.

“If you change your mind, I'm the first in line Honey I'm still free, take a chance on me If you need me, let me know, gonna be around If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down,” He finished with baited breath, despite his lungs begging for more, he was too focused on what I would do next. I take a deep breath and stop fighting the feelings inside of me. I smile brightly up at him, using my own wand, I bring it up to my lips like a microphone too.

“If you’re all alone, when the pretty birds have flown. Honey, I’m still free, take a chance on me.” I sing. Remus’s face lights up with bubbling laughter and pure joy. He takes me in his arms and spins me around, while we embrace the music and lights are back on and everyone in the great hall is singing. Minnie and Dumbledore included, she is smiling at us.

Remus stops spinning and is just standing before me now, very still, as if he was debating whether this is all a dream or not. His glittering eyes boring into mine with such strong emotions I felt trapped, utterly entranced. The words of the song rush through me like the wind, he grabbed my hand softly, and led us both on top of the table.

“Let me tell you now. My love is strong enough, To last when things get rough, it’s magic.” As he sings those sweet words, magic fireworks erupt above us in little cheesy hearts of red. Students around us are overjoyed, up themselves and twirling around, dancing. Many gasped and awed at the fireworks, but nothing was more astonishing than what happened next.

****

Now, was what happens next petty? Yes. Did it land all of the Marauder detention? Yes. Did any of us enjoy the scene any less? Not at fucking all...

****

All the birds swooped down in a cloud of white, their paper wings rustling against one another. They moved like the wind, swooping as one to the right side of the room and then drifting swiftly to the left until they got lower and lower. Until they were right over Lucy Diamond.

I stopped dancing with Remus and stood still, along with most of the students and teachers I was watching the birds. But Remus was still singling softly into my ear, his voice dripped with mischief, the other boys still sang as well, sounding just as suspicious, but otherwise unbothered.

Then the birds broke formation and with every hit of the drum a bird flew down over the top of Lucy’s head, and very quickly shits something atop her head. Each one falls softly, it does not hurt her, but upon impact they break open and release the most god awful smell. Lucy can’t stop screaming, she tries to get up and run but the birds follow her out the door.

Stink bomb after stink bomb was dropped atop her head. The Great Hall was alive with laughter, but perhaps the loudest of all, was my own. Remus was stilling humming in my ear, highly amused he let himself watch too until Lucy was gone from sight.

“Oh, Remus,” I say, laughing loudly, “That is evil.” He laughs too, looking down at me he shrugs. We look at each other and nod, “She deserves it.” We say in union before laughing again.

But then the music screeched to a halt, silence overtook us in waves and drowned us as Dumbledore stood up, his wand being tucked back into his robes.

“Mr.Remus Lupin,” he starts slowly, his low voice gathering everyone’s attention, “Mr.Sirius Black. Mr.James Potter and Mr.Peter Pettigrew. I assume this is of your doing?” He inquires, though the answer is obvious. The boys swallow thickly, nodding their heads. I squeeze Remus’s hand and he shoots me a quick, lopsided smile. Everyone was feeling a bit uneasy, maybe even guilty.

“mmmh,” He nods, “Thought so. Though I always appreciate a dance number, the stink bombs are what concern me most. The four of you will have detention this afternoon, and whatever else Professor McGonagall deems appropriate.” He sits back down, and the student body are unsure of where the look. At Dumbledore, Minnie, or the boys in trouble.

“Yes, Professor.” They all say at once. After a while of the stiff silence everyone goes back to their seats. It wasn’t long before everyone was talking animatedly about what just happened.

“I’ve never seen a thing like it...”One says.

“The makeup’s nice, innit?”

“Yeah, but the pants are god awful.” “Nonesense, have you ever even seen ABBA?’’

Lily and I find ourselves sitting next to the boys again, stupefied by the whole event. I felt overjoyed and confused and surely surprised. I never thought in all my life, I’d be lucky enough to see the Marauders perform ABBA in such attire, at Hogwarts nonetheless.

“So..whatcha’ think? Think I’ll make a good rock star, huh? I knew it was for me.” Sirius starts, flaunting his bandana and not bothering to put his robe back on.

“I didn’t know I had it in me. Merlin, did ya see me shaking, Remus?” Peter says excitedly. Remus turns to him with a bright smile, nodding his head.

“All of ya were just great. Peter memorized the footwork better, though.” Remus says, James wacks his arm.

“Did not, I worked hard on that. Lily liked it. Didn’t cha?” James turns to Lily, who much like me, is still blushing mad. She can only nod. We were still trying to process our shock, and Remus’s golden lips and glowing eyes weren’t making it any easier for me. I’m sure the blue on James had the same affect on Lily.

“But..uhm,” Remus clears his throat, looking rather nervous he turns to me now, “What did you think of it?” He fidgets while I looked for my answer, smiling at the mere memory of minutes ago.

“I thought it was...grand! Shocked me half to death ya did!” I can’t help my voice raising and contorting with my waves of emotions, happy, surprised, impressed and underneath it all, discontent. I lean into Remus, he leans into me, so his ear is close to my mouth, just like when we’d whisper in class. The others talk around us, but we fall into our own world.

“But I need more than just a song, Remus. I need answers. A real conversation, ya know?” I ask, nervous he’ll take it wrong. His actions proved how much he wanted me back, hell he was willing to tarnish his reputation and mortify himself in front of everyone for me. I wanted to make it work just as much, so I hoped he understands that for this to work, we need honesty. He nods eagerly behind me, turning to me with a soft smile.

“I know. You deserve nothing less than the whole truth. Because you’re right, I’ve never cheated on you once,” I nod at him, I’ve gathered that much from Sirius and James’s comments, but my heart still felt lighter at the confession, “But I have been lying to you.” My heart sank at his words and I sat in silence, waiting for more. He took in my reaction and rushes out the rest, as if scared I’ll leave him again. “But I plan on never lying to you again, starting with tonight. After my detention. And (y/n)... I am so sorry for everything that has happened between us.” The intensity in his eyes glue me in place even as the bell chimes, signifying the end of breakfast.

“Here, take this.” He slips a note into my hand, kissing me on the cheek. “It has everything you need to know for my...full apology.” He glances uneasily at the staring students and we both turn to the sound of James’s voice calling for Remus. Remus gives him a thumbs up and turns towards me again.

“I’ve got to go...er change out of this.” He says, shaking his leg as the pants float and toss around his ankles, I throw my head back and laugh. Taking him in fully, his chest hair poke out from the v-neck and the suit covered the rest of him tightly. He looked both hot and ridicules.

“Yes, please do.” I say, but take his hand and twirl him. He twirls with a blush, doing a little dance with his shoulders as he does. He stumbles slightly and I steady him, low and behold he was wearing platforms too. I can’t help but laugh once more. “But keep the get up, yeah? Not too shabby, Mr.Remus Lupin.” I take on the tone of Dumbledore at the end and he laughs.

“See you in first period?” He asks, anxiety slipping through his voice again. It was still weird for us to be talking again, yet all too natural.

“Of course not, when have I ever seen you in the class we share together?” He rolls his eyes at my sarcasm, but doesn’t bother to fight his huge smile, the same one that hasn’t left his face since we danced atop the table.

“I embarrass myself in front of the whole bloody school and ya still have all that sass. Guess we’ll have to fix that later then.” He says, suggestively winking. I laugh and push him towards the great hall doors, we were some of the few people still there.

“Don’t try and seduce me dressed as Benny Andersson, and especially when I’m still mad at you. Cause I am still mad at you, ya know?” I say, our moods sobering slightly. He smiles sadly.

“I know,’ He says, sighing he glances back at boys who are already walking up the stairs, ready to change and beyond waiting with how many people are taking pictures and laughing. “But I will make it up to you, I promise.” He gives me one last smile before turning around and racing up the stairs.

I smile to myself and shake my head, re-playing the events in my mind and reminding myself to ask for some of those moving pictures of the boys. I meet up with Lily and together we walk to class, we can’t shut up about what happened.

Several times we’ve recounted it to one another and made so many jokes we were crying with laughter by the time we reached class. She left me by the door, to make her way to her class not too far from mine. While I waited for Remus and the other boys to walk through the door I pulled out the note Remus gave me and read the contents.

Dear (y/n),

At 8 tonight make your way over to Hagrid’s hut. He’s always had an abundance of creature around there.

All my love to you,

Remus

I tucked the note away with curiosity bubbling all throughout me until I had to bounce my leg in an attempt to calm myself down. I’ve went through far to much emotion in this short morning. This day will go by slowly I take it.

Suddenly, Minnie walks through the door to personally inform our teacher that Remus, Sirius and James will not be attending this morning. Part of their punishment requires them elsewhere. I sigh and slump in my chair, a long day indeed.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget @beyondprincess @1975weasley @nicodoesntexist @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain @yoyoitsbella @ftwert @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @dontjudgemyobsessionpls @blackpinkdolan

@holdenviolet @katie-lupin05 @acoustic-archie @trishizzl @accio-willtolive-lmao @ilistentotayswifttocope

#young remus imagine #remus lupin #young remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #the marauders #the marauders fanfiction #young marauders #marauders era fic #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagines #remus angst #fluff #ABBA #jily #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

Note

thoughts on Bela///Donna?

What a lovely can of worms you've placed in my inbox, dear nonnie. I cannot wait to open it and lose followers (regardless of what I actually say).

Since this is, uh, a subject of some debate among RE8 fans, I will be inputting my thoughts on the idea of the ship (and the possible controversy), as opposed to doing HCs or something for it (which I recognize might be what you were asking for, despite the excessive /s).

This is all based on my playthroughs of the game, as well as what I've managed to double check on the fandom/wiki for it. I know that a lot of people who read fanfic for the game haven't actually played it, likely having been lured in by Tall Vampire Milf, and so I hope that some people will be open to a reminder of, like, canon vs fanon? I've mentioned in a previous post that there's a lot of details for RE8 that are not made clear, and I feel the need to reiterate that in this post. Capcom left a lot of stuff up to people's imaginations, or kind of just hinted at in game or in concept art.

But more importantly, regardless of what game we're talking about, regardless of the conclusion I come to (and the one you come to) at the end of this post, I want to say that I absolutely understand the need/desire to have your own perspective/take on the characters from the game, as well as their dynamics. If a ship makes you uncomfortable because you see the characters as being family members, it's totally okay. Block the ship tag, or filter it out when you look through fandom stuff, don't follow people who post for it, etc, etc.

If you think of characters as being family-family (like, not just "we got married and are now a family" but, like, "we're siblings/parent and child") and still ship them? uh. sorry, bruv, maybe think of hitting that unfollow button. No, seriously, hit that unfollow button. This blog is anti-incest, thank you very much.

The last thing I'll say before putting it under a read-more (for both length and major RE8 spoilers) is that I recognize that I might have missed something, either in game or developers talking about things on social media, and so if you read through this and go "god, J, you're such a dumbass for forgetting *critical piece of media*" or even just "okay but have you seen *small but meaningful piece of media*?" please. Just. Please. Tell me. Link me to that shit. I WANT to know if I'm wrong. I've literally avoided talking about this for as long as I could in order to TRY and make sure I have all the context I need.

With that said, let's examine what context we are given for Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, and their relations to each other. I will be leaving my personal thoughts on Bela///Donna at the very end of this, as somewhat of a conclusion, somewhat of just a "hey, this is what you technically asked me about".

Firstly, let me begin by explaining what I consider to be the 3 tiers of "canon"

In-Game/Direct: The highest, truest tier, the definitive canon. This is everything that takes place in game, excluding certain hallucination scenes (ex: Mia was not really in House Beneviento, but we can infer some things from what Donna made Ethan hallucinate about). Things either happen, or are directly stated by characters. There's some wiggle room for dialogue, as characters can lie, but overall we, as the audience, assume we are being told the truth. At the very least, games usually eventually make it clear when a character has been dishonest. Examples of Direct Canon include the following: Ethan is infected with the mold, Lady Dimitrescu drinks blood, Heisenberg wears sunglasses, Mother Miranda can shapeshift.

Concept Art/Developer's Notes/Indirect: Mid-tier and debatable, the "we think, but we're not sure" of canon. Resident Evil: Village contains lots of concept art that the players can browse through, all of which include notes from the developers about the game, characters, environments, and story. Sometimes the notes make something "direct", but oftentimes they do not specify whether the listed idea is still canon or if it was removed during development. This tier also includes information that is implied/can be inferred from tier 1 information, but is not directly stated. Examples of Indirect Canon include the following: Donna's mother died by suicide, Moreau was going to have his lover fused to his back, Duke was originally a fifth lord, Heisenberg was going to have a twin. As you can see, not all of the concept art ideas made it into the final version of the game, so it can be hard when some information seems like it might still be true (such as the matter of Donna's parents).

Fanon/"False": Sometimes collective ideas in a fandom become so widespread that people start interpreting them as actual canon. Sometimes it gets hard to remember what's just obscure lore and what's fanon. When we get a piece of fiction as overall vague as a lot of Resident Evil: Village is, there's bound to be some confusion over time. That's one of the main reasons I waited to talk about Bela////Donna until after I had recently replayed relevant sections of the game, as I wanted to remind myself of what we're actually told. Examples of False Canon are difficult to pinpoint, but might include things like: Hufflepuffs are good at finding things? The Avengers got along for awhile and all had their own rooms in the tower? There's a number scale for the danger level of ghosts in Danny Phantom?

For this post, I will be limiting the majority of my notes to the first two levels of canon, and will do my best to mark them as such. Now... let us... begin.

Alcina Dimitrescu:

Born no later than 1914, Alcina Dimitrescu was 44 years old when she was granted the Cadou by Mother Miranda. (1st Tier: Canon. Source: A note in the castle basement from a servant is dated 1958, and mentions both Alcina and her children. Secondly, Miranda's experiment notes state that Alcina was the 181st subject, and was given the Cadou at age 44. By doing math, we can then determine the earliest Alcina could have been born.)

Alcina refers to the other Lords as her family once without any disdain (when Ethan first arrives at the castle and is caught, Alcina says "you've escaped my little brother"). In a private journal (located near where she threw the infamous vanity) she insults the other Lords, and expresses anger that she is "treated like a sister to them". She argues with Heisenberg without any hesitation, and seems honest in her hatred of him (per Maggie Robertson's wunderbar performance). (1st Tier/2nd Tier: Canon with a sprinkle of interpretation for the last line)

Alcina openly refers to Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela as her daughters, and wrote in her experiment journal that she felt instantly connected to them (as mother and daughters). (1st Tier: Canon).

Bela Dimitrescu:

Likely born in the 1930's or 1940's, in order to be an adult by 1958 (the first dated appearance of the Dimitrescu daughters). (2nd Tier: Based on inference)

Dialogue shows that all three of the daughters do love their mother, and reinforces the bond Alcina's journal mentions. (1st Tier: Canon)

We are not given any information about how Bela feels about the other Lords, or even what she knows about them. Once can assume that she shares the ideas of her mother, either because Alcina tells her things directly, or because Bela (who is eager to please her mother) picks up on them over time. (2nd Tier: Based on inference)

Donna Beneviento:

No idea when she was born. If you've read one of my recent posts, then you know that it's almost entirely a matter of 2nd and 3rd tier canon.

Of the four lords, Donna seems to have the most story within the 2nd tier, and has very, very little in the 1st tier. Duke says she's somewhat isolated, and that her "playmates" never leave the house. Miranda's notes state that Donna is mentally ill, and the gardener's diary states/implies (bit of both) that Donna has severe social anxiety. (1st/2nd Tier: Mostly canon)

Supposedly, her parents committed suicide while she was still a child. This is indicated in concept art/the attached developer's notes. However, the only part that's also directly stated in game is that her parents (specifically her father) died while she was young. (1st/2nd Tier: Mostly canon)

While Donna only has one voice line in the game (and it's sad), Angie talks a fair bit. Angie seems to disapprove of the other Lords, or at the very least enjoys mocking them, as well as enjoys watching them fight with each other. As Angie is connected to Donna, and Donna has some level of control over her, one can assume that the two have similar (if not the same) opinions. (1st/2nd Tier: Mostly Canon)

Donna was adopted by Mother Miranda as an adult. It's unclear exactly how old Donna was, or what exactly Miranda did as her "mother", just that Donna was excited about it. (1st Tier: Canon)

Other Relevant Information:

Heisenberg refers to the other Lords as his siblings a minimum of 1 time. Similarly to Alcina, however, he openly insults them and seems to hate them. He just, you know, hates Mother Miranda the most. (1st Tier: Canon)

Mother Miranda does not actually give a shit about the four Lords, intended for them to die before the ceremony, and has been manipulating them for her own gain this entire time. Her notes and dialogue make it clear that she only cares about getting Eva back. Somehow mother of the year and worst mother ever. At the same time. (1st/2nd Tier: Mostly Canon)

It's unclear who treats Alcina "like a sister" to the other Lords. Were there cut lines of dialogue that cemented the idea of them being a "family"? Did Miranda call them a "family" as part of pretending she cared about them? I've done my best to dig around, but there's very little in game that treats them as a family of any sort.

As each Lord ruled their own section of the region, they don't have any mentions of interacting with each other outside of meetings with Mother Miranda. None of the notes for any Lord (and their relevant experiments) mention what the others are doing. In game, their environments are very separate, very well divided, though this is likely as much for gameplay as it is for story.

Conclusion:

I do not not believe there is enough in game evidence to suggest that Alcina and Donna consider themselves to be siblings. There's the possibility for a large age gap, Alcina was a fair bit older than Donna when she met Miranda, Donna is a social recluse whose closest bonds were with dead blood relatives and dolls, Alcina openly dislikes (if not hates) the other Lords, they seemingly lived very separate and distanced lives, and Mother Miranda does not enforce the idea of "family". Furthermore, the sheer contrast between how Alcina interacts with/speaks of the other Lords compared to how she interacts with/speaks of her daughters says a lot about her feelings. Even if Heisenberg takes the brunt of her anger, Alcina never once says anything remotely positive about anyone other than Miranda and her daughters.

As Alcina/Bela and Donna are not blood-relatives, the definition of what would count as "incest" does vary depending on who you ask. Personally, I do count non-blood relations as potentially incestuous. For example: Alcina "dating" one of her daughters would be incest, regardless of the fact that she's a mutated human and her daughters are weird swarms of flies.

Now, I do understand how popular the idea of the four Lords being a real, chaotic but still close family is. And as I mentioned above, it's totally valid to not like the Bela///Donna ship, whether it's because you think they're family or some other reason. I don't personally see them that way, even in my definitely-not-canon stories.

Do I personally ship Bela///Donna? Nope. Have I liked art for the ship? Admittedly yes, even if I thought some of it was, like, maiden x Bela because Donna didn't have her veil and I'm a DUMBASS who doesn't always remember to read tags. Would I ever write for it? Yeah, probably, assuming I didn't miss anything in game/that I don't eventually change my mind.

#*incredibly deep sigh*#*incoherent screaming*#it's 6 in the morning #i spent too long doing research #again feel free to send me links if you think I missed something #what do I even tag this as?#asks #anonymous #meta shit #i'm procrastinating on posting this because of anxiety #I'm worried 2 specific followers are going to unfollow me #and possibly one mutual #somebody just kill me already

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cdt12345 · 4 years ago

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We've been friends many years but I've never thought to ask; Top 10 gay OTPs?

1.) Ian & Mickey (Gallavich) - Shameless us

What can I say about these two that we haven’t already said about them?! They are my absolute all-time favorite couple ever! Gay or straight. They perfectly complement each other, they love each other on a level I feel like I’ve never seen before (and I have watched a lot of tv/movies), they’re like a comedy duo, they support each other, understand each other better than anyone else ever will, they fell in love as kids, they bring out the best in each other, and they’re each other's best friend. I’m a sucker for opposites attract, who are also best friends. Gallavich really fits that bill. I wish they didn’t have to struggle so much to get their happiness, but I’m happy they finally got it. When they got married, it felt like the biggest victory ever! We went through those years of struggle with them, rooted for them, mourned for them when John Wells let Noel go after season 5. So much has tried to keep these two apart, even real-life circumstances tried to keep them apart. The chemistry between these two characters and between Cameron and Noel was so powerful, they were brought back to the show. That kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. When an actor leaves a show, they don’t usually come back as a series regular, let alone two actors who have already left the show. It felt like a miracle! I will never forget getting the news that Noel was coming back from you @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog I was crying with happiness bc we wanted this for so long and I never believed we would get to see both Cameron and Noel back on the show. Or that they would get their happy ending outside of a jail cell. Especially after Cameron left the show in season 9. With their return we got a wedding, an entire season of them as a married couple, we got to see them dance with each other twice, we got them singing together, we got to see them start a lucrative business together, we got to see them free and happier than we’ve ever seen them before, and we got to see Terry get what he deserved after putting them through hell. We are only halfway through season 11, but I already feel so fulfilled with this extra time with gallavich that we were never supposed to have. JW tried to take that away from us. I will never understand why, but he failed. I am not surprised this is the one I wrote the most about. I can go on and on about gallavich!

2.) David and Patrick - Schitt’s Creek

This was everything I ever wanted to see onscreen, where there was zero homophobia. The pansexual character didn’t need to have a big coming out or tell everyone in the town of his sexual orientation, except his best friend. The gay character had a coming out with parents who loved and accepted him for who he is and was only upset that he felt he couldn’t tell them sooner. I dreamt of a day where I could see this kind of representation onscreen. The casual treatment of their sexuality was so refreshing and something I’ve been waiting for. There is no darkness or huge struggle they had to overcome to be together or a sad ending for them. They were allowed to be together without the major conflicts most LGBTQ characters have to go through. Once David made the first move Patrick was comfortable allowing himself to fall for David and start a relationship with him. He was so sure of his feelings for David after that first kiss, he never looked back and I loved that. They had such an adorable love story. Truly one I have been waiting to see for so long between two LGBTQ characters. They made me smile every time they were on screen. They are another of my OTPs that are exact opposites who complement each other perfectly. Patrick was welcomed into David’s family and blended in with them so well, even when he and David had very different upbringings. Patrick serenading David with Tina Turner and then Mariah Carey at their wedding is one of the most romantic things I have ever seen!

3.) Holt and Kevin - Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Captain Holt and Kevin are strange men on their own but together they are the perfect pair. They get each other in a way no one else does. The best part is their adorable fur baby, Cheddar! They seriously make the cutest family! I was so nervous when they went through a rough patch for a while because I didn’t want them to split up. Thankfully, they made it through and are still going strong!

4.) Will and Vince - Will & Grace

On the show's first run, Will and Vince were in a serious relationship and Vince was Will’s longest relationship on the show. They broke up a few times but were together by the series finale. The two reunite during the funeral of Will's father. There was a time jump on the series finale. Though I didn’t love everything about the last episode, I did love the fact that Will and Vince had been together for 20 years and raised a son together, who was conceived through in vitro fertilization with a surrogate. After the time jump, nearly twenty years later, their son goes to college and meets Grace's daughter, whom he would eventually marry. Though I wasn’t happy with the fact that Will and Grace didn’t stay close over the years, it did allow for their kids to one day meet, fall in love, and get married. I did like that outcome out of the finale. My family and I used to watch the original show, but we refused to accept or watch the 2017 revival because they completely changed everything from the original series finale. The second I found out they were changing everything; I knew I couldn’t watch it. They even wiped the existence of their kids from the first series finale. The revival was an attempt to cash in on the reboot craze and I wasn’t happy about that already, but even more so when they were going to break up one of my OTPs for easy money. Bobby Cannavale, who played Vince, has become even more famous since starring in Will & Grace. So, I already figured he wouldn’t be back for the show as a regular, but I know he did guest star. I won’t accept the revival and to me, Will and Vince stayed together, and their son married Grace’s daughter. THE END!

5.) Albert and Armand - The Birdcage

Miss Albert and Armand were the earliest gay couple I remember ever watching onscreen when I was eight years old. I have watched this movie more than I can count over the years. It is a family favorite that we quote often. Their son is planning to marry a girl whose father is in politics and is very conservative. They have to hide the fact that he has two gay fathers for one night, but everything goes awry, and comedy ensues. Nathan Lane and Robin Williams give a wonderful performance without resorting to using the stereotypes that are often used on gay characters, especially back then. It’s a classic!

6.) Stefon and Seth - Saturday Night Live

Okay, hear me out on this one! They’re not the most conventional OTPs on my list, but I really do love them so much! Stefon started doing a correspondent segment on Weekend Update on SNL. The first time Stefon came on, he flirted with Seth Meyers. The second he did I was like ooh they would make a cute couple! Stefon the wild party guy and Seth the serious news anchor. It was a match made in heaven for me. Before Seth Meyers left SNL to do Late Night with Seth Meyers, Bill Hader came back to play Stefon for Seth’s last episode. I didn’t expect what happened next to happen at all! They gave Seth and Stefon the ending that I haven’t even gotten from some actual scripted shows. I never expected Stefon and Seth to have this big ending, but I could not be happier that they did. I’m posting the link to the six-minute skit/ending and I hope it works. It’s worth watching. Though the video says it’s Stefon’s farewell it was really Seth’s farewell episode.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj-wYWMdWNk

7.) Mr. Simmons and Peter - Hey Arnold!

Anyone who grew up watching this show already knew that Mr. Simmons, Arnold’s teacher, was probably gay. It was hinted at in the Thanksgiving episode. Arnold and Helga visit Mr. Simmons on Thanksgiving at his house and his family and “friend” Peter are there. Mr. Simmons mother says she didn’t know Peter was coming to dinner and Peter responds with the infamous line “There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” When Mr. Simmons mom tries to get him to take a woman friend to the ballet, he says he loves the ballet and Peter gives him a disapproving look and Mr. Simmons immediately declines. Those were enough hints for us fans to decide Peter was his boyfriend. Years later, the show's creator Craig Bartlett finally confirmed Mr. Simmons is gay and had them together in the 2017 Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie. It was so exciting to finally get the confirmation years later, even though I was already certain of it for many years. I was happy that the cartoon no longer had to settle with vague hints about it.

8.) Callie and Arizona - Grey’s Anatomy

I was very happy to see a lesbian couple on prime time tv and I really liked both characters. I was excited to root for them but sadly as most couples on this show, their relationship took a turn, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. I was disappointed that it came to an end. By then I was already getting tired of watching the show. It was starting to feel like a chore to watch it every week. I tried to stick it out because I don’t like to give up on shows in the middle of it, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I’m glad I did though because the shocking events with Derek Shepard, is something I’m glad I wasn’t around for. Anyway, I heard things between Callie and Arizona got even worse, so I was even happier I left when I did.

9.) Sherwin and Jonathan - In a Heartbeat

This was one of the cutest things I have ever seen! I wish this got the full-length movie treatment instead of a short film. But it was still a step in the right direction for the LGBTQ community. Gay characters in cartoons always bring me such joy and that was the focus of this short. A boy with a crush on another boy with a cute ending. What is not to love?!

10.) Mitch and Cam - Modern Family

Another show I had to give up on in the middle of the series. The show began to be less funny and more annoying to me. Another reason, that really has nothing to do with the show itself, that used to annoy me was that this show repeatedly beat out Parks and Recreation during award season. Parks and Recreation is a superior show when compared to Modern Family. This show won almost every year for years and it got really annoying especially when the quality of the show started slipping and they kept winning. After a few years, they finally stopped winning all the time. But before all that, I was a fan of Cam and Mitch. They were a great couple who I loved watching on the show. They were the best part of the show most of the time. But sadly, my annoyance of the show no longer being as funny as it used to be, was enough for me to stop watching.

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quillandink333 · 4 years ago

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part IV

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.1k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It was nine o’clock in the morning, two days after I’d made my arrest, and Paya’s trial was in its opening stages. I was watching from the gallery. Normally, as the one running the investigations, I would be the first witness to take the stand, but today, for whatever reason, the lead prosecutor, Urbosa Sigatur, planned to summon me second after Auntie Purah. Urbosa was far from a stranger to me, however. She and I had collaborated on several cases in the past, and she shared with me many of my own ideals. She’d once even known my mother before her untimely demise. And so I decided not to question her judgment, however unconventional it may have seemed.

The prosecution’s opening statement had been based on the fact that the stolen Sheikah Slate, along with a bloodstained bullet, had been found in the defendant’s room, which, until recently, hadn’t been searched as it had been deemed irrelevant to the case. With these conclusive pieces of evidence, she’d stated, the defendant had been charged with both the theft of the Slate and the murder of its owner, Impa Sheikah.

The stolen object was the most central piece of evidence in the prosecution’s case. It had once been a target of my own immense interest, even before its theft. But that had all changed following its recovery. The riddle, though having been solved by means of professional reprogramming, still made little sense to me if any. “Carnation” was its answer, according to Auntie Purah herself. Much to my dismay, the secrets that the riddle had supposedly kept hidden had turned out to be nothing but my own fantasy. Every last piece of data that had once been stored in the Slate had been deleted, meaning the possibility of proving a motive for its theft was next to nonexistent. The only thing left in its memory was a diary entry, written by Auntie Impa the day before her murder. This in itself, however, held the potential to serve as a lead to her killer’s identity, at the very least.

The diary entry, as projected onto the courtroom wall by the Slate, went,

“Today was the first day of Zelda’s holiday visit. It is hard to believe that the last long term visit she paid us was already over a year ago. We have all missed her dearly. She seems as interested in my sister’s work as ever. It brought me joy to see the two of them bonding over their shared passion once again.

“However I must admit, I would still love for her to also spend some quality time with Paya some day soon. I sensed some resentment coming from her directed at my dear granddaughter. Perhaps it is something to do with that boy. Either way, it seems their relationship has hardly changed since she left the nest.

“I cannot say for certain whether anyone will ever be able to read this, but I have faith that Purah will figure it out. I am no good with machines like these, but I believe in her. At any rate, I hope she is the one who gets to read this message, but in the event that it happens to fall into the wrong hands, I will sign off here.”

With this, the prosecution’s argument, though a bit scattered across several different points, seemed sturdy enough so far. That Auntie Impa had seemingly known that her life would be taken the following night after writing her final message, combined with the fact that she’d received no threats from the outside world up until then, was one of the strongest pieces of evidence in our arsenal.

Paya’s defence lawyer, one Revali Twii, had made several attempts to dismantle her argument by claiming she had no possible way of knowing whether or not the victim had received a threat from outside the estate by phone. These attacks were easily deflected. As a foreigner to this city, Mr. Twii had been unaware that, thanks to the Sheikahs’ company, household phones here were all equipped with recording devices. Naturally, Ms. Sigatur had already listened to each recorded call since a month before the murder and had detected no discernible threat in any of them.

And yet in spite of all that, the argument shifted heavily in favour of the defence when it then carried out his cross examination. With how confidently Urbosa had stated her case, I never could’ve imagined how easy it would be for the opposing side to shatter it into countless, tiny pieces.

Mr. Twii’s primary line of questioning was a solid one, to say the least. He concurred with my deduction as presented by Ms. Sigatur that the parlour indeed was not the true scene of the crime. However, he claimed that the real crime scene could not possibly have been the defendant’s bedroom either. His basis for this was the gunshot. Paya’s room was in the same hallway that the sleeping quarters of the current witness, Auntie Purah, as well as myself, were in. Mr. Twii had her testify about the sound of the gunshot that she’d heard. In addition to the fact that it hadn’t seemed loud enough to have come from the very next room over, she’d only heard it once: from the parlour.

No doubt he intended to question me about the same thing when the time came for me to take the stand. I’d been itching to speak my mind and set things straight so badly that I’d had to cross my legs just to keep myself from getting up too soon by the time court was finally adjourned for a half-hour recess.

Now the prosecutor and I were together in a private room reserved for witness prepping. Normally I did just fine testifying on my own, but in this trial, everything was at stake, and I couldn’t seem to stop my heart from racing no matter what I tried. Thankfully I had Urbosa here, and simply talking with her had done much to calm my nerves already.

“You’re originally from out of town too, aren’t you?” I noted, thinking back on her performance.

“That I may be, but unlike that lawyer, I’ve spent enough time here to know of the perils this city is facing, and who’s been holding it together in spite of all that.”

“Right.” My lips rested against the curve of my index as my leg bounced restlessly underneath the table. “That schmuck really doesn’t have a clue, does he?”

“No, not likely. Though he’s quite the formidable opponent, I must say.” She leaned back in her chair, looking pensive, but not the least bit agitated. “My case took quite the beating out there.”

My heart rate was starting to pick up again. “You don’t think you’ll...lose...do you?”

“Who, me? Lose?” She let out a hearty bout of chuckles. “Young lady, are you quite sure you know who you’re speaking to?” I returned her laughter halfheartedly, unable to shake the foreboding feeling lying at the pit of my stomach. Urbosa cleared her throat, preserving her calm smile. “All jokes aside, I wouldn’t worry even if we do end up losing this one. The true criminal is still out there somewhere, and there is no such thing as a perfect crime.”

“I suppose...” Perfect crimes may not have existed, but neither did perfect investigations. If they ruled Paya out as a suspect, then only one other, “safe” option would remain.

“Alright, out with it. What’s on your mind?” Her hand had landed on my shoulder as she’d reached across the desk, over my half empty glass of water. “And why are you so set on getting Paya convicted, if I might ask? Sibling rivalry is one thing, but this is...”

I avoided her perceptive gaze, staring intently at the latch on my bag. What could I possibly tell her? “It’s just,” I stalled, eventually settling for a vague, “I’m running out of time.”

After a long pause, she leaned back, letting go of my arm. “I see. Well, whatever it is, know that I’ll be on your side no matter what, little bird.”

Oh, if only she’d known.

“So to sum up, you were outstandingly negligent in your investigation of the defendant’s bedroom.”

My jaw unhinged at what I’d just heard come out of the attorney’s mouth. I’d just finished giving him an explanation of my findings in as much detail as I could, during which time he’d been surprisingly polite, until now.

“You likely saw the Slate along with the bullet and made your arrest right then and there. You didn’t even stop to consider the possibility that you hadn’t found all there’d been to find in that room, did you?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you didn’t even attempt to look for the murder weapon.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” I retaliated with chest puffed up, “but my team and I searched the property from top to bottom, repeatedly, for two whole weeks, and—”

“Yes, I am well aware. However, you failed to complete a thorough search of this so-called ‘true crime scene’ before you arrested Ms. Sheikah. Do you deny it?”

I was floundering for words. Why bother questioning me if he merely intended to cut me off and answer his own questions? “I-I...”

“Objection.”

All eyes fell upon the prosecution. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“The defence is harassing the witness, Your Honour.”

The judge gave a slow, considerate nod of his head. “Objection sustained.”

Twii gave Urbosa a subtle but unmistakable side-eye. I thanked her silently. “Speaking of the murder weapon,” he continued in his signature, holier-than-thou tone, “I have here Exhibit F: a list of traits possessed by the elusive firearm responsible for the victim’s life.”

This wasn’t good. The list in question had been compiled by the prosecution based on traits of the fatal wound revealed by the autopsy, as well as other traits shared by the two bullets that were found at the estate. It contained information like its .38 caliber and that it had likely been fired twice at point blank, to name a few examples.

“My question for you, witness, is the following. What did you find during your ‘investigation’ regarding the weapon?”

This was fine, I kept telling myself. He still had yet to present the most fatal piece of evidence in the record. “As I’ve said before, none of our searches turned up any sign of it, other than what’s listed on that piece of paper you’re holding.”

“Is that so?” The sarcasm rooted in his voice had me sweating bullets. “In that case, Ms. Hyrule, I’d like to turn your attention to this passage here at the bottom.”

That was “Inspector Hyrule” to him, but of course, he couldn’t care less for such trifling things as common decency.

But when I read over the passage at which he was pointing, my throat closed up.

“Allow me to read it aloud for the court.” He snobbishly cleared his throat. “And I quote, ‘The murder weapon and the circumstances surrounding it strongly suggest an Octoric M&P revolver,’ end quote. I’d also like to add that this particular model is favoured by the district bureau of police, who issue them out to many of their detectives for self-defence.”

I gritted my teeth, annunciating each word as I spat, “Get to the point.”

The smarmy bastard was hardly even phased by my unmasked hostility. “Now, now, Ms. Hyrule, you’ve no reason to worry,” he waved off. “After all, I have no intention of accusing you.”

When he spoke that last word, my heart stopped, and deep down, I knew it was over.

“Firstly I wish for you to clarify a few things for me, as you were one of the first to discover the scene of the murder when it happened.”

I gave a slow, strenuous nod, losing strength in my knees by the second, but standing my ground all the same. “Go on.”

“The defendant showed no sign of having a gun on or anywhere near her person when you arrived, correct?”

“Correct,” I lied.

“Good. Now that we’ve established that the defendant was unarmed, I’d like to present another piece of evidence.” He laid out flat a second sheet of paper on the stand in front of me. “Exhibit H. This is part of a record kept by the precinct where the witness is currently employed, alongside the rest of her team. It details a list of the firearms given out to detectives each day, as well as the time when each one was issued and when it was returned to custody at the end of its designated officer’s shift.”

And there it was. I’d known all along that it had only been a matter of time until he’d bring out this piece of evidence, but, evidently, I’d failed to prepare myself mentally for this. Perhaps a part of me had hoped not to be on the stand when it happened. All I could do now was hold my peace and pray that it wouldn’t get worse from here.

“This page corresponds with the day before the murder. Now, Ms. Hyrule,” he addressed, summoning a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, “I’m sure you’ll recognize this badge number here. Would you please read it aloud for me?”

I swallowed my nerves and did as he’d requested. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“Thank you.” He flashed me that shit-eating grin of his. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the number belonging to one Constable Link Fyori, the witness’ very own investigative partner.” A few whispers drifted through the gallery following that announcement. “One who reads this will also notice that, after his revolver was issued out to him the morning before the murder, it was never returned to the precinct’s custody thereafter. In fact, it is still missing to this day.”

With this, the whispers grew in number, creating a din of distrust that had the attorney smirking from ear to ear.

“Objection.”

The whispering dissipated. Twii’s shoulders sagged as he hypocritically shot Urbosa a look that said, “What now?”

“Mr. Twii, how is this relevant? Unless you have definitive proof linking Constable Fyori to the crime, I see no point in bringing it up.”

The judge gave a pound of his gavel with a bone-chilling shake of his head. “Overruled. The court will allow the defence to continue, provided that it has good reason.”

My mouth fell open, and so had Urbosa’s.

“Thank you, Your Honour. I was just getting to that, my good prosecutor.” Now even she seemed on edge. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through with a knife. “I may not have proof as things stand currently. However, that is about to change. You see, I have reason to believe that our witness here is covering for someone.”

The courtroom broke out into an even louder din of murmurs, as if I couldn’t clearly hear each backhanded remark the members of the gallery were making at my expense.

The pounding of the judge’s gavel echoed throughout the room, and the whispering ceased once again.

“You must be mistaken.” I stood as tall as I could with how close my legs were to giving up on me. “I happen to be one of the most trusted detectives in the force. Why do you think I was put in charge of this case despite being one of the first on the scene?”

“Ah, but that, dear witness, was your superiors’ fatal mistake.”

Damn that solicitor. “What do you mean?”

“Although my client has elected not to testify to the court, she has let me in on a certain piece of information—one that I believe will make the jaws of everyone here drop to the floor.”

Surely not. Surely even she wouldn’t dare stoop so low.

“Inspector...” The attorney looked me dead in the eyes. The air was suffocating. “What do you have in your briefcase?”

Everyone was staring at me and murmuring amongst themselves, more raucously than ever before, like I was the one on trial.

“N-No, it’s—it’s not what it seems,” I wavered. Then mustering my shattered courage, “You!” I pointed my finger at Twii. “Prove to me that the defendant wasn’t lying. I demand to see proof!”

But my demands were met with silence. Even Urbosa was looking at me with cold contempt and disappointment.

“Bailiff.”

An officer appeared from the sidelines. He seized my bag.

“Wait, stop!”

I tried to wrest it from his grasp, but he was too strong. I watched helplessly as he opened it up, reaching in and revealing the murder weapon for all to see.

“No...!”

“Bailiff, what is the number engraved on that weapon?”

He seemed to recite the number in slow motion, twisting the knife with every digit. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“No, please!” I screamed. “It wasn’t him, he’s been framed! Please, Your Honour, you have to believe me!”

Amidst the roar of the crowd, I saw the conclusive shake of the judge’s head. With a pound of his gavel, he said, “I hereby order the immediate detainment of Link Fyori under the charge of first degree murder.”

I met eyes with my partner but half a second before I saw him be dragged out of his seat with brute force.

“No!”

“As for this witness, she shall receive her sentence after being questioned by the police for the concealing of evidence, contempt of court, and perjury.”

I cried out when an overwhelming pain shot through my arm. My family watched from the gallery in either horror or disgust, or a mixture of both perhaps. I tried with all my might just to get the bailiff to stop hurting me, but it was futile.

“Your Honour, just a moment please.”

With the judge’s approval, the man’s grip on my arm lightened up. The one who’d spoken had been none other than that wretched defence attorney.

“Inspector, if you don’t mind, I have one more question to ask you.”

I held my breath, bracing myself. Though there wasn’t much he could say at this point that could possibly make the situation worse.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Why did you feel the need to conceal such a critical piece of evidence?”

My entire face boiled over with heat. I looked around, taking in the courtroom’s atmosphere, and my whole being was filled to the brim with indescribable anger and shame. Barely able to swallow the charged whimper lodged at the cusp of my throat, I choked out the words, “No comment.”

The trial had ended while I’d still been in the middle of interrogation by my own peers. I was lucky enough to get off with a fine, but it was because of that hour-and-a-half-long lecture that I only found out about Paya’s “not guilty” verdict after the entire courtroom had been cleared out. This was no surprise to me, of course, but still a disappointment, to put it lightly. What was a surprise was that no one, not Paya, nor Auntie Purah, nor even Urbosa, had bothered to wait for me.

That was fine. They could think whatever they wanted of me. I’d simply have to redeem myself by proving Link’s innocence in his trial.

It was to this end that I made my way to the district’s Centre of Detention.

When Link appeared behind the iron bars of the visitors’ room, he was already sporting a worn and faded prisoner’s uniform, surely having just undergone an interrogation of his own. Though, from the looks of him, his had been considerably more thorough than mine.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Link.”

“Hello,” he replied.

Deathly silence filled the air. The harsh ticking of the clock on the wall behind me was slowly starting to crawl under my skin.

“They, uhm...didn’t go easy on you, eh?”

He shook his head, eyes wandering without aim.

Why did it have to be so hard to talk to him sometimes? He’d never been so unapproachable back in our days as teenagers. Though now, I supposed, recent events were only making things even more difficult for me than usual.

“Look...” I took a deep breath, shifting in my seat. “I’m sorry. Alright? I couldn’t cover for you forever. They were bound to find out eventually. Please, don’t be upset.”

“What? Zelda...” His demeanour morphed from listless to urgent, almost apologetic, as he struggled to find his voice. “Why would I be upset with you? I never asked you to cover for me in the first place.”

“I know.” Now it was I who couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “I just knew that you couldn’t have possibly... I mean, you would never—”

“I didn’t.”

He’d caught me with my mouth hanging open, when he’d cut me off.

“I didn’t kill her. I promise you.”

Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious, even though the revolver had borne no fingerprints and, with the gloves that he always wore, he wouldn’t have left any. What motive could he have had? He was an amnesiac, and even if he hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have had a reason to kill my godmother.

I took out my pen and notebook, the only things left in my case that hadn’t been confiscated. “Tell me what you know, Link. Everything.”

A beat. Then he straightened his posture and began to explain his side of the story. As it turned out, my intuition had been spot on. This whole mess was the design of the Yiga organization. Link told me about his encounter with them before the murder. They had blackmailed him into surrendering his revolver to them, after which he would never see it again.

Though, even without a hint of deceit in his tone or manner, I had questions about the means by which the Yiga had blackmailed him. He had virtually nothing to lose. Didn’t he?

In any case, I honestly had considered showing him the gun that I’d found on the scene that night, but somehow I’d had the distinct impression that he’d known nothing about it, despite the very object in question belonging to him. I’d thought perhaps someone from the organization had switched out his weapon for another without his noticing. It was no secret that even the police bureau was infested with their ilk. In the end, I hadn’t been far off the mark.

The whole time he spoke, he had his head lowered, hair falling in front of his eyes, as if something were holding them back from meeting mine. Then he muttered, “When I had my encounter with the organization, I...remembered.”

His limited annunciation meant I had to take a moment to decipher the syllables of the last word he’d uttered. Then they sank in. “Wait. What? You mean you...” It felt beyond strange to even speak the words after so long. “You got your memory back?”

He lowered his head further. Was that a nod?

My mind went back to what he’d said to me on that one occasion in the office, not long after this whole mess had first begun. “Link, you...” My hands curled into themselves around the strap of my satchel. “All this time...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” he pleaded. “It would’ve been a hindrance to the investigation.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Dropping that bomb on me would only have thrown my conscience deeper into its already tangled web of turmoil.

Amidst all the questions swirling in my mind, one suddenly appeared, eclipsing all the rest. “Why did you disappear back then?”

At this, he finally looked up and met my gaze. But when he did, his eyes were wide, almost trembling. His look seemed to cast the whole room into a great, looming darkness.

“Oh, it’s...it’s okay if you’d prefer not to talk about—”

“No,” he exclaimed. “I must.” But the way his shoulders came up to meet his ears and how rapidly his chest rose and fell told me it wasn’t going to be an easy story to tell. “It was the Yi—” He choked on his words. “The...organization.”

There it was again. The name of the group I’d been chasing without rest ever since their appearance eighteen years prior. “I knew it...” I mumbled without thinking.

He steeled himself, then continued. “That day, my father was picking me and my sister up after school. Normally we would’ve ridden home with him in his automobile, but that morning, he and I had planned to surprise Aryll by getting...I think it was ice cream, on our way back. Anyway, we decided to walk home that day. But...” His face darkened yet again. “But then...”

Pressing him for more details would have been beyond cruel. I could only imagine the horrors that those blackguards had put him and his family through. “How many of them were there?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they had us outnumbered.” I nodded along, without thinking, as he continued his tale. “They were all armed with what looked like military grade shotguns, and they wore those masks with the inverted Sheikah family crest... I’ve always known that I’d seen that image somewhere before.”

No one knew why the organization had chosen this symbol for themselves, though I personally suspected it to be a show of opposition.

“Anyway, after they sh...shot father,” he struggled, a hand coming up to his now quavering lips, “they must’ve felt threatened by Aryll and me, because the next thing they did was...shoot her, too.” The way his tone had started to oscillate and how his face had drained itself of colour made my stomach churn. His anguish was so clear, it was devastating. “One of them had said something to the ends of, ‘We can’t have you scamps telling on us.’ But before they could...’shut me up’ as well, I fled.” Another pause. He kept on breathing. “I was too terrified to notice which way I was going. The whole time I ran, they kept firing at me. They were too reckless to aim properly, though, mind.”

“Well...that’s lucky, at least,” I tried. This was met with a sigh of reluctant agreement. “Still, how did you make it out of that with your life?”

“They stopped chasing me when I made it out of the back alleys and into the open,” he explained. “I suppose they couldn’t risk revealing themselves.”

Now it all made sense. Seven years ago, when he’d vanished without a trace, it was as though he’d never even existed in the first place. No one could get in contact with him or his family, and yet, no one batted an eye about it. It had seemed I’d been the only one who’d thought of it as anything less than perfectly normal. Just like when my mother had lost her life.

“We never had the chance to get ice cream that day.” He looked all but ready to burst into tears with that sentence. That was the moment I realized, no matter how drastically the last seven years of hell had changed him, there was still a fragment of that playful, hollow-legged sixteen-year-old left deep in his dark, forgotten core. If there was a way to bring that bright-eyed child back out into the light, I would find it, even if it spelled my demise.

Even so, there was one thing left that had yet to be explained. “What about your amnesia?”

“Ah...” His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know what caused that, to be honest with you.” He seemed to be racking his mind, but to no avail. “By the time those thugs finally gave up, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I remember trying to find my way home, but I suppose I just ended up getting myself even more lost from there.” It was no wonder. The street names in this town were of little help in navigation, and it wasn’t hard to understand why he might have been apprehensive to ask for directions in such a bustling and hostile environment, especially after what he’d just been subjected to. “So I fell asleep in the streets that night,” he concluded with a shivering exhale. “The next morning, I woke up without the slightest notion of who I was.”

My heart took a plunge at the thought of his young self curled up in some alleyway, like a baby bird who’d fallen from the nest. “It must have been some sort of mental defence mechanism,” I conjectured. “That’s the only explanation I can come up with.” He slowly nodded his agreement. “After that, then, I suppose the rest is history.”

“Indeed...”

The visitors’ room fell into a deep, reflective silence, one nothing like that which had had me gasping for air moments ago. I watched the weary feelings of dread swim in his once bright blue eyes, tearing him apart.

He’d spent five whole years in that cold, cramped ward without even a name by which to call himself. And now we were back where we’d started. He may have regained his memories in the end, but at what cost?

I no longer felt the need to hunt down those who had wronged me. Now, my only desire was to slip between the bars that stood between the two of us and whisk him away to a far off land, where no one would ever hurt us again. But I pushed the impossible daydream aside. Even if escape were an option, we’d only be running straight out into range of Yiga fire.

“After your trial tomorrow...well, at the very least, I’ll lose my badge,” I smiled waywardly. Then, letting it fade and rolling my shoulders back, “Until then, I swear, I’ll do everything within my power to prove your innocence. Then we can go out for ice cream together.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears when he looked up at me then. Now that I thought about it, this seemed like the first time I’d ever seen him come close to crying, even in the time before the incident. Of course, he’d seen me in tears countless times back then. I wondered if he remembered them.

“Zelda...?” My name had started to leave his lips with conviction, but weakened on its way out. “There’s...something else I should tell you.”

“Anything.”

Just then, I caught him straightening out the cuff of his black-barred sleeve, concealing the fair skin of his wrist, out of the corner of my eye. “Never mind.” He again cast his gaze downwards, muttering an inaudible, “It��s nothing,” under his breath.

#is it obvious yet how much I love Ace Attorney?#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

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tasloveskk · 4 years ago

Text

Some folklore thoughts 💭🌲✨🏳️‍🌈

Part 1

I’m going to take it song by song while also tracking key themes in red! Please also feel free to add in your thoughts in the comments, I’m curious to see what else people think folklore is about...

folklore

‘folklore’ is defined as “a body of popular myths or beliefs relating to a particular place, activity, or group of people.” or, by Steve from Taylor’s IC,”the traditional beliefs, customs, and stories of a community, passed through the generations by word of mouth.” Taylor herself in her introduction/prologue says “A tale that becomes folklore is one that is passed down and whispered around. Sometimes even sung about. The lines between fantasy and reality blur and the boundaries between truth and fiction become almost indiscernible. Speculation, over time, becomes fact. Myths, ghost stories, and fables. Fairytales and parables. Gossip and legend. Someone’s secrets written in the sky for all to behold.”

the 1

- firstly, it’s the best opening track she’s ever had! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

- “I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit” = sounds to me like a conversation you have with an ex, like someone is saying “yeah I’m doing great, I’m dating/doing ‘x’” the first time they run into their ex in a while.

-“I thought I saw you at the bus stop” has BIG “this city screams your name” energy but is also very clever by Taylor because Miss Karlie Kloss is ALWAYS on advertisements on bus stops/literal buses around the globe 🚌

- “I hit the Sunday matinee” to me seems like an inside thing, because obviously as the world biggest pop star, if taylor is going to go to the theatre or cinema, she’ll pick the least busy and most filled with older people which would be the Sunday matinee.

- “you know the greatest films of all time were never made” —> the greatest love stories never get told? happen behind the scenes? There’s something deeper here but I’m still forming the cohesive idea!

- “if you wanted me you really should’ve showed” = showed up or showed for the world, either way Taylor wanted KK to chose her not Josh so they could work but that didn’t happen so now she’s left to wonder.

- “roaring twenties” evokes two clear images for me! 1. They were both in their 20s for the entiretyof their relationship, the best years were spent together and 2. The Roaring 20s were a time of independence, pushing boundaries and breaking the rules of prohibition - which is basically what Taylor and Karlie were doing behind the scenes.

- “if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you” = let’s say, ONLY FOR ARGUMENTS SAKE, that Taylor really IS with Toe, that still means that this song is her yearning for someone else who she always loves more AND had to lose at some point. Looking at her past beards “relationships”, there are only two plausible options - Joe (which seems unlikely seeing as they’re still “together”) or CH who she supposedly wrote “you would’ve been the one if you were a better man” about. Either way doesn’t seem like it fits. However, if you look at it as Karlie is the 1, it becomes clear - it would’ve been fun being best friends and lovers for ever baking cookies and dancing around the kitchen, it would’ve been forever if Karlie hadn’t “married” jerk, it would’ve been her and it still is. 💗

- “in my defense I have none, for never leaving well enough alone” & “I know that I went psycho on the phone, I never leave well enough alone” are about the same moment with the same person = she didn’t leave well enough alone because she kept writing about Karlie and re-engaging us Kaylors as well as I’m sure, she kept up with seeing Karlie or keeping tabs on her to the point where it forced someone to reach out to the other.... she can’t apologise or defend her actions because you can’t explain the things you do for true love.

- “I have this dream you’re doing cool shit” aka starting a podcast, expanding businesses, making headway as an entrepreneur and being a highly-paid and respected international model? Seems straight forward 👀

- “you meet some woman on the Internet and take her home” = 1. Karlie is specifically interested in tech and the internet, it is literally her entire business and 2. if Karlie and Tay did break up, then because Karlie is actually NOT married to Josh, she hooked up with someone she met through the internet somehow (probs social media not an app) and Taylor found out this is probably a snarky comment about that from a jealous ex. Could possibly also be about the dream mentioned above. 💔🔐

- “another day waking up alone” = lost her lover, sleeps alone? Bold claim on opening tack.

- “persist and resist” = very famous feminist saying, civil rights/political echo?

- “the temptation to ask you if one thing had been different, would everything be different today” = this what if mentality continues through the album but personally, I think this is about Kissgate.

- “Rosé flowing with your chosen family” = repeats later, your chosen family could refer to Karlie’s group of friends like Derek and Jourdan etc.

- “would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me” = flipped perspective, wishes Karlie chose her.

- “dragging up the grave another time” = firstly, THAT pin on her EW jacket now makes more sense. second, Taylor has written about Karlie for 4 straight albums now, she hasn’t let their love story die even if they did.

cardigan

- “brand new phone” = this is not some story, this is current reality. Taylor hides behind era-specific language and imagery in some other songs but this one is clearly about here and now, and her.

- “sensual politics” to me stands out because only really here and in TLGAD is politics explicitly mentioned and sensual politics to me screams sleeping with someone for political gain or with political connections which certainly sounds like someone...

- “when you’re young, they assume you know nothing” = sounds to me like a lot like a) love story and b) “you don’t know you’re gay, it’s just a PHASE! you’ll grow out of it!” 🏳️‍🌈

- “chase 2 girls, lose the one” = supposedly, when KK and TS met, Taylor was still in love/entangled with Dianna so perhaps she’s reflecting on making the wrong choice?

- CIWYW links: my baby’s high above the whole scene—> heartbeat on the high line, tidbit:as is clear in both Lover & 1989 New York is a sacred place for TS and KK’s love story, the high line is a) a beautiful NYC icon and b) right in between the girls’ two places...

- as mentioned, miss Karlie ELIZABETH Kloss was the brand model for Levi’s and definitely has worn some sequins and black lipstick on cobblestones sooooo.... 🤷🏼‍♀️

- “you drew stars around my scars” = see Drake’s birthday party and the infamous third Polaroid mystery 👀

- “stepping on the last train” could mean one of two things to me; 1. The last resort for KK was marrying J*sh or 2. the last train could represent some goodbye the girls had where KK chose something/someone else over Taylor.

- “peter losing Wendy” is such an interesting metaphor on so many levels but specifically, Wendy loses Peter because she wakes up (from nearly dying but nvm) and grows up and stops believing in Neverland and magic, basically Wendy loses an attachment to Peter because her reality shifts and that’s what gets remembered especially in the Disney version of the story. HOWEVER, the opposite is also true meaning Peter Pan loses Wendy because he can never co-exist with her again, he can never grow up or bring her back to Neverland without either killing her or ruining her. So this idea that someone wanted to change the ending from peter losing Wendy because he had to do what was best for her because he loved her echoes as Karlie didn’t want to marry Jerk or hurt Taylor but had to in order to protect her. Right? 😅

- “leaving like a father, running like water” = Taylor’s parents got divorced and there’s SOME thoughts Scott left the house and Taylor lives with her Mom in Nashville in her teen years.

- “I knew everything when I was young” - Taylor has always know she was LGBT+ 🌈 and also, baby VSFS vibes because as we all know, “we were both young when I first saw you...” send tweet.

- “I knew you’d come back to me” hopefully, HOPEFULLY foreshadows the girls being together/coming out soon !!!!!!! 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼

- music video wise, I’ll do a break down soon.

TLGAD

- ‘Rebekkah’ refers to the previous owner of Taylor’s Watch Hill, RI house, Rebekah Harkness. She was a divorcee until marrying Standard Oil heir William (aka Bill) Hale Harkness, a new-money dynasty was formed in this time from their profit. There are MANY wild, whimsical stories about ‘Betty’ (which is obviously an extended metaphor of folklore) that this song tries to re-create/recapture.

- Taylor is also known as ‘Becky’ due to the popular meme so this is quite literally a play on her own character as well as the previous inhabitants of the house.

- St Louis is not only Rebekkah’s hometown, but also Karlie Elizabeth Kloss’.

- “the wedding was charming, if a little gouche” seems like a direct shot fired at Karlie’s woodsy photoshoot of 2018 😂😂(ironically, folklore’s key aesthetic is the woods!!)

- “it must’ve been her fault his heart gave out” refers explicitly to William dying of a heart attack in the house, but subtly I feel like this is a dig at the media who constantly blame women for things they cannot control, as they have done with Taylor too many times to even count.

- “who knows if she never showed up, what could’ve been” seems like Taylor is stuck thinking about what may have happened for her and Karlie if things had been different, see the 1.

- “she/I had a marvellous time ruining everything” is such an incredibly provoking lyric on two fronts, 1. obviously taylor buying her RI house had a massive impact on an otherwise sleepy holiday town that is now more famous for Taylor’s july 4 parties than anything else and 2. seems introspective or personal, as if the things that ruined everything for Karlie and Taylor were the best and most marvellous parts of their relationship (big sur, kissgate etc.)

- “flew in all her bitch pack friends from the city” is not only about the friends and celebs Rebekkah was notorious for hosting but also Taylor’s ‘bitches and model’ girl gang circa 2015 which includes one Karlie Kloss.

- “blew through the money on the boys and the ballet” refers to Rebekkah’s love of wasting her fortune on things, including a ballet company that went under not long after she created it BUT also refers to Taylor paying so many boys to be her beards and PR stunts whilst also spending her money on a certain ex-Ballerina. Also remember her AMA’s performance of Lover/ bts of Shake It Off? 😉😉😉

- “50 years is a long time” - 50 seems deliberate, a bit of a reach but note it WAS the 50th anniversary of Stonewall last year. 🏳️‍🌈

- “free of women with madness, their men and bad habits and THEN IT WAS BOUGHT BY ME.” - this clearly shows that ALL the songs are being narrated by Taylor, some of the lyrics are about her, some are about these fictional or fantastical characters she’s created but there is her truth behind all of them too.

- “the loudest woman this town has ever seen” = Taylor is undoubtedly the most famous woman in the town who regualrly causes uproar there (see the Sea Wall debacle and the Taylor Swift Tax)

- in all, the two famed women owner’s of Holiday House have many overlaps and are forever intertwined.

exile

- “i can see you standing honey with his arms around your body” as the opening line is LOUD. to me, feels like this is about ALL those staged photos of Josh and Karlie uncomfortable/fake as hell on social media.

- “laughing but the joke’s not funny at all” is something we’ve all thought about Karlie’s marriage before and is about that moment where if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry at the situation.

- “it took you 5 whole minutes to pack up ... holding all this love out here in the hall” to me is about someone moving out of a shared home, like Karlie from Taylor’s NYC apartment, after a break up or fight. We know it is MORE than likely that the girls’ broke up, for a while or for good, in 2017/18.

- “I think I’ve seen this film before, and didn’t like the ending” is a lot like “Cause cruelty wins in the movies, I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you” / “All of my heroes die all alone.” which makes me truly believe that delicate > the archer > exile are all the progression of the same love story. ❤️

- “now I’m in exile seeing you out” = both of them have lost their home, exiled from the relationship.

- “I can see you staring honey, like he’s just your understudy” has a lot to unpack. Firstly, see this photo. Second, as a beard, Joe is quite literally Karlie’s understudy - stepping in only to fill a public void or play her part when she can’t.

- “like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me” is basically this tweet

- “second, third and hundredth chances” - hopefully this means the girls WILL be together again soon!!!

- “those eyes add insult to injury” - Taylor has often made explcit reference to her lover’s eyes, but this could also mean the eyes of the public on her every move and relationship not allowing her to properly grapple with break ups. 👁️

- “i’m not your problem anymore, so who am i offending?” - homophobes love to say wlw or mlm relationships “offend” them or their beliefs, so who could taylor be offending if she’s publicly in a straight relationship?

- “you were my crown”, Taylor was/is Karlie’s princess, if Karlie is gone, Taylor doesn’t feel like she’s a princess anymore. Likewise, Karlie is Taylor’s sunshine which makes the moody, misty, dark aesthetics all the more relevant to this album.

- “so I’m leaving out the side door’ - this side door? the other side of the door?

- “all of this time, we always walked a very thin line” between outing themselves and being happy?

- “I gave so many signs” - Taylor has queercoded EVERY album since her self-titled, she has been dropping hints and signs for years that she is LGBT+ so it must be exhausting to have to keep hiding who she loves. This is repeated so many times - it means a lot.

- written with William Bowery who nobody can quite identify, but Karlie and Taylor have been to the Bowery many times together and William is mentioned earlier in TLGAD

- this whole song is a duet, a two-sided conversation between lovers - her and karlie both without each other.

my tears ricochet

- Track 5 is, as per usual, deeply confessional, personal, emotive and moving. 😿😿

- there are lots of theories and layers to this masterpiece of a song, including that it’s in reference to big machine. I personally think every single song of Taylor’s is made up of layers that reflect multiple things in her life and experience so plausibly it can be about multiple things all at once including Sco** and Scumbag as well as Karlie, who was under Scumbag’s management for the majority of the decade. Another theory which with every new listen I think is more and more possible is that this is alternating between Taylor and Karlie’s perspectives.

- ‘if i’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too” whoever is associated with Taylor will ALWAYS be dragged down with her. If she’s being attacked, they will be too. Big 2016 energy.

- “even on my worst day, did I deserve babe, all the hell you gave me?” could be directed at a lover, or at Big Machine, or even the public for all the shit they’ve said about Taylor over the years.

- “I swear I loved you ‘till my dying day” seems a lot like the 1, as well as could be about the music and the label she helped build.

- “I didn’t have it within myself to go with grace.” Taylor was LOUD about her split from Big Machine, she called them out (rightly) and made noise which is not a ‘graceful’ split.

- “you’re the hero flying around saving face” very easily is about S+S jackasses but deeper than that, while Taylor was under immense attack and criticism, everyone who actually like her music pretended suddenly to hate it and her to stay ‘cool’

- “cause if I’m dead to you why are you at the wake?” this lyric becomes especially important in the final verse but essentially those who publicly distanced themself from Taylor still showed up when she was thriving again and/or because they actually truly loved her *uhmm karlie uhmm*

- “cursing my name, wishing I stayed” either at Big Machine or with Karlie/Taylor.

- “some to make a diamond ring” > firstly we still have never understood the ring image from the LWYMMD and ME! videos, it is entirely possible this is a continuation of that same symbol/image. Second, I think this hints to Karlie getting ‘engaged’ while still being with Taylor, the rock for the ring in the song was found by the two people gathering stones after all.

- “you know i didn't want to have to haunt you” both Taylor and Karlie have big reputations all over the world that follow them everywhere. For either one, they will always be haunted by reminders of each other.

- “you wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me” - on the Big Machine side, Taylor made the label professional and big, she is literally the sole reason it succeeded in the music industry so she handed Sco** his fortune and reputation which he still had when he sold her music to Scumbag and got into a very dirty bed with him. From the Karlie side, many people have noted that not only does she wear her black cartier necklace, which is assumed to be from Taylor, but to her ‘wedding’ wore a necklace she’d worn before with Taylor.

- “when I’d fight you’d tell me I was brave” could refer to Sco** encouraging her in 2016 to defend herself. Could refer to Karlie supporting her behind the scenes.

- ‘and I can go anywhere I want, just not home” seems like a continuation from exile, as in she’s lost the place she called home because her lover is no longer there but could also mean she can’t go back to her other albums and the house (see the lover music video) that they created as her musical home.

- “you will still miss me in your bones” could be about Sco** losing his money and label without her there to physically support and carry it or about the fact that the love Taylor and Karlie had is so ingrained it’s in their bones forever.

- “and i still talk to you when I’m screaming at the sky” this lyric has a lot of possible interpretations (i’ve seen one about cursing out God?) but i think it’s similar to “asking the traffic lights if i’ll be alright” as in, it’s Taylor asking the universe to help her make sense of things.

- “when you can’t sleep at night, you hear my stolen lullabies” suggests a) sco** + scumbag is still haunted by the music they stole from Taylor because it was literally the backbone of the business which is now practically worthless and b) that Karlie is kept awake by the songs Taylor has written for and about her over the years which again were stolen away by the jackasses at Big Machine.

- “you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same” again, same idea - big machine will never be profitable without her/while they hold her masters hostage. BUT Karlie wise, breaking up with Taylor broke her too?

- this is where the song changes. it shifts from Taylor’s story to someone else’s, personally I think Karlie.

- “you turned into your worst fears” as in she settled for the money and sold her values off by marrying Josh. Also, Karlie was under Scumbag’s management for years (part of Taylor’s hatred of him was him keeping the girls’ from doing as they pleased) so by being completely controlled by him, she turned into this completely fake person. Contrast 2014/15 Karlie with 2017/18 Karlie and it so much more all about PR and money.

- “you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years” - sco** and scumbag have made so many false excuses for their behaviour and completely erased the good relationship between the Swifts and sco**. Not sure yet what the Karlie side is here but it’s here somewhere.

- in conclusion, this is about Big Machine and Karlie. As the first song Taylor wrote for the album, I think it’s clear just how incredibly multi-faceted this album is. ☕☕☕

mirrorball

- first off, we can never forget about this and this look from both girls. ✨✨

- “I’ll to show you every version of yourself tonight”, the public and the private sides to them both. this is big glass closet energy in my opinion

- “and when I break it’s in a million pieces” is so personal and heartbreaking. 2016 and Kaylor breakup vibes. I cannot elaborate at this time.

- “when no one is around my dear” = the secrecy, forbidden love motif returns and again, if she’s in a hetero relationship, what’s to hide?

- “you’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes”, Just an fyi, Karlie, a giraffe, is 6′2″, Taylor is 5′10″ -- thats a big difference. 🦒🦒🦒

- “i know they said the end is near” = end of the relationship or the end of hiding it, either way, it’s a romantic last private moment together, swaying as the room burns down.

- “i can change everything about me to fit in” = Taylor when she was starting out was forced to create this all innocent, american-girl image of herself. She has had to hide herself to succeed, as she said in Miss Americana, she was muzzled.

- “you are not like the regulars, the masquerade revelers” = Karlie is different to everyone else, or any other ex, ‘masquerade’ implies masked or hidden figures at a party, very Love Story

- “and the called off the circus, burned the disco down” = the ‘circus’ could be the media/public, or all the illusions Taylor has cast in order to appear straight. The ‘disco’, and Taylor is the ‘mirror ball’ to her lover means that this isolated existence of just the two of them.

- “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything” for now, she’s still closeted, she’s still trying to have the best of everything.

- “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why” believer in everything working out perhaps, or perhaps believing it’s better if she’s in the closet and it’s only the two of them.

- “never been a natural” = she has completely created herself through years off trying to be what people want, not who she naturally is.

seven

- “picture me” implies this is retrospective of Taylor, she’s reflecting on her childhood/youth.

- “I hit my peak at Seven” could either refer to the age 7 or album 7, ‘Lover’ which many critics argued was her best work.

- “Over the creek I was too scared to jump in” = fear of jumping is something Taylor has discussed in many songs but this is different, the creek represents something she fears will drown her.

- “High in the sky with Pennsylvania under me” = obviously, Taylor was born and raised in rural PA, so this truly is a childhood memory unearthed and explored. It’s personal to Taylor, it’s her story. 👏🏼

- “Are there still beautiful things?” Recognizing the world isn’t all daisies and rainbows

- “cross your heart, don’t tell no other” = again, secret keeping and hiding something is a big queer image, ‘cross your heart’ is a quite childish phrase but it’s adult equivalent in Taylor’s world is an NDA, ie swearing people to secrecy is something she's always known... 🔐

- “Although i can’t recall your face, I still got love for you” = this childhood love has faded with time to memories, this girl simultaneously forgotten and remembered.

- “Your braids like a pattern” = definitely about a girl (1996 rural Pennsylvania was not the kind of place where boys had braids), specific use of YOUR pronoun not ‘my’ or ‘our’ suggesting again it’s about a girl. Very obviously about a first girl crush. 🌈

- “passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long” = firstly, reference to Neruda’s poem Taylor used in the red prologue. second, folksongs change slightly from generation to generation but the heart/melody remains the same meaning that in Taylor’s mind, the story of her first girl love has changed but it’s still the same song/story all the years later. also, clearly a reminder of the setting of the song and the album as a whole being folklore. 💛

- “your dad is always mad and that must be why” feels a lot like Love Story and forbidden love, also again rural Pennsylvania in the mid-1990s was not the most liberal place so I can imagine a lot of homophobic ideas that perforated Taylor’s childhood.

- “I think you should come live with me” is such an innocent image of someone in love and wanting to just fix things by bringing them home, it also is like a baby gay version of uhauling

- “we could be pirates” = pirates are not just a childhood image/motif but also one historically seen as gay, gangs of pirates often had ‘mateolage’ agreements that basically were like widow’s benefits. See John Swann. ☠️

- “you won’t have to cry, or hide in the closet.” = I think this one is explicitly clear but just to be sure, Taylor could’ve said “hide when he lost it, hide if you wanted, hide in the woods too” etc. Read this for a full understanding of why it such a LOUD image to use. It is VERY DELIBERATE PEOPLE. 🌈🌈🌈

- “just like a folk song, our love will be passed on” = different from the first bridge but deliberate again. Their story, aka Taylor liking girls from a young age will always be talked about, AND their love lives in this song she wrote.

- “picture me in the weeds before I learned civility” = again, given the homophobic attitude, ‘civility’ and straightness should be read as the same so Taylor is saying when she was a child, free in the grass and herself, she wants to always be.

- “I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted” = she wasn’t muzzled as a child, she could say and be who she wanted, screaming it aloud for everyone to hear but that changed as she grew up.

- “pack your dolls and a sweater, we’ll move to India forever” = ‘dolls’ again would imply it’s two girls running away together and India is this exocitc far off place to a child, a place where they can be together without anyone knowing them or controlling them.

August

- Karlie Kloss is born in August. Karlie Kloss posted yesterday about being a Leo (an August born). August belongs to Karlie Kloss. 🦁♌

- “rust on your door” = image of something well-worn, perhaps someone who’s been here too a few times before?

- “whispers of are you sure?” = obviously there is the sexual connotation, but beyond that, what if it’s about Taylor and Karlie going public etc.

- “never have I ever before” = see above but also the game ‘never have I ever’ evokes youthfulness and sounds almost like a reminder of a fun night with friends.

- “I can see us lost in the memory” = implies they’re still together, losing themself in the memory together

- “I can see us twisted in bedsheets” = again, sexual imagery but also the intimacy of sharing a bed with the person you love after sex

- “Like a bottle of wine” = matures the song a bit, the youthfulness of earlier is now more adult. 21 is America’s drinking age, 20s were mentioned early etc. 🍷

- “Cause you were never mine” = the whole of Taylor and Karlie’s relationship, Karlie has publically been dating Josh so she was never solely Taylor’s.

- “Will you call when you’re back at school?” = Karlie attended NYU in 2015, the height of Kaylor.

- “back when we were still changing for the better” = instead of changing to adapt/survive or keep up appearances.

- “wanting was enough” = wanting Karlie without labels was enough, rather than having to go public etc. Many have said for a long time that Karlie and Taylor fought about coming out or not.

- “cancel plans in case you would call” = sounds like a very love-sick Taylor Swift thing to do. Also waiting on a lover’s call when they constantly are travelling like both Karlie and Taylor do makes sense. ☎️

- “so much for summer love” = cruel summer echo? Summer 2015 was again, peak Kaylor so this could be a specific reference to that period

- “Do you remember? Remember when I pulled up and said ‘get in the car’” another specific reference, comes up again later in Betty, clearly is something personal.

- “Back when I was still living for the hope of it all” = back as in the past when everything was happening, hope of it all being the hope they’d still end up together.

TO SUM UP PART 1:

BENEATH ALL FICTION OR MYTH IS FACT & FEELING. Taylor is no longer hiding. Yes, some of these songs are about stories and people not her but there is so much of herself and her own story layered in too. PAY ATTENTION!!! Obviously, these are just my opinions, I’m not Taylor so I cannot know exactly what these songs are about but I think, after years of analyzing her music, these images/themes and deliberate word choice are well-versed in this part of the fandom. It is entirely possible this is the beginning of Taylor’s full, public coming out journey.

I’ll be back with Part 2 tomorrow. Stay Tuned!

#ts8 #taylor swift #taylor swift gay #taylor swift karlie kloss #Kaylor #kaylor proof #gaylor swit #Gaylor #GAYLOR RISE #karlie kloss taylor swift #Karlie Kloss #karlie what you want #tasloveskk #folklore #folklore taylor swift

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whumphoarder · 5 years ago

Text

Emergency Contact

Summary: It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.

Word count: 4,050

Genre: sickfic, hurt/comfort, angst, whump

A/N: Thank you so much to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading, ideas, and encouragement!

Link to read on Ao3

It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

To be fair, the skinny five-foot-four prepubescent kid who’d walked into James’ dorm on move-in day didn’t look much like a college student, nor was he lugging in cardboard boxes and duffle bags filled with crap like the rest of the freshmen in the hall. There was no air of excitement and trepidation to him—no telltale buzz of new experiences. Not to mention, James had spent the majority of his summer away at Air Force ROTC camp, cut off from most forms of media and therefore oblivious to the rumors that Howard Stark’s infamous fifteen-year-old child prodigy was set to start his engineering course at MIT the very same semester that he was. It was hardly his fault for not recognizing the kid.

Even so, he probably shouldn’t have addressed Tony as ‘champ’ and asked if he was there to drop off an older sibling. That was on him.

What was not on James, however, was the fit Stark pitched at the resident assistant’s office upon realizing that his father had evidently not set him up with a single room after all.

“So move me then,” the little twerp demanded. “Just put it on the old man’s bill—he’s got the money. I didn’t just live through the last seven years of boarding school dormitories only to have to keep sharing the fucking bathroom in college.” He glanced over his shoulder at James, before adding, offhandedly, “No offense—I’m sure you’re swell.”

James huffed out a short, ironic laugh. He was standing in the back corner of the office with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, quietly taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. “None taken.”

(At this point, he wouldn’t have minded a switch either.)

The mousy redhead at the desk looked frazzled. “Look, I’m very sorry, Mr. Stark,” she tried to explain, “but there’s nothing I can do. All our single dorms are fully booked.”

Even when the kid shoved a wad of cash at her tall enough to make James’ eyebrows rise, the RA held her ground.

“It’s a first come, first serve policy,” she explained, her voice faltering, but words firm. “At least until something opens up. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it has to be.”

So there they were, a nineteen-year-old Air Force cadet from a working class family in Philly who had gotten into ‘fancy school’ on an ROTC scholarship, a 3.87 GPA, and a prayer, and a spoiled rich brat with a pile of daddy issues taller than the Bunker Hill Monument. The two were going to be stuck together for at least the next few weeks and neither of them was particularly thrilled about it.

Despite James’ initial concerns, rooming with Stark wasn’t actually that bad.

James had an additional scholarship that was dependent on his academic performance, so he joined several study groups to keep his grades up. Between ROTC, student government, and mock UN, along with his never-ending mountain of engineering coursework, he was rarely home.

Meanwhile, Tony might look like a twelve-year-old, but that certainly didn’t get in the way of his budding popularity on campus. The kid was swimming in invites to different parties and events (though whether that was due to his own sharp wit and natural charisma, or simply his undeniable social status as the son of Howard Stark, James couldn’t tell). Either way, between James’ busy schedule and Tony’s avid social calendar, the two could go days without seeing each other, which suited them both just fine.

With all the partying, James figured his roommate’s grades must be suffering, but a curious glance at the quarterly report letter lying on Tony’s desk last week proved otherwise. The kid had straight A’s in all seven of his classes—two more than James himself was taking.

(Alright, maybe he disliked Tony a little bit.)

James knew it wasn’t going to be a good day from the moment he woke up to see sunlight streaming in through the blinds. That just wasn’t supposed to happen at 5:45 a.m. in November.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of his twin-size bunk. The display on his alarm clock was silently blinking the very incorrect time of ‘12:00’. The previous night’s storm must have knocked out the power. He grabbed his watch from atop his desk to check the actual time and immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. 7:22. No morning run today, but he should still be able to make it to his eight a.m. class if he hurried.

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he snagged some clean clothes from his dresser and made a beeline to the adjoining bathroom. He pushed open the door and slapped on the light switch, but the second the room illuminated to reveal the scrawny figure sitting slumped on the floor between the toilet and the wall, James froze.

“Tony?” he asked in confusion. He hadn’t even heard the kid come home last night.

Without opening his eyes, Tony hummed a bit in response. Then all at once, he lurched forward and gagged, coughing up what looked to be mostly bile into the toilet bowl.

James grimaced. It was definitely not the first time he’d seen his roommate severely hungover, but it was the first time he’d seen it happen on a Tuesday . At the rate this kid was partying, he’d be lucky if he had any liver function left by the time he graduated.

With a sigh, James set his stack of clean clothes down on the sink counter. “Look man, I’m sorry, but I really gotta shower. I know you’re not feeling too great, but do you think you can give me, like, five minutes in here?”

Tony blinked up at him, seeming to process the question. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay…”

Doing his best to ignore the acidic smell of vomit, James stepped carefully around Tony into the small room. He flushed the toilet and grabbed the metal trash can from beside the sink while Tony pulled himself shakily to his feet.

“Thanks dude. I promise I’ll be fast.” He passed the can off to Tony and watched him stumble back out of the room before shutting the door.

If the military had taught James nothing else, it was efficiency. He emerged ten minutes later—showered, dressed, and clean shaven—to find Tony sitting listlessly on the edge of his bed. The boy looked more dead than alive, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and sweat soaking through his thin gray t-shirt. Just the sight of him was practically an underage drinking PSA in itself.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” James announced as he grabbed his backpack from the floor.

Tony acknowledged him with a small grunt, but didn’t make any effort to move. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing through it carefully, warily eyeing the trash can on the floor in front of him. For once, James was glad he had an eight a.m. class to get to; he figured in about five minutes, he wouldn’t want to be here anyway.

In a spur of the moment gesture of kindness, James grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the case under his desk and tossed it onto Tony’s bed. “Feel better, dude,” he said on his way out the door.

Tuesday was always a busy day for James. He had back-to-back classes all morning, followed by a student council meeting in the afternoon and a mandatory ROTC training session. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time he made it back to the dorm, and by that time he’d honestly forgotten about that morning’s excitement until he opened the door to their room.

As miserable as Tony had appeared that morning, he looked decidedly worse now. He was lying curled up on the edge of his bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets, cheeks flushed and body shivering. The whole room carried the vague scent of vomit, though the trash can by the bed was currently empty.

“So… I take it this isn’t a hangover?” James deduced, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He plopped the paper sack of Taco Bell that was going to make up his dinner onto his desk, causing Tony’s face to scrunch up in displeasure. “Stomach flu?” he guessed.

Tony made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

“Think you got a fever?”

Another low noise issued from Tony, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, which James took to mean something along the lines of ‘don’t know, and don’t care.’

James hesitated a moment, unsure what to do. If his mother were here, she’d tisk her tongue and press her hand to the kid’s forehead to gauge his temperature, but somehow he didn’t see that going over too well with Tony.

Instead, James checked his watch and sighed. “I can give you a ride to the student health center if you want,” he offered. “They don’t close until eight.”

“Don’ have to... ‘s just a bug,” Tony mumbled into the pillow, the most consecutive words James had heard from him all day. “I’ll be fine.”

The thing was, if Tony were one of his ROTC buddies, James would have dropped it right there. He’d never been particularly good at caretaking, and besides, he had a test coming up in his thermal-fluids class tomorrow morning that he should really be studying for. But something about the utter vulnerability Tony was displaying at the moment gave James pause. True, the kid might be a stuck-up asshole, but he was also just that— a kid. Only a few years older than James’ own kid-brother.

James looked at Tony appraisingly. “Can you handle a shower?”

“Huh?” Tony breathed.

“A shower,” James repeated. “Remember those? Water, soap, maybe even some shampoo if you’re feeling adventurous,” he said wryly. “That is, if you can do it without passing out.”

Tony fixed him with a rather pathetic glare. “Not gonna pass out.”

“You better not,” James quipped, crossing his arms and watching as Tony pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen more than enough white boys’ pasty asses this summer to last a lifetime. I have no desire to add another.”

(Tony lifted his middle finger weakly in his roommate’s direction.)

Over the sound of the shower running in the background, James ate his tacos and started flipping through his class notes in preparation for the test the next morning, but he was finding it unusually hard to focus. He kept listening for any sounds of distress from the bathroom, and after fifteen minutes had elapsed, he got up from his desk and crossed the room.

“Hey, I was serious about the ‘no passing out’ rule, Stark,” he hollered, rapping his knuckles against the door. “If you biff it in there, you’re on your own.”

As if on cue, a loud crashing sound immediately issued from inside the shower.

James’ eyes widened. He jiggled the door handle only to find it locked. “Tony?” he called. “Did you just fall?”

There was no response.

James cursed. He grabbed a paper clip from his desk and quickly jimmied the flimsy lock open—a skill he’d learned from his cousins years ago—before pushing open the door. “Tony?” he called again.

Suddenly, a hand emerged and pulled the edge of the shower curtain back just enough for Tony to stick his head out the side. His face was totally straight, but there was a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Whoops, must’ve dropped the shampoo bottle,” he deadpanned. “Thank god I’m rooming with the US Coast Guard.”

“Air Force,” James corrected irritably.

Tony pulled the curtain back closed. “Whatever.”

James rolled his eyes. “Next time I’m letting you drown, Stark...” he grumbled as he stepped back out of the room.

By the time Tony finally emerged from the bathroom an additional twenty minutes later (the latter ten of which he’d spent retching loud enough into the toilet that James had broken out his walkman and headphones), all traces of his earlier humor had dissolved. He moved shakily back to his bed and managed a couple sips of water before curling up on his side, the trash can within easy reach.

James tried to turn his attention back to his textbook, but Tony’s labored breathing as he drifted in and out of consciousness was making it difficult to focus. James kept stealing worried side glances back at the bed, wondering whether there was something else he should be doing.

At around nine-thirty, Tony jerked up suddenly and stumbled back to the bathroom to start dry-retching into the toilet again, and that was when James gave up trying to study for the night. He got up from his desk and pushed open the hastily half-closed door to the bathroom to wet a washcloth at the sink. When the mostly unproductive spasms ceased, he handed the cloth to Tony.

“Have you eaten anything today?” James asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Tony just grimaced and shook his head.

“Want some crackers or something?” he offered. “I can go raid the cafeteria soup station.” James might not have had as packed of a social calendar as Tony, but it wasn’t like he never partied. He still knew the college hangover tricks.

Tony shook his head again, eyes closed. He seemed to lack the energy for words.

“Gatorade at least then?” James tried again. “All I’ve seen you drink today is one water bottle—you’ve gotta be getting dehydrated by now.”

Another head shake. “I’ll jus’ puke it up again…” Tony muttered. “Prob’ly a kidney too at this rate.”

“Well it’s better than puking up nothing,” James reasoned. Technically, he didn’t know if that was true or not, but he was tired of watching the kid be miserable. He moved back to the room to grab his keys and jacket. “What flavor do you want?” he called.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony croaked back from the bathroom. “They’re all terrible.”

“That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard you say,” James retorted. “Just for that you’re getting purple.”

And with that, he exited the dorm and shut the door behind him with a bang.

It turned out that the vending machine in the lobby outside the dining hall only sold three Gatorade flavors—blue, orange, and red. James bought a bottle of each, then slipped into the deserted cafeteria to snag a handful of individually-wrapped saltine packets from the clam chowder counter before heading back to the dorm. It took some cajoling, but he managed to get two full crackers and half a bottle of the sports drink into Tony before it came right back up.

“Told you,” Tony rasped, spitting neon blue strings of bile into the toilet bowl. “Lost cause.”

“We’ll try red next,” James said, cracking open a fresh bottle. “One of them’s bound to stick.”

But red didn’t stay down any better, and neither did orange. James mooched a can of ginger ale and a quarter of a bottle of Pepto Bismol off a fellow cadet down the hall, but those fared no better. Even the cup of tap water James kept bullying him into taking sips from proved too much.

By midnight, Tony was still sitting slumped against the toilet on the bathroom floor, barely conscious, and James was at a total loss. “I think we have to go to the ER,” he admitted finally.

Without opening his eyes, Tony made a low noise of discontent in the back of his throat. His eyes were sunken in and he was alarmingly pale.

James let out a deep sigh. “Look, I’m sorry man, but we’re running out of options here. If you can’t even keep water down, you’re gonna need an IV.”

“No…” Tony lifted a shaky hand to try to take the cup of water James was holding. “I’ll-I’ll try again… just—” His words were cut off by a weak gag.

James cursed under his breath and quickly steered Tony’s head back over the bowl. It turned out not to matter though because for the next several minutes of miserable retching, nothing came up. When it was finally over, Tony slumped back against the wall. His eyes were red and puffy, and James figured it was only dehydration that was keeping the tears from falling.

“Alright, that’s it,” James declared. He wrapped an arm around Tony to lever him upright, feeling the feverish heat coming off the kid in waves. “I’m not letting you die on our bathroom floor—we won’t get the deposit back.”

Tony breathed out the ghost of a laugh. “Jus’ tell Howard to write you a check at the funeral...” he murmured. “‘bout all he’s good for,” he added under his breath.

James’ brow furrowed but he chose not to comment. He hoisted Tony to his feet and bore most of the kid’s weight as he led him back to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m gonna get you a clean shirt, okay?”

Tony nodded, gazing blankly forward with half-lidded eyes. James ended up having to help the kid pull his sweat-soaked t-shirt off and guide his uncooperative arms into a fresh one, followed by his coat. When they got to the shoes, James didn’t even bother having Tony try himself. He just stuffed the kid’s feet into a pair of sneakers for him.

“I taught my little sister how to do this last summer,” James explained as he tied Tony’s laces, if only for something to fill the awkward silence. “She’s in first grade.”

Tony hummed lightly. “I never went.”

James frowned, pulling the knot tight. “What do you mean?”

“Firs’ grade,” Tony clarified. “Or second. They started me in third.”

James smirked, imagining tiny five-year-old Tony filling out his multiplication tables in a classroom full of kids a full head taller than him. But his face quickly fell again as he suddenly realized a potential flaw in their plan. Tony may be in college, but he was still technically a minor. James wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to bring him off campus. “Shit, we’re gonna need to call your parents...” he said.

Tony’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m about to haul their fifteen-year-old son’s ass off to the hospital? Have you been following this conversation at all?”

“Oh. Jus’ leave a note for the RA.” Tony shrugged, listless. “They won’t care.”

James gave him a strange look. “Of course they’ll care—they’re your parents.”

Tony’s eyes were glassy with fever. “They won’t,” he croaked. “Been in boarding school since I was seven.” A shiver ran through his body and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Got pneumonia one winter and was in the hospital eight days. Dad jus’ paid the school to handle everything—didn’ even visit.” A tear finally slipped down the side of his cheek. “I was twelve.”

James knew it was just the fever making Tony so forthcoming at the moment, but it didn’t make his words any easier to take. As much as James always complained about his own mother’s doting whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he couldn’t imagine being sick enough to be in the hospital and not having anyone there for him. He didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, Tony broke the awkward silence. “Sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his palm against them. “‘M fine.”

With a quiet sigh, James put his arm around Tony to help him back to standing. “You know what? We’ll just call them when we get there,” he said before leading Tony out to the car.

The drive to the hospital was uneventful. Tony sat curled up in the passenger seat of James’ old beater of a Chevy Monza with an empty plastic bag in his lap, quiet except for the occasional whimper he’d let out when they’d hit a bump in the road. When they arrived, James got Tony checked in and situated in the waiting room with some forms to fill out before stepping out to the foyer to use the payphone.

James fished the scrap of paper containing the number that Tony had finally agreed to give him out of his pocket. He dialed it three times. Each time, the call was picked up by the answering machine. On the third round, he left the Starks a brief message stating which hospital Tony was at and how they could contact their son, then hung up quickly before he could add anything else he might come to regret.

He reentered the waiting area to find Tony sitting hunched forward in his chair, breathing shallowly and clutching the small kidney-shaped basin that the triage nurse had given him like his life depended on it. “What’d they say?” he murmured. James wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard just a hint of hopefulness in the kid’s voice.

Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he slid into the seat beside him. “They didn’t answer,” he said guiltily.

Tony’s tone returned to flat: “Shocking.”

“They’re probably just asleep,” James reasoned, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “I left a message, but we can try again later.”

Tony hummed absently. Then all at once, he brought the small plastic container he was holding up to his mouth and threw up whatever little liquid remained in him. His hands were trembling so hard that James had to help him steady the basin.

When the heaving stopped, one of the nurses from the front desk exchanged the used basin for a clean one. Tony grunted in thanks, then looked up wearily and locked eyes with James. “You really don’ have to stay.”

James gave a tiny scoff. “What? You think I’d just leave you here to faceplant on the linoleum?”

Tony shrugged a bit. “‘S not like we’re friends, Jim.”

James pondered this for a few seconds before returning the shrug. “I guess you’re right.” He settled back in his chair and picked up a copy of Good Housekeeping from the stack on the waiting room table, flipping it idly open on his lap. “Too bad I’m invested now.”

It was around three a.m. by the time Tony’s name was called. He was taken back and briefly examined before getting hooked up to an IV line for fluids and antiemetics. The doctor ordered some bloodwork to be sure, but said that all signs pointed to a virus. As soon as they could get the vomiting under control and Tony’s vitals stabilized, he should be good to go.

While Tony dozed in and out of consciousness on the ER bed, fluids dripping steadily into his arm, James just sat there, silently mulling the events of the last sixteen hours or so over in his mind. It was weird seeing Tony like this—weak, and small, and just so undeniably young.

James waited until the clock struck five before slipping quietly over to the phone located near the nurse’s station. This time, he dialed a different number—one he knew by heart.

A familiar voice answered on the third ring: “Hello?”

Instant warmth flooded James’ chest at the sound. “Hey Ma,” he said softly.

“James?” His mother’s tone changed from puzzled to concerned in two seconds flat. “It’s so early, baby. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” he assured, the corners of his lips turning up into the smallest of smiles. “Just wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

“Well, you got me,” she laughed lightly. Over the line, James could hear her bustling around the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. “What do you need, baby?”

James hesitated a second, his gaze shifting back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “It’s nothing, just… I wanted to ask if I could invite someone home for Thanksgiving next week.” He shifted his gaze back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “I get the feeling he could really use it...”

Link to all my fics

#sickfic #ironbros #tony stark whump #sick tony stark #mit era #rhodey is a good bro #tony stark needs a hug #teenage tony stark #mcu writing #my fic #vomiting

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nev3rfound · 4 years ago

Text

slither of optimism left : s.r

brief summary: along with bucky, after steve was presumed dead you were taken by hydra and made into their weapon. after seventy long years, you’re used in a mission to infiltrate a shield base, unaware of who exactly is inside

word count: 2.6k requested: yes by the very very patient @carinacassiopeiae - honestly you’ve waited so long for this, i really hope you like it warnings: none that immediately come to mind, but if there are any do let me know

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

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You had no idea what had happened after that man approached you. Pieces of the events that took place that night haunt your memories as you picture a man holding a knife, muttering words that made no sense to you then, but soon would become your entire life.

Before everything, you were a young girl with ambitions to work for a company upstate. You’d been well educated, as best you could for a woman and had it all planned out. But that was before the war, and before you lost two of your closest friends to it all.

To the world, they lost Captain America and members of the Howling Commandos. Yet you lost so much more than that, you lost Steve Rogers, your first and only love alongside your best friend, Bucky Barnes. The duo was always there for you, on hand to cheer you up whenever required. Bucky would always encourage you to say something to Steve, ensuring you the feeling was mutual.

It took a long time for you say anything to Steve about how you felt, but once your feelings were shared you never looked back as he returned a new man, one you adjusted to, but loved nonetheless.

They promised it would be one last mission and then they’d be home, and in truth, it was their last mission; just not in the way they anticipated it.

“He, he can’t be.” You tremble as the words leave your lips with despair hanging from every syllable.

Lifting your eyes up, you see her red lips locked in a straight line as she nods, remaining silent. Men stand behind her in a line, holding their hats at their chests as their eyes avoid yours.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Peggy sits beside you, her hand resting on your upper arm. “He truly cared about you.” A smile ghosts Peggy's lips, remembering Steve’s last words before they lost connection to him.

“I, I never got the chance to say a real goodbye.” The realisation hits you in the chest, sending you back as your heart begins to numb. “He, he’s never coming home.” Tears fall from your eyes as you stare straight ahead, forgetting the presence of Peggy and the soldiers as your mind remains in an easier, simpler time. *

The meeting that took place with Peggy didn’t end as it should have. You were escorted from the building as you tried to hold your head high, stop the tears cascading down your cheeks. But you only made it a few feet from the doors before you felt a pair of hands cover your nose and mouth, seeing your eyes widen to the knife before they blurred.

When you first woke up, everything hurt. Never before had you felt the intense burning throughout your body like that. You’d often ran after Steve after pinching a loaf of bread and catching a ride back into town on the end of a truck, but that burn was filled with satisfaction. What you experienced initially was pure fire through your veins, itching to be released.

You had no idea what time it was, who had held you or where you were. The questions that plagued your mind weren’t answered for almost several days as you were starved inside of a cell, your left wrist chained to the wall.

Once you met the figure behind everything, the events that took place are faint in your mind, but the evidence lines your skin. You were taken, beaten, tortured for information on Captain America. *

“I told you,” You cry out. “I don’t know!” You scream as another blade is sliced across your thigh as you wish to curl up and hideaway, but the chains and ropes you’re attached to leave you fully exposed for their fun.

“You do know, Y/n.” A soldier tuts as he wipes the blood from his knife along his sleeve, the HYDRA logo never tainted in the process. “We will get the information from you, one way or another.” He tickles the knife along your temple, moving it away before it penetrates your skin with a sick laugh.

You’re released from the restraints and dragged back to your cell, left once more to suffer in silence along with those hidden behind the large doors that line the corridors you pass every time. *

Years of your life were lost to the restraints of HYDRA, even when you were put into cyro you could hear the things being discussed. You were stuck, without a way out.

At least, that’s what you thought.

It was going to be another mission, alongside the infamous Winter Soldier you heard plenty about. Yet, despite his ranking, your paths had never crossed.

The doors to your room were opened and three men walked in. “Miss.” The man with the green eyes nodded, and you swiftly followed behind him in silence.

You were led down various corridors you knew hid their experiments, many having been performed on you. “Here,” Green eyes motions to a large wooden door with the HYDRA symbol etched into the oak. “he’ll be in there, waiting for you.”

Without having a chance to question who, the doors are opened for you. Someone pushes you inside and shuts the doors before you’re able to process.

“So, you’re her?” The hairs on the back of your neck rise as you mutter nonsense under your breath. “We can’t stay here, we’re needed on the jet.” He instructs, not caring about you keeping your back turned to him.

Slowly, you turn around and catch a glimpse of their Winter Soldier, your oldest friend, Bucky Barnes.

You sat in silence on the jet as you listened to the plan in question. No one was to survive on the opposing side, SHIELD was too much of a threat to spare anyone involved.

Occasionally, you glanced over at Bucky, but he wasn’t the same. You heard the stories of what HYDRA did to him, but knowing it’s him breaks your heart all over again.

“Stop staring.” He tells you bluntly, ignoring your quiet apology before looking up at you. As Bucky focuses on you, something inside of him is screaming out. “Do, do I know you?” He asks as the soldiers remain out of earshot, and he watches as you lift your head up quickly.

“A long time ago, yes.” You mutter. “Do you know who you are?”

A glimmer of hope fades from your gaze as he shakes his head, hiding himself away once more as the soldiers return with the weapons of choice.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Bucky questions, still keeping his gaze averted from yours.

You knew you shouldn’t be talking to him, not this version of him in this situation. HYDRA kept a close eye on him, and entail, a close eye on you. “Is it that obvious?” You try to joke, but it feels disingenuous. “They mostly keep me asleep.” You mutter, focusing your attention on your gun as you place it into your holster.

“It gets easier with time.” Bucky mumbles as he rises to his feet, you following suit as the barriers descend, revealing a man in a black suit before you both.

“Soldiers.” He nods curtly to the pair of you, a title you’ll never fully adjust to. “All we need you to do is get intel and leave, do not engage with that inside of the SHIELD base. Is that understood?” His eyes fixate on you, the cold green sends a shiver through your spine.

“Understood.” You respond whilst Bucky simply nods, taking out his gun as he walks ahead without you.

“Watch him closely, we don’t want to lose another soldier, Y/n.” The man comments as you walk past, ignoring the cold smirk across his lips as his eyes follow you.

Following closely behind Bucky, he stands beside a tall window. “Get up.” He holds his hands out, but you flinch away. “I won’t hurt you.” He mutters, his eyes on yours and you swear you can almost see a glimpse of Bucky, your Bucky.

“Okay.” You whisper, forcing back every image of the guards grabbing you, the Doctors experimenting on you, torturing you and throwing you aside like dirt.

Bucky hoists you up and you silently climb through the window, disabling the alarm whilst Bucky finds another route in. Cover as much ground as possible, but leave together- that was a requirement, not an option.

Looking around, all you can see are tall grey walls, some painted with numbers as the evening lights illuminate the flooring. “I’m on the 3rd floor, soldier.” You mutter through your comms unit, but Bucky doesn’t respond. “Soldier?” You repeat yourself, only hearing static.

As you turn the corner, you see three armed guards in front of a large metal door. They’re all engaged in conversation, making for the perfect and easiest of targets.

Sliding across one of your tasers, you take a step back as you press the button linked to it as it fires up at the three of them. “Oops.” You mumble as you step over their unconscious bodies, facing the door in question.

It didn’t take you long to override the system, but as you do a series of alarms begin to blare.

“Soldier, what’s your status?” Bucky barks through the comms as you push the door open, immediately seeing files upon files stored.

“I’ve found some files, I’ll gather what I can.” You tell him as you begin to rifle through documents, seeing what exactly could be of use to HYDRA and what is worthless.

Flicking through one file, you glance back into a filing cabinet, filled to the brim. Unable to stop your intrigue, you pull out the file seeing it labelled as ‘Captain America.’

You can feel your heart in your throat as you open it up, seeing a picture of your Steve, the Steve you’ll never forget, no matter how many times you’re brainwashed by HYDRA. Steve was someone locked into your mind, unable to be erased.

“If you wanted to know more about me, just gotta ask.” You tense up as a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Keeping your back turned, you reach for your gun hidden inside of your suit before turning around and aiming it at the man in question.

But as you turn, you lower it from the man's face. “Steve?” Your voice can barely be heard above a whisper as you focus on him. “No, no you, you’re dead.” You tell yourself, more than him as you raise your gun, trying to hide your shaking hands in front of the imposter.

“It can’t be,” Steve speaks up, stepping closer as his shield remains in hand. “I was told you were gone, presumed dead. Y/n, I, it’s me.” He tells you, feeling his heart thudding against his chest at an alarming speed, even for him.

Unable to hold back a short laugh, you smile. “Well, looks like we both got it wrong, Stevie.” You comment. “I, I don’t want to hurt you,” You focus on his eyes, how many nights were spent in his arms looking up at them. “so please, let me leave.” You clear your throat, holding your gun back into position.

“Wait, Y/n, no.” Steve tries to move closer, but you take off the safety. “Are you, are you with them?” You can’t ignore the disgust in his tone or the horror in his eyes as you nod.

“I have no choice, Stevie.” You tell him as tears line your eyes.

“Soldier, mission status?” Bucky chimes in through your comms, and you let out a small gasp.

“They have me, Steve. But, they’ve also got Bucky.” You try to explain. “I know it all sounds insane, but we can’t leave here without information. If, if we don’t come back, they’ll hunt us down.” You plead with Steve, something you didn’t imagine ever having to do.

Steve shakes his head as he reaches out. “I can’t lose you, not when I just got you back.”

“You have to let me go, Steve.” You can’t stop the tears from falling as you fire your gun behind him, shooting a guard as he falls to the ground. “I’m sorry.” You whisper before releasing another enhanced taser, watching as it encaptures him and his shield falls to the ground. “I’ll always love you, Steve.” You hand glides across his cheek as he tries to fight the restraints, but it’s no use.

“Soldier, mission status!” Bucky yells as you grab the files on Captain America, firing at guards and dodging bullets before finding an exit.

“I’m out. Where are you?!” You’re screaming to Bucky as you see your ride out of here insight.

As you run you can feel yourself being weighed down. Not physically, but emotionally. All you can picture is the look of betrayal on Steve’s face, your Stevie after all this time.

“I’m on the jet.” Bucky tells you and you let out a sigh of relief, seeing a figure waiting for you.

But no sooner does the figure raise an arm, it’s encapsulated by an explosion, knocking you back.

“NO!” You scream, looking up at the flames, oblivious to a pair of arms grabbing you, all you can hear are your cries for Bucky as your ears ring senselessly. “Bucky!” You cry out, coughing violently as you look above you, seeing blonde hair covering his forehead.

“You’ll be okay, Y/n.” You listen to his faint voice but focus on his eyes. “We’ll keep you safe.”

“So, she’s an old friend, huh?” A voice questions with a light laugh, one unknown to you as you begin to come round.

As you begin to open your eyes, a hand rests on your shoulder, but you’re too weak to fight it off. “Hey, you’re okay. Just, take it easy.” Steve mutters, still trying to comprehend how you’re even here.

Steve watches as your eyes dart around the room, scoping out every possible exit. “B,Bucky?” You stutter, looking up at Steve as you remain tied down to a hospital bed.

Your eyes glance over to another man who lowers his head. “We couldn’t find his body.” Steve tells you, and all you can do is nod, hoping that he might be out there somewhere, away from HYDRA.

“What’re you going to do with me?” You question bluntly, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the pain searing across your forehead.

“How’d you feel about working for us?” The stranger asks you. “I’m Sam.”

“Is this a joke?” You scoff, but as Steve mutters your name, you sigh. “You’re not joking.”

“Y/n, you’ve been under HYDRA’s control for almost seventy years. We know snippets of your history, what happened in there. But, but we want to help you, I, I want to help you.” Steve explains, his fingertips brushing across your cheek.

“They’ll kill me.” You comment, moving your head to remove Steve’s soft touch you once loved. “I’m not the same Y/n, Steve.”

“And I’m not the same Steve, Y/n.” He retorts. “Just, let us help you. If you’re not comfortable, you can go. We can help you start again.”

Focusing on Steve, you can still see the boy who refused to back down from a fight in the alleys of Brooklyn. There’s still something in there that reminds you of home, of what once was. Maybe there’s hope for you, that you can have a fresh start, that you won’t have to return to the restraints of HYDRA.

“Okay, Stevie.” You nod to him, smiling up to him as your hand reaches out for his, feeling his fingertips resting on yours. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

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