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raiseyourcups · 4 years ago

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Just close your eyes

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: violence, blood, angst, ambiguous ending (sorry about that one)

Word Count: 1.7k (I actually can write something under 2k, amazing!)

You knew teaming up with a Mandalorian was a bad idea. You knew coming back to Nevarro after he broke Guild Code was an even worse idea. You just didn’t think it would lead to you bleeding out on the dirty floor of the Nevarro cantina. Even if you didn’t die from the blood loss, you could practically feel all of the bacteria pushing its way into your wound. No amount of bacta would help you now. Not when you could feel the blood pooling in your mouth. Not when you weren’t the one who needed to stay alive.

You were just a mechanic. Hired on (and rarely paid) to keep the Razor Crest as space worthy as possible while the Mandalorian tried to keep the Child safe. The fact that you were more than a little decent with a blaster was just an added bonus in the Mandalorian’s eyes. The time you had spent on the Razor Crest was interesting to say the least. And although you had never acted on it, you had grown to like the Mandalorian more than you should have.

So when the IG-11 showed up with the Child and the Mandalorian made to go outside, you went with him along with Karga leaving Cara to cover you all with her repeating blaster.

Everything was going as fine as it could, you had only been grazed by a trooper’s blaster once which surprised you. You had no idea they could actually hit a target, let alone a moving one. IG-11 was slowly moving towards your small group when a storm trooper managed to hit it in one of its legs. You watched as it went to its knees, still protecting the Child from the blaster fire.

The Mandalorian glanced at the E-Web blaster that wasn’t being used by anybody, probably because the two of you were too close for any troopers to get close to it. “Use it!” You shouted to him as you shot another trooper coming from behind the two of you. The Mandalorian listened to you and picked up the E-Web, picking off stormtroopers like they were nothing.

But then an explosion sounded from the cantina and you spun around, the sound of Cara’s blaster no longer filling the air. Your gaze met the Mandalorian’s t-visor, wondering if he was feeling even half of the panic you were. With new fervor, you spun around and started shooting the stormtroopers again and the Mandalorian followed your lead. Everything was going better than when you were trapped in the cantina, counting down the minutes to your death, you even somehow heard Cara’s repeat blaster again over the sounds of chaos.

Of course that was when everything went wrong. Neither of you saw Moff Gideon move into line of sight and aim a well-placed shot at the Mandalorian. He let out a surprised shout of pain and you went to shoot Moff Gideon but he had already aimed another shot. This one at the box of ammunition right beside you two. The explosion sent the box of you in the air and onto the ground. You let out a pained groan, ears ringing from both the explosion and the hit. Your leg hurt, felt like it was on fire but you forced yourself up. It didn’t take long for you to regret it but by then Greef was laying cover fire and Cara had run out to lift up the Mandalorian who seemed to be knocked out. You couldn’t blame him, your own head hurt and he had a beskar helmet on which meant his own head probably got hit twice as hard.

You stumbled after Cara, trying to make yourself as small a target as possible while Greef and IG-11 kept up the cover fire. Once you were all back into the cantina, with the door shut behind you, that was when you knew you were fucked. Cara propped the Mandalorian up against something that had been knocked over and you couldn’t do anything but watch as you pressed a hand against your side. You could hear Greef asking IG-11 something and Cara telling the Mandalorian that he would be okay but it all sounded far away.

“I’m not gonna make it. You need to go,” the Mandalorian said. Funny how that sounded crystal clear to your ears but everything else was like trying to listen while underwater. You were starting to sway on your feet and your head felt like it was going to explode. But still you kept standing.

“You just got your bell rung, you’re gonna be fine,” Cara said as she pulled her hand out from behind the Mandalorian’s helmet and stared in shock as she saw how much blood there was. That was when your knees finally gave out from under you.

“Oh shit.” Cara breathed out, she hadn’t even thought of your injuries because you had gotten back up. She moved and grabbed you in order to prop you up beside the Mandalorian, they couldn’t afford to lose the both of you. “You’re both gonna be okay.”

“I need to take this thing off.” Cara moved to take off the Mandalorian’s helmet but he stopped her quicker than a dying man should have been able to.

“No. Leave me, you make sure the Child is safe. Here.” He reached up to rip a cord off of his neck and placed a pendant in Cara’s hand. “You take the Child to the Mandalorian covert and you tell them...tell them it’s from Din Djarin. You tell them the foundling was in my protection and they’ll help you.”

“Stop talking like you’re gonna die,” you managed to say, eyes feeling heavier by the second. Cara leaned over to check your own head for wounds and let out another curse when her hand came back covered in even more blood. “You’re gonna be fi,fine.”

“You take Y/N with you, there should be supplies of bacta.” The Mandalorian said, the voice behind the vocoder leaving no room for argument.

“No, ‘m not gonna leave you here alone.” The blood loss was making your inhibitions lower than normal. Normally you wouldn’t be so petulant with him but you supposed that’s what dying does to a person.

“Cara, you take her and the Child, leave me.”

“How about I take the Child and the both of you?”

“You can’t take both of us and you know it.”

You opened your mouth to say something but then there was a burst of flame that came through the window. Cara draped herself across the both of you and waited for it to be over. Once it was, you let out a cough and grimaced at the taste of rust. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

“You take the Child and Y/N. I can hold them off long enough for you to get out. Let me have a warrior’s death.”

“Stop being a sh,shit and let Cara he,help you,” you said before coughing again, this time leaving blood on your lips. That was gross. You swallowed without meaning to and winced as you tasted the blood go down.

“No, Y/N, you’re going to make it.”

There was another burst of flame followed by the flametrooper walking into the cantina. Now you knew you were all fucked, bleeding out or no. You almost missed the Child standing in front of you all, but it was hard to miss the way the next blast of fire didn’t move closer to you, hitting an invisible barrier. The Child threw his little hands out and the fire blasted the flametrooper out of the cantina and the Child fell back, tired now that he had expended his energy. IG-11 finally kicked out the grate that would lead to the sewer system and the Mandalorian covert.

“Go, go now. Take Y/N and go.” The Mandalorian said as IG-11 walked over and picked up the knocked out Child.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m as fucked as you and you know it,” you breathed out, your lungs not expanding as much as they should be. The smoke in the air wasn’t helping nor was the fire that threatened to spread towards you. You found that you weren’t scared of dying anymore, not if it was beside someone you cared about. IG-11 came over and handed the Child to Cara.

“Watch and protect this Child, I will stay with the Mandalorian and the mechanic.”

Cara hesitated for a moment before picking up her rifle and coming up to IG-11. “Promise me you’ll bring them both.” She hadn’t known you for very long but she could tell the Mandalorian cared for you. Enough that he was willing to stay behind if it meant Cara would be able to carry you out of there.

“You have my word.” IG-11 replied. Cara gave them both one more glance before she headed for the now open grate. You watched silently as IG-11 came over and kneeled down before you both.

“I need to remove your helmet in order to save you,” it said as it reached one hand out to grab the bottom of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Somehow he still had the energy to aim his blaster at the droid to threaten it.

“No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed. It is forbidden.” The Mandalorian said. It was weird, you knew his name now but couldn’t bring yourself to using it even in your head. Maybe because he hadn’t freely given it to you.

“I am not a living thing.” IG-11 said before continuing his previous attempt to take off the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“I’ll just close my eyes, won’t even know I’m here,” you said slowly, your eyes fluttering closed before you had even finished talking. Your head slumped down onto his shoulder but you remained mostly conscious of your surroundings.

“Help her first.”

“That would be a waste.”

“Help her or I shoot you.”

You were no longer conscious enough to know what was happening around you anymore but you felt a cool mist on your head just as everything went silent. The last thing you thought before you were out for good was that you should have told Din how you felt about him.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #my writing #sorry for posting so often #this is what happens when my brain decides to hyper-fixate on something

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notes-from-sarah · 4 years ago

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Scratched Mirrors

Link on Archive of Our Own

Link on Fanfiction.net

Rating: G/K+

Summary: The fighting is over, but that is only the beginning. A clone finds young Boba Fett in the aftermath of Geonosis as Jedi and clone alike come to terms with their dead. Features Original Characters. Set during Episode II. One-shot. Canon Compliant.

Commander Mettle and the First One Hundred were sweeping the arena after the Battle of Geonosis. They were searching for survivors. Many Jedi, and more than a few clones had been grievously injured during the battle. Now that the enemy had been subdued it was time to clean up.

Bodies were strewn everywhere. Jedi, clone, droid and beast alike. Their corpses like so many hillocks scattered around the arena in the gloaming light. A slight movement nearby caught his eye. Mettle tensed and raised his blaster in case it was a half dead droid using the last of its strength to fulfill its prime directive. When no laser fire followed in the next few seconds Mettle cautiously moved forward.

As he drew nigh, he saw the movement came from near an armored body. With a jolt, he recognized the body as that of the clone template, Jango Fett. They had called him Stencil, he had worked closely with Mettle and the other troopers of the First One Hundred over the last ten years.

It was a shock to see him dead. He had been such a great warrior, teaching them everything they knew about being a soldier. He had almost seemed indestructible. Mettle noted that Jango had been killed by a Jedi. A small sense of relief twinged in Mettle when he realized that. Mettle didn't like the thought of Jango Fett being killed by a clone, or the disgrace of being killed by a droid. It was curious, though, that the Jedi would kill the man they hired to be the clone template. They must have been pretty confident that they wouldn't need any more clones.

Another small movement alerted him to a presence on the other side of Jango's body. Circling the fallen man he he knelt down next to the boy. Boba was laying on the ground near Jango's side. He didn't seem to be hurt, physically. He wasn't asleep, he just lay there, his eyes not really taking in his surroundings.

Mettle had no idea what to do. Stencil had taken his kid everywhere. Mettle felt completely at a loss. The child hadn't even reacted to his presence. Mettle couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a parent, but seeing a tough kid like Boba laying there so unresponsive told him more than enough.

Reaching out, he gingerly touched Boba's shoulder. "Hey there, Lucky." It was a name the clones had given him on Kamino. He had been the 'lucky' one chosen to be the clone template's son. Boba didn't respond. "Are you hurt?" Mettle tried again.

Boba's eyes flicked to look at him, but he still didn't move. Mettle took the boy by the arm and lifted him into a sitting position. Boba didn't resist. Mettle wanted to say something to make the kid feel better, but he couldn't think of anything. Removing his helmet he began checking the boy over for injuries.

"No broken bones, don't see any blood." Mettle tried to keep his voice light. Grief was something he knew about, but not something he'd ever personally experienced. The First One Hundred had come through the day with no losses, other units hadn't been so fortunate. "Just a little dirt, and nasty touch of sunburn."

Boba automatically raised a hand to touch his burned cheek, he hardly registered the discomfort.

Mettle finished looking him over. "Lucky, it's starting to get dark," he said softly. "It's not safe to stay out here."

Boba kept his eyes downcast. He mumbled under his breath, barely audible, "I don't want to go."

Mettle swallowed. He'd never seen someone look so hurt before. In the most gentle tone he could manage, he said, "There's nothing you can do for him. You need to look out for yourself now."

Boba still kept his eyes down. All he could think about was all of the things he would never be able to do with his father again. He would never sit on his father's lap and read. They would never play pretend, or wrestle. He'd never steal food off his dad's plate, food that tasted better just because it was dad's. He'd never laugh at the silly jokes his dad told, or hear the Mandalorian lullabies his dad would sing. His dad would never hug him again, or whisper I love you as he drifted to sleep.

Boba sat there, stone-faced. He had nowhere else to go, and no one else to go too. His dad had been all he had. His chest and throat felt tight. No physical pain could hurt like this. He tried to speak, to tell the clone that he couldn't leave. He had to stay here. He had nowhere else. Words failed him. All he wanted was to wake up and find out this day had never happened.

Boba raised his eyes to look at Mettle. Even in the twilight, his features were still clearly visible. The sight of the clone's face, his father's face, it was just too much. Feeling like a fool, but not caring, he began to cry.

Mettle didn't know what he was supposed to do. Clone were usually discouraged from such displays of emotion, but this case was different. He put an arm around Boba's shoulder. That was all he could think to do. Boba responded, feeling like the stupidest being in the universe, putting his arms around the clone's neck and clinging to him as he wept.

Boba felt his cheeks flush with shame. He felt stupid and weak. If he hadn't been such a dumb little kid maybe he could have helped his father. If they had been fighting side by side maybe the Jedi would be dead and his father alive. Boba knew he shouldn't have just sat in the cave where his father left him, he should have been out there with his dad. His dad had told him, "Stay here, don't move," but this one time, Boba knew he should have disobeyed.

Boba tried to stem his tears. His dad would have wanted him to be strong. Despite his best efforts, the tears continued.

Mettle let the child cling to him. He had never seen a person so hurt. He was a little bewildered by it all. The darkness continued to draw in on them, the shadows on the arena lengthened.

Through the gathering dusk, Jedi Master Adi Gallia walked across the arena. Her pace was slow, she was so tired. Today had been the worst day of her life. So many Jedi had been cut down today, and by mindless droids, no less. Her heart hurt. So much was lost here today. Echos of pain rang in her ears from Jedi, clones, and many others. There had been no victory today, they had merely managed to stave off defeat.

She spotted one of the clones, clones she hadn't known existed just a short time ago, kneeling, holding someone. The other clones in the area were doing triage, collecting the bodies and the wounded to be dealt with as appropriate.

Adi didn't want to be callous, but the clone needed to keep with his task. They had no time to waste. The mission had to come first. The Separatists couldn't be allowed the slightest advantage. "Clone," she said. She realized she had no idea what his name was, or if clones even had names. The clone looked over at her, and she noticed he was holding a child. She didn't know why there was a child in the arena, or even where the boy had come from. "Is the boy injured?"

The boy released the clone and stood, taking a step back and keeping his eyes averted. The clone stood as well, and replacing his helmet he stood at attention. "No, sir," he answered only the question asked.

When no further information was forthcoming, Adi asked a follow up question, "Why is he here? Where are his parents?" Adi tried to keep her voice even, but there was an edge to her words all the same.

"He's here because he was with his father when the battle began. His father was killed during the battle, sir."

Adi saw the boy turn his head to look at the body of the bounty hunter that had started all of this. "Doesn't he have a mother, or anyone else, another friend or relative?" Adi was exhausted, and this needed to be settled. Only after the living had been taken care of could the Jedi finally see to their dead. She could feel that the boy was hurt, but his pain only blended into all the other pain that saturated the Force on this day.

Mettle glanced at Boba, the kid hadn't even tried to wipe the tears off his face. "He's got no one else, sir."

Adi sighed. "It'll have to be an orphanage then." Adi gazed over the field, her heart ached as she spotted one of the fallen Jedi, a dear friend of hers. "Gather him up and find out where the nearest Republic orphanage is." Her voice trembled slightly as she said those words. After receiving an affirmative response, she moved on, more than a little distracted by her own grief.

Mettle turned back to Boba. Boba turned his eyes on Mettle, his gaze unflinching. Even though the light was waning, Mettle could still make out the expression of those dark eyes. He saw that behind all the pain there was a spark, an ember of anger that was sure to serve him well. Mettle placed a hand on Boba's shoulder. "You've got the blood of a warrior. You will make it through."

#Boba Fett #Adi Gallia #Clones #Clone Troopers #Star Wars #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Hurt #Death #Grief/Mourning #Attack of the Clones #1k words #image from cap-that.com

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

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Arya and Weasel - sending your inner child off into the woods

Weasel is an orphaned, traumatized girl of around two years of age whose story is absolutely heartbreaking. We meet her in A Clash of Kings and she accompanies us for the span of three Arya chapters, which takes place over just about a month, most of which takes place off page.

We meet her at the end of Arya III, she has her first interaction with Arya in Arya IV and then tags along with Arya, Lommy, Hot Pie and Gendry in the woods until she runs off into the unknown at the end of Arya V.

I’ll follow the story and try to give some sense of time and location to justify my time estimates, simply because GRRM chooses to be so vague.

Gods, Arya’s chapters in ACOK are among the very finest in the entire book series.

Warning: Long. As always, excessive use of quotes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya III (chapter 9)

Yoren and his gang have been traveling the Kingsroad since King’s Landing. She beat Hot Pie bloody in Arya I and they had a tense encounter with goldcloaks looking for Gendry in Arya II. Now they change course westward of the Kingsroad close to the beginning of the chapter.

“We’re not far from Gods Eye,” the black brother said one morning. “The kingsroad won’t be safe till we’re across the Trident. So we’ll come up around the lake along the western shore, they’re not like to look for us there.” At the next spot where two ruts cut cross each other, he turned the wagons west.

Here farmland gave way to forest, the villages and holdfasts were smaller and farther apart, the hills higher and the valleys deeper. Food grew harder to come by.

They spend an unspecified amount of time, likely about two weeks, traveling and living off the land. Enough for two days delay to still matter but long enough to form habits, see landscapes change, have hunting adventures.

Outside a holdfast called Briarwhite, some fieldhands surrounded them in a cornfield, demanding coin for the ears they’d taken. (…)

The next day Koss came racing back to warn Yoren of a camp ahead. (…) “Might be one side, might be t’other. If they’re hurt that bad, likely they’d take our mounts no matter who they are. Might be they’d take more than that. I believe we’ll go wide around them.” It took them miles out of their way, and cost them two days at the least, but the old man said it was cheap at the price. (…)

Arya saw men guarding the fields more and more when they turned north again. (…) At one place, she spotted a man perched up in a dead tree, with a bow in his hand and a quiver hanging from the branch beside him. (…)

A day later Dobber spied a red glow against the evening sky. “Either this road went and turned again, or that sun’s setting in the north.”

Weasel’s tragedy begins when her village is put to the torch. The blaze is enough to light up the night sky from half a day’s travel away. Judging from what we see in Arya IV, the violence was likely unspeakable.

By dawn the fire had burned itself out, but none of them slept very well that night. It was midday when they arrived at the place where the village had been.

It’s butchery and desolation. Yoren goes to investigate the destroyed holdfast.

When they finally returned, Yoren had a little girl in his arms, and Murch and Cutjack were carrying a woman in a sling made of an old torn quilt. The girl was no older than two and she cried all the time, a whimpery sound, like something was caught in her throat. Either she couldn’t talk yet or she had forgotten how. The woman’s right arm ended in a bloody stump at her elbow, and her eyes didn’t seem to see anything, even when she was looking right at it.

I knee-jerk assumed the woman to be Weasel’s mother, but that is never explicitly stated in the text. For all we know, they aren’t related at all. They are not shown to interact, and even if the woman was Weasel’s mother, she is too far gone from her severe injury to be coherent, let alone care for the child.

She talked, but she only said one thing. “Please,” she cried, over and over. “Please. Please.” Rorge thought that was funny. He laughed through the hole in his face where his nose had been, and Biter started laughing too, until Murch cursed them and told them to shut up. Yoren had them fix the woman a place in the back of a wagon. “And be quick about it,” he said. “Come dark, there’ll be wolves here, and worse.” “I’m scared,” Hot Pie murmured when he saw the one-armed woman thrashing in the wagon. “Me too,” Arya confessed. He squeezed her shoulder. “I never truly kicked no boy to death, Arry. I just sold my mommy’s pies, is all.” Arya rode as far ahead of the wagons as she dared, so she wouldn’t have to hear the little girl crying or listen to the woman whisper, “Please.” She remembered a story Old Nan had told once, about a man imprisoned in a dark castle by evil giants. He was very brave and smart and he tricked the giants and escaped . . . but no sooner was he outside the castle than the Others took him, and drank his hot red blood. Now she knew how he must have felt. The one-armed woman died at evenfall. Gendry and Cutjack dug her grave on a hillside beneath a weeping willow. When the wind blew, Arya thought she could hear the long trailing branches whispering, “Please. Please. Please.” The little hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she almost ran from the graveside.

I almost inserted a long paragraph about the textual parallels to Lyanna and Sansa here. But I refrained because this is merely meant to document Weasel.

The woman and the child (and the murdered men I didn’t include in my quotes) are Arya’s first direct confrontation with the vicious of this war. She and Hot Pie are so humbled in the face of it, they forget their original enmity, their posturing. They become children again. They admit their bone-deep fear.

The human suffering is an unbearable horror and Arya, understandably, tries to block it out and get away from it.

So this tiny little girl Weasel has just watched every person she has ever known being murdered by scary, angry strangers and then spent that night and half a day among the charred ruins and the bodies. Hungry, thirsty, scared. No one shows up to comfort her until another stranger picks her up and carries her away.

It goes on:

“No fire tonight,” Yoren told them. Supper was a handful of wild radishes Koss found, a cup of dry beans, water from a nearby brook. The water had a funny taste to it, and Lommy told them it was the taste of bodies, rotting someplace upstream. Hot Pie would have hit him if old Reysen hadn’t pulled them apart.

We’ll return to this lovely image.

Arya encounters wolves as she relieves herself in the woods at night. They do not harm her, but she is clearly shaken by everything that has happened.

The crying girl travelling alonside her and the wolves prowling the woods. Two sides of Arya.

She tells Yoren she doesn’t care. She just wants to go home. The chapter ends on:

“Go to sleep, boy. Hear me?”

She did try. Yet as she lay under her thin blanket, she could hear the wolves howling . . . and another sound, fainter, no more than a whisper on the wind, that might have been screams.

Followed by a lovely thematic transition at the beginning of Davos I.

The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning gods. They were all afire now, Maid and Mother, Warrior and Smith, the Crone with her Pearl eyes and the Father with his gilded beard; even the Stranger, carved to look more animal than human. The old dry wood and countless layers of paint and varnish blazed with a fierce hungry light. Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Davos were seeing them through a veil of tears. Or as if the beasts were trembling, stirring . . .

Arya is about to enter the warzone for real.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya IV (chapter 14)

We open not too far from where we left Yoren’s merry band. They have reached the river flowing straight south from the Gods Eye.

It seemed a peaceful place . . . until Koss spotted the dead man. “There, in the reeds.” He pointed, and Arya saw it. The body of a soldier, shapeless and swollen. His sodden green cloak had hung up on a rotted log, and a school of tiny silver fishes were nibbling at his face. “I told you there was bodies,” Lommy announced. “I could taste them in that water.”

He tasted them in the brook, this is a river. Usually brooks flow into rivers, not the other way around. But not too much travel time can have passed for Lommy to make that remark. A day? Two days?

We get a location.

It was midday when the others returned. Woth reported a wooden bridge half a mile downstream, but someone had burned it up. Yoren peeled a sourleaf off the bale. “Might be we could swim the horses over, maybe the donkeys, but there’s no way we’ll get those wagons across. And there’s smoke to the north and west, more fires, could be this side o’ the river’s the place we want to be.” He picked up a long stick and drew a circle in the mud, a line trailing down from it. “That’s Gods Eye, with the river flowing south. We’re here.” He poked a hole beside the line of the river, under the circle. “We can’t go round west of the lake, like I thought. East takes us back to the kingsroad.” He moved the stick up to where the line and circle met. “Near as I recall, there’s a town here. The holdfast’s stone, and there’s a lordling got his seat there too, just a towerhouse, but he’ll have a guard, might be a knight or two. We follow the river north, should be there before dark. They’ll have boats, so I mean to sell all we got and hire us one.” He drew the stick up through the circle of the lake, from bottom to top. “Gods be good, we’ll find a wind and sail across the Gods Eye to Harrentown.”

We don’t know what hour the sun sets but it’s early autumn in Westeros and I’m guessing they’re about 7 to 8 hours from the south shore of the God’s Eye, at wagon and donkey travel-speed.

We have our first mention of Weasel among a heartbreaking instance of Arya’s remaining faith in humanity.

Hot Pie was being silly; it wouldn’t be ghosts at Harrenhal, it would be knights. Arya could reveal herself to Lady Whent, and the knights would escort her home and keep her safe. That was what knights did; they kept you safe, especially women. Maybe Lady Whent would even help the crying girl.

Sadly, we don’t hear who has been taking care of the little girl since her mother died. Arya makes no mention of it.

They reach the deserted town.

The black brother left ten to guard the wagons and the whimpery little girl, and split the rest of them into four groups of five to search the town.

There are no boats, they decide to spend the night at the holdfast. Lots of descriptions of the holdfast and the town. No mention of the little girl. Seriously, who is minding this little toddler?

When the food was ready, Arya ate a chicken leg and a bit of onion. No one talked much, not even Lommy. Gendry went off by himself afterward, polishing his helm with a look on his face like he wasn’t even there. The crying girl whimpered and wept, but when Hot Pie offered her a bit of goose she gobbled it down and looked for more.

Ah, at least someone is feeding her. Thank you, Hot Pie. Weasel is hungry, she wants to live.

Hot Pie went off and let her alone and Arya curled up on her pallet. She could hear the crying girl from the far side of the haven. I wish she’d just be quiet. Why does she have to cry all the time?

Getting some sister parallels in here.

Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but Jeyne was useless. Her face was puffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop sobbing about her father.

"I'm certain your father is well," Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress buttoned right. "I'll ask the queen to let you see him." She thought that kindness might lift Jeyne's spirits, but the other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began to cry all the harder. She was such a child. (AGOT, Sansa IV)

Don’t like others crying around you when you’re scared, Stark Sisters, do you? There’s a Robb parallel, too.

"Rickon needs you," Robb said sharply. "He's only three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him." He paused a moment, chewing on his lower lip the way he'd done when he was little. "Mother, I need you too. I'm trying but I can't … I can't do it all by myself." His voice broke with sudden emotion, and Catelyn remembered that he was only fourteen. She wanted to get up and go to him, but Bran was still holding her hand and she could not move. (AGOT, Catelyn III)

They tend to have other characters reflect their inner emotions. That crying, overwhelmed child that they are trying to ingore: themselves.

Arya, likely through warg power, wakes up to warn the others of the imminent attack. Amory Lorch’s riders are putting the town to the torch. Arya is watching from the holdfast parapets.

Something bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl clutching her. “Get away!” She wrenched her leg free. “What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid.” She shoved the girl away.

No room for soft feelings when you have to function to survive.

Lorch is not inclined to spare Yoren on account of being with the NW. They attack and throw torches, the barn has a secret tunnel and Yoren orders them to escape. But the barn is already on fire.

As they were running toward the barn, Arya spied the crying girl sitting in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by smoke and slaughter. She grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet as the others raced ahead. The girl wouldn’t walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. Ahead, the night was a sullen red. The barn’s on fire, she thought. Flames were licking up its sides from where a torch had fallen on straw, and she could hear the screaming of the animals trapped within. Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. “Arry, come on! Lommy’s gone, leave her if she won’t come!” Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them . . . but Gendry came back, the fire shining so bright on his polished helm that the horns seemed to glow orange. He ran to them, and hoisted the crying girl up over his shoulder. “Run!”

In this moment of absolute mortal danger, Arya decides to take charge of the traumatized toddler to ensure her survival, stubbornly, violently even. Just like Yoren did with her. Hot Pie would have left her. Ouch. Gendry soon takes over, luckily.

The open trap was only a few feet ahead, but the fire was spreading fast, consuming the old wood and dry straw faster than she would have believed. Arya remembered the Hound’s horrible burned face. “Tunnel’s narrow,” Gendry shouted. “How do we get her through?” “Pull her,” Arya said. “Push her.” “Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing. “Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed. Gendry ignored them. “You go first, then her, then me. Hurry, it’s a long way.” “When you split the firewood,” Arya remembered, “where did you leave the axe?” “Out by the haven.” He spared a glance for the chained men. “I’d save the donkeys first. There’s no time.” “You take her!” she yelled. “You get her out! You do it!” The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn.

Even having grabbed the little girl and knowing there is a path to escaping, Arya cannot simply flee. She hands over the charge of Weasel to Gendry and proceeds to save the lives of the three captives from the black cells. Because Arya doesn’t just let people die. Not unless she wants them dead herself. A force of nature.

She gets the axe from outside in the battlezone, walks back into the blazing barn, throws the axe into the wagon and dives down to safety. The chapter ends thus:

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn’t care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say.

So that went from dire to catastrophic.

I love how this chapter was structured. It starts out quiet, the unease builds in the empty town, they create a moment of respite eating dinner in the perceived safety of the holdfast, but even there they have doomed themselves by lighting the cookfire. Then it escalates, the howling of the wolves, the phony negotiations, the blaze they saw in the distance the chapter before now comes to them, and everything sinks into cacophony, until the last second of dubious escape. Arya’s helpless tears are such a well-earned release of panic and tension. There is no safety, only momentary escape, only confusion. It’s monstrous.

She cries, like Weasel cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya V (chapter 19)

We open to Arya high up on a tree observing a village on the Western lakeshore.

Someone’s there. Arya chewed her lip. All the other places they’d come upon had been empty and desolate. Farms, villages, castles, septs, barns, it made no matter. If it could burn, the Lannisters had burned it; if it could die, they’d killed it.

They have been traveling in the woods a while since the night of the blaze. Arya remembers them returning the next night, burying Yoren and joining up with three survivors. The route is North along the Western lakeshore.

Cutjack opened the door at Gendry’s shout, and when Kurz said they’d be better pressing on north than going back, Arya had clung to the hope that she still might reach Winterfell. (…)

To the east, Gods Eye was a sheet of sunhammered blue that filled half the world. Some days, as they made their slow way up the muddy shore (Gendry wanted no part of any roads, and even Hot Pie and Lommy saw the sense in that), Arya felt as though the lake were calling her. (…)

North along the shore, past a number of deserted rural settlings.

At the end of the day she would often sit on a rock and dangle her feet in the cool water. She had finally thrown away her cracked and rotted shoes. Walking barefoot was hard at first, but the blisters had finally broken, the cuts had healed, and her soles had turned to leather. The mud was nice between her toes, and she liked to feel the earth underfoot when she walked.

This process will have taken some time. A few weeks.

From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast.

While the Isle of Faces is not truly small, there is no mention of other wooded islands on the lake. This would place Arya less than halfway up the western shore of the lake. This would match the wagon travel speed of a few weeks from the kingsroad to the holdfast on the south shore. They are slow because they avoid roads, trudge through vegetation and mud, and because they are encumbered by injury and a toddler.

The food situation is not great.

She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren’t so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food. Finding bugs was easy, all you had to do was kick over a rock. Arya had eaten a bug once when she was little, just to make Sansa screech, so she hadn’t been afraid to eat another. Weasel wasn’t either, but Hot Pie retched up the beetle he tried to swallow, and Lommy and Gendry wouldn’t even try. Yesterday Gendry had caught a frog and shared it with Lommy, and, a few days before, Hot Pie had found blackberries and stripped the bush bare, but mostly they had been living on water and acorns.

The kids are on their own. Kurz the poacher was kind to them and gave them some survival training. But he died four days after they set off from an infected wound. The other two adults abandoned them directly after. Echoes of Dany with Drogo and the khalasar. Up and gone when he died, leaving behind the weak and the slaves.

Maybe Tarber and Cutjack figured they would stand a better chance without a gaggle of orphan boys to herd along. They probably would too, but that didn’t stop her hating them for leaving.

This is horrific. Four children between 14 and 9 years old, plus a little toddler. Sneakily abandoned by the two remaining adults. The Hansel and Gretel vibes are strong. Like Hansel and Gretel, they will be captured looking for food. Like Gretel, Arya will free them using cooking as a weapon, eventually. But that’s for later.

Very much of Arya’s chapters echoes Dany, actually. All from opposite sides. The violence, the abandonment, the eventual enslavement, the starving. The comparison to sheep. It all shows the bottom side of Dany’s war at Drogo’s side, and her travels through the desert with the baby dragons. Even Vaes Tolorro mirrors the Gods Eye town. Food and rest, and visitors that will lead them to another large settlement, eventually. But back to the kids in the woods.

Arya rejoins the others and we see Weasel again.

At the sound of her voice, Weasel came creeping out from the bushes. Lommy had named her that. He said she looked like a weasel, which wasn’t true, but they couldn’t keep on calling her the crying girl after she finally stopped crying. Her mouth was filthy. Arya hoped she hadn’t been eating mud again.

“Did you see people?” asked Gendry. “Mostly just roofs,” Arya admitted, “but some chimneys were smoking, and I heard a horse.” The Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now.

So Weasel is all cried out. It’s been a month or so since she lost her family after her village was set ablaze, followed soon after by another such violent, fiery attack. She went from a stationary life in a vilage with her family, meal time, bed time, cuddles and playing, to a life of being scared, confused, hungry, dirty and constantly on the move.

Like Arya, Weasel stopped crying, like Arya, Weasel doesn’t mind mud in her mouth.

“If it’s a fishing village, they’d sell us fish, I bet,” said Hot Pie. The lake teemed with fresh fish, but they had nothing to catch them with. Arya had tried to use her hands, the way she’d seen Koss do, but fish were quicker than pigeons and the water played tricks on her eyes. “I don’t know about fish.” Arya tugged at the Weasel’s matted hair, thinking it might be best to hack it off. “There’s crows down by the water. Something’s dead there.” “Fish, washed up on shore,” Hot Pie said. “If the crows eat it, I bet we could.” “We should catch some crows, we could eat them,” said Lommy. “We could make a fire and roast them like chickens.”

I love these kids. They are hungry and grumpy and irritated and listless, in their way. They have no clue what to do and injured Lommy is the most anxious of them all. His leg was wounded and infection is setting in. He is the most helpless, and it makes him the most annoying of them. Yield, he says. Yield.

Like Yoren did to her, Arya contemplates hacking off Weasel’s hair. Matted, tangled. Like a bird’s nest, perchance?

A lovely parallel highlighting the role of privilege, with another taumatized orphan cared for by a Stark daughter:

Alayne smoothed his hair. Lady Lysa had never let the servants touch it, and after she had died Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so it had been allowed to grow until it tumbled over his round shoulders and halfway down his flabby white chest. He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him. (TWOW, Alayne I)

Arya is trying to care for this child, for her inner child, but she does it listlessly, no practice, no plan. She doesn’t talk to Weasel, at all. Numb.

“Whoever it is, you should yield to them,” Lommy whined. “I need some potion for my leg, it hurts bad.” “If we see any leg potion, we’ll bring it,” Gendry said. “Arry, let’s go, I want to get near before the sun is down. Hot Pie, you keep Weasel here, I don’t want her following.” “Last time she kicked me.” “I’ll kick you if you don’t keep her here.” Without waiting for an answer, Gendry donned his steel helm and walked off. Arya had to scamper to keep up. Gendry was five years older and a foot taller than she was, and long of leg as well. For a while he said nothing, just plowed on through the trees with an angry look on his face, making too much noise. But finally he stopped and said, “I think Lommy’s going to die.”

Ah.

Gendry is the “adult” in the group and he’s definitely going through his own “Rickon in tugging on my leg” phase, and presenting Arya with a variant of an offer Dany gets from Xaro in Meereen later: Abandon this doomed, starving lot and take your chances elsewhere. Unlike Dany, Arya is not actually responsible for any of these children, not even little Weasel. Unlike Dany, she is not even close to tempted.

“I’m sick of carrying him, and I’m sick of all his talk about yielding too. If he could stand up, I’d knock his teeth in. Lommy’s no use to anyone. That crying girl’s no use either.” “You leave Weasel alone, she’s just scared and hungry is all.” Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. Hot Pie must have grabbed her, like Gendry had told him. “She’s no use,” Gendry repeated stubbornly. “Her and Hot Pie and Lommy, they’re slowing us down, and they’re going to get us killed. You’re the only one of the bunch who’s good for anything. Even if you are a girl.”

I am cutting out the following super hilarious exchange around revealing her identity, along with the horrible description of the village with the gibbet and the “SS rounds up the villagers for questioning and deportation” imagery.

Gendry gets himself captured and hauled into the warehouse with the other prisoners. Arya will leave no one behind. Arya will defend her pack.

Lommy and Hot Pie almost shit themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. “Quiet,” she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up.

Hot Pie stared at her with big eyes. “We thought you left us.” He had his shortsword in hand, the one Yoren had taken off the gold cloak. “I was scared you was a wolf.”

She has her arms around Weasel, trying to comfort the child, keeping in touch with the last of her innocence. It’s her final interaction with Weasel. They thought she was a wolf. She will be.

Hot Pie glanced at Lommy, at Arya, at Lommy again. “I’ll come,” he said reluctantly. “Lommy, you keep Weasel here.” He grabbed the little girl by the hand and pulled her close. “What if the wolves come?” “Yield,” Arya suggested.

Iconic, badass quote. Heartbreaking context. Their rescue mission is unsurprisingly doomed before it truly gets going. Hot Pie “yields” at the first instance and Arya receives a terrible blow to the head. They take Needle. They are made to lead guards to Lommy and Weasel.

The man with the torch searched around under the trees. “Are you the last? Baker Boy said there was a girl.” “She ran off when she heard you coming,” Lommy said. “You made a lot of noise.” And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back.

Hide, inner child. Run and hide, like Nymeria. Like the wolf.

So that is the last we see of little Weasel.

Realistically, she will be dead within days. Exposure, poisoning, injury, starvation unless she has absorbed enough from the others to gather enough bugs for herself. Or eaten by wolves. Plus the fear, the feeling of abandonment. It’s a grim picture. It becomes unbearable when you try and picture any toddler you know in the place of Weasel.

I am going to headcanon hardcore that Baby Weasel is going to be found by loving people and taken away to safety, wrapped up warm and fed and gently raised. Alternatively, she is kindly raised by the giant wolf pack. And somehow not freezing to death. *hands over ears* Lalalalaalalalalaalalala!

We end the chapter with one more death, one that we will see avenged four books later:

“Can you walk?” He sounded concerned. “No,” said Lommy. “You got to carry me.” “Think so?” The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy’s soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. When the man pulled his spear loose, blood sprayed out in a dark fountain. “Carry him, he says,” he muttered, chuckling.

The echoes are beautifully done.

"Well," she said, "I don't know how you'll get there, then." "You'll need to carry me." See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I. "Think so?" asked Arya, sweetly. Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out. "Valar morghulis," Arya whispered, but Raff was dead and did not hear.

(TWOW, Mercy)

On the one hand, it’s poetic justice. On the other, it screams out that Arya is basically a child concentration camp survivor but the war is not over. She has had no peace, only ever more hiding, no play, only ever more working, no recovery, only ever more killing. She is in exile, still. But she will return home. And she will one day recover. But she will never ever forget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Arya VI, she chooses a new name herself for the first time. The concentration camp vibes are strong. Just read the chapter.

“Some farmer’s whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won’t work hard, you’ll be beaten. And what do they call you?” Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy. “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of. “Lommy called me Weasel.”

Lommy and Weasel. Injured and young. No use. Dead and gone but not forgotten.

Ramsey names his dogs for the girls he killed. Sansa and Jon each want to name her future children for the family they lost. Arya names herself for the women and girls she cared about. Weasel. Cat. Nymeria, Nan. Even little Beth Cassel. Her kill list is one part of her. But the list of names that truly matters is another. She takes up their cause not in a hope for a peaceful future with personal happiness like Jon and Sansa but in the here and now, within the broiling whirlwind of injustices. But the very first name is for the little girl, for herself, essentially.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Little Weasel is, to me, a personification of Arya’s inner child, as she struggles with her loss of innocence and the abandonment by adults. Because she shows up when they encounter their first hardcore warcrime scene. Arya tries to ignore her wailing and pays little attention to her, but attaches her to her hopes for help from Lady Whent and her Knights. She doesn’t take charge of Weasel until their adult caretakers, such as they are, become unavailable by way of being horribly murdered in battle. She is not really equipped to care for her, but she tries and she is determined not to abandon her. When she has disappeared, Arya doesn’t despair, she wishes her well, she has some remnant of faith and she attaches it to Weasel. Off into the wild, to escape certain death, perchance to survive, like she sent off Nymeria.

It is no accident that Arya names herself Weasel when she enters the concentration camp hell that is Harrenhal, and it is a truly briliant stroke that her only direct memory of Weasel after that is when Arya enters service in the House of Black and White in AFFC, Arya II, which seems more empowering but draws up many comparisons in her mind to Harrenhal. The inner child has run off, but her spirit remains hovering over Arya, never quite fading.

#asoiaf #arya stark #weasel #war crimes #inner child #gendry waters #hot pie #lommy greenhands #yoren #ACOK

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writerfangirlbooks · 4 years ago

Text

You-Know-Who

Crowley x Reader

Prompt: You sold your soul, but continued to be human after ten years due to helping around Hell and being Crowley's assistant. You fell for each other, and boom came the rise of Lucifer, who forced you to be his new toy and assistant.

Originally a two-parter on my Wattpad book but condensed for one here!

Word Count: basically 4000.

Credit to gif owner!

"Won't you ride my white horse? What kind of bloody garbage is this?" Crowley demanded, his red eyes glowing hauntingly in the motel room. The only light was the sun that seeped through the blinds of the scratched windows. You had seen Crowley angry, of course, but he appeared ten times worse now. He was livid... and frightened.

"I don't know, Crowley," you responded, a bit of an edge weaseled its way into your voice. "He just gave me the papers to deliver to you."

You rubbed the side of your temple, exhausted. Lucifer had you working just less than twenty four hours a day. You were only human and needed sleep. Crowley noticed and his eyes flashed back to normal, softening instantly. He nodded and scanned through the packet again.

You knew the two of you were an odd pair; you sold your soul at twenty because you had lost almost all despair once your cat Marney died - she was the last family you had. You had been visiting a friend with Marney at fifteen when your parents and brother all died in a car wreck. So you found a demon and made your ten year deal, demanding and receiving your cat back. Once you died, you met the King of Hell to determine your fate. He thought your story was stupid, so he wanted to teach you a lesson and hired you to be his assistant, while also giving you your life back. A couple years passed, and you had fallen for Crowley.

Here you two were again, supposed to be on opposite sides. Crowley was on the run after Lucifer rose, decapitated his mother, took his throne, and forced you to be by his side. Of course you had tried to escape, with and without your lover's help, but Lucifer had managed to find your soul and kept a leash on it. You went where he went unless he summoned you to do his bidding. And his latest order just happened to be to find Crowley and deliver the letter, without knowing the intimate connection the two of you shared.

"This is practically written in gibberish. Look at this." He flipped to the third page and you were expecting something completely different. Your fingers touched as you held the papers, trying to decipher a code. However, you quickly realized you recognized the words.

"Crowley," you released a small, genuine laugh, the first one in at least a month. "This is a song, from a few years ago, by Ozzy Osborne. It's called Mr. Crowley. It's supposed to be in the biblical sense. I don't know why he would give this to you. It doesn't seem threatening."

You both held the lyrics into the light to get a better look.

"Maybe not. But a song? Are you sure? About me? Why in Purgatory would someone do that, biblical or not?" Crowley asked, seeming flabbergasted, though more calm. His eyes danced to yours.

You smiled at him, glad for the few minutes to spend together. You didn't know when Lucifer would call you back. You knew that once he found out about your relationship, he would never allow you to be the one to communicate with Crowley again.

"There's a lot of things in Ozzy's mind that I'm not sure about. Look, I know we aren't going to have much time today. He's been driv-" You were interrupted.

"He as in Lucifer?" Crowley asked for confirmation, setting the papers on the tangled and messy bed, though it wasn't like that when you first came in.

You gasped, wanting to smack your forehead. How could you not have told him! Crowley heard and turned towards you, curious of your reaction.

"Don't say his name! He can hear!" You started freaking out by breathing rapidly and shaking your hands wildly. Crowley immediately took your hands to calm you. He engulfed you in a hug. This wasn't something Crowley normally did. During the day, he wasn't a very physical person, but he knew you needed comfort.

"Y/N, don't worry. It's alright. You are safe for now," Crowley assured you. You took a breath and nodded into his shoulder. When you were certain that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was not going to be in the motel room momentarily, you stepped away. You prayed that he wouldn't hear, but knew that wouldn't work. God had been incognito for years.

"Pull yourself together. You know we don't have much time. Don't try to figure out the song right now. I'll worry about that later, darling. Y/N, tell me what he's been up to. Has Lu- has he hurt you?" Crowley asked, setting you down on the edge of the bed.

Lucifer was the devil. He would hurt, maim, kill, torture. He would do anything to get what he wants. He had hurt you no less than five times within the week so far. Mostly minor cuts, except for when Lucifer almost slit your throat when the waiter at Starbucks gave you the wrong type of coffee. He was a bit high maintenance. Then there were the times he had shoved his tongue down your throat and you looked at your knees.

"Nothing that can't be fixed with time." You tried to sound brave, but Crowley could see right through you. You could feel his protectiveness enter the room as he sat next to you, taking your hand. It would usually make you smile, seeing the one drop of humanity left in him, considering it was always directed to you. Now, you wished it weren't there. The Crowley you first met wouldn't have pity on you.

"What did that damned devil do to you?" Crowley asked, his fingers tightening in yours.

Instead of his usual suit, the former King of Hell wore a pair of dark jeans, khaki button down, and boots. You were in nothing better, torn jeans, old Converse, a tank top under a high school sweatshirt. It was what you were wearing when Lucifer rose from Hell and took you. You had been able to wash the outfit and yourself only three times so far with your little spare time.

You leaned the top of your head onto his shoulder, thinking of what the right answer should be. You had barely begun to speak when your eyes started to water. Your stomach churned. If you weren't already sitting, your knees would have buckled. There was only one person that could emit so much terror into a person.

"Crowley, run." You barely squeaked out with a low grunt, clutching his hand.

Even if he had had time, you knew he wouldn't have disappeared. Not without you, and the both of you knew Lucifer could find you quicker than he could snap his fingers. There he was. The powerful entity stood casually in the center of the room, arms crossed impatiently. His eyes were dark, yet somehow playful. His pout was anything but sympathetic. It stood more along the lines of a cruel sneer.

"Well, what's going on here?" He feigned thoughtfulness before bursting into a surprised I-Know-Now face. "Oh! Let me take a guess. You two were planning to run off! I probably should have seen this sooner, but I never really imagined that Y/N would stoop to an ex-crossroads demon. What a surprise! Now, I suppose I'll have to make an actual demon do my deals... Y/N, sweetie, you were doing great. I'll keep you, but for something else entirely."

You wanted to puke. Your cheeks were bright red. You felt nauseous. Just your everyday feelings next to just Lucifer. When he spoke, all attention was drawn to him. Not only did he crave it, but it was natural. He was a warrior angel. He was absolutely ruthless.

"If you think you can lay one measly-" Crowley began speaking, furious and fast. He immediately stood up from the bed. You remained there for a second longer, staring up at the one you loved, knowing this would be one of the last times you would see him in a long time. Finally, you stood, knowing hope has all but slapped you in the face.

"You can't stop me, Crowley," Lucifer said, his voice lowered, almost soothing. "And neither can you, Y/N. Hell's not the most entertaining, but it will work for now."

He eyed the two of you, your fingers itching to wrap around Crowley's. The tension grew as chills ran up your arms, which was soon replaced by a burning heat. You staggered back a step with wide eyes. The sensation began at your finger tips, making it way slowly and menacingly up your arms, down your torso, and swiveled around the bottom half of your body. You released a groan as it hit your pelvis and stumbled into the nightstand. You felt a shadow cross over your front protectively. Your vision was starting to fade. Your head throbbed as it landed harsh against thin weaves of string, somehow formed into carpet.

"What have you done," hissed Crowley. As your vision blurred, the last thing you remembered was seeing the former King of Hell, the last person you loved, standing above you.

<->

When you came to, you were on the bed again. You felt sore all over. Finally, you recalled the latest turn of events, which were not pleasant ones. Except for the last that you remember. Crowley.

His name prompted you to sit upwards, which was a horrible idea. Your headache was still there and more painful than it had been. You let your head fall back against the pillow and groaned. This was not going to work.

"Y/N? Darling, are you awake?" A British voice rang out.

"Mhm," you mumbled, still trying to sit up. You felt a cold hand move into yours, which was surprisingly sweaty. You blinked twice, still dazed. Crowley hovered over you.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" His voice came out, low, almost nervous. He looked at you for barely a second. Immediately, you felt that something was off.

"I feel fine, actually." You mustered up a convincing smile. "What happened?"

"Well, Lucifer was strangling you. I attacked him and he evaporated, leaving you," he announced simply.

"Really?" You slowly got out of the small motel bed. You sensed you were being watched, so you knew you had to be careful, and get Crowley back as soon as possible. As terrifying as it would be to know the truth, you needed it to form your plan.

"O-of course, darling. Why would I lie to you?" He stuttered. You turned to look and 'Crowley' flashed you a smile, one that you have never identified, but was still vaguely familiar on an opposite body.

"I know you wouldn't," you said sweetly. "Let me just get changed first."

"That's not necessary. We need to leave soon, before Lucifer catches up." Your suspicions grew more and more, almost turning to pure certainty with each dreaded word.

"I'm sure we have time," you replied nonchalantly, turning away as you tossed your sweatshirt and tank top over your head at once.

Hearing a quick intake of breath behind you, your heart rate increased. You deliberately turned so he could see your chest - what wasn't covered by the dirty bra. You opened the closet door, pretending to contemplate what to wear, when you were actually thinking of the easiest plan to threaten the devil.

However, you didn't hear him come up behind you.

You had been almost completely naked in front of the literal devil. Just another Tuesday. You felt bile in your throat as you took your time. Knowing that that particular vessel was Crowley's favorite, you wanted to save it for him. If he was even still alive.

Once you finished changing clothes, you stared into the closet for a minute longer, staring at your two knives. You couldn't go back to Hell without your king. Not only would the demons tear at you, so would Lucifer, in a much crueler manner. You had never been in the hunting life. You had no experience, just what Crowley taught you.

"You almost ready to go, sweetheart?" He couldn't be called a man. There wasn't a word to describe him. Just Devil. His voice spoke, using the voice you loved; the voice you listen to for hours; the voice that listened to you; the voice that was now possessed by Satan.

You wanted to catch him off guard. You knew Crowley's mannerisms, and saying sweetheart was not one of them. It belonged to someone else. Someone, whose heart was anything but sweet.

"What'd you say?" You tried sounding nonchalant, as if you had just not heard him speak. You felt slightly better now that you changed into cleaner, more presentable clothes, despite the nauseous feeling in your stomach.

"I asked if you were almost ready to leave, darling." Lucifer's voice was rougher than Crowley's. He didn't even try to sound appreciative, or like he actually cared about you. The way he used the true King of Hell's nickname for you ensured your hatred for him.

You walked over to him, as if nothing could possibly be wrong. You presented a sweet smile and set a hand on his shoulder, which was very stiff. You swallowed down bile and leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I just need a minute."

You had stepped away to grab your stuff, but a hand wrapped tightly around your wrists and pulled you back to him. You stared at the vessel, becoming frightened. Lucifer looked back, no emotion seeping through, before slamming his current meat suit's lips against yours, biting down. You nearly fell back from the force as his tongue entered your mouth. Damn, you would have loved to throw up right then - and proceed to run for your life.

"S-stop," you muttered, trying to tug away. One hand was gripped firmly where it was twenty seconds ago, creating a bruise. The other was creating another elsewhere - on the sensitive part of your waist, right on your hips. You could try to kick Lucifer, but you knew the way that vessel worked, so you also knew it wouldn't be easy to injure him without something major.

He continued to kiss you, roughly and passionless. You struggled to get away, murmuring for him to end whatever this was. His eyes darkened as you preceded to break away. You feared for the time he would continue to pretend to be Crowley. You were terrified now, that you wouldn't be strong enough. To save yourself. To get Crowley back.

"You can't tell me no," he said, his voice incredibly deep.

You hated yourself for not being able to out him, but you knew when you did you would surely be killed, and that death would be slow and dragged out, unlike the HellHound when they took you. You had to feign such ignorance, as if you would not be able to tell who Crowley is.

"C-Crowley. S-stop it, p-please." You cast your eyes down, stuttering for effect, as you stumbled away from Lucifer.

"P-p-please! C-Crowley! Oh, give me a break, would you, Y/N? This is too good!" Lucifer was laughing incredibly loud, and it appeared mocking was his go-to stance, as his voice returned to his own and true one. You were nearly trembling all over, too afraid to even close your eyes.

Instead of trying to think of a witty comeback or trying to get a weapon, you swiftly moved your hand out of his and punched him in the nose, before taking off. You swung open the door and started screaming, "FIRE!", as you ran as fast as you managed down the stairs, hearing people exit their own rooms.

"Y/N!" You heard your name screamed from the second floor, as you were nearly outside. People began to flood around you, unaware to the fact that there was no fire. Panting, you looked both ways before sprinting across the street, making your way to the one place you knew. An entrance to Hell.

< - >

The door was locked in the abandoned warehouse. You went around to the back, finding a smashed beer bottle and making a slit down your wrist and smearing it on the door knob. A trickle slipped into the keyhole and unlocked it. You opened the door to find darkness. Sliding your hand against the door, you flipped on the light switch and locked the door behind you.

Your eyes first identified the wooden shelves laced with traps, poisons, spell books, and notebooks. You stepped in, the door shutting and locking behind you. Taking a breath, you scammed for any threats before deciding you had found sanctuary. Still, there was no Crowley.

Looking around, you made your way into the hallway, searching the rooms. The first was the only room with internet access, along with the only computer, that was new... back in the nineties. You stopped in the entrance to the bedroom further back, examining the silky black sheets that looked as if they had never been used. They had, of course.

Recalling the only time you've ever been here, you sat in the middle of the floor, daydreaming now that you were finally away from the literal devil who was trying to kill you and may have possibly murdered the King of Hell, your boyfriend, though you didn't use labels.

This was your third mission away from Hell, within four months. Mr. Crowley had just turned you back to human about two weeks before. You had forgotten quite a bit, especially the sweet, thick smell of the air in fall, as the leaves began to change colors and it gets chillier, something you hadn't noticed in your three months as a demon.

Your boss wanted you to grab some items from his warehouse in the busy New York. You hadn't grown up here and no longer had demon senses, so you had to fine your way around the hard way. All he did was give you an address and that was that.

Now, you stood in the front of a large building with three locks on the door. Mr. Crowley had never told you anything about needing keys. The windows looked worse than glass, meaning they would be difficult to break into, though you were sure that he did not want you to hurt his warehouse in any way, only to find a safe way in and out.

So you walked around to the back of the building, not noticing the thuds your boots made on the pavement. Once again, you found a door, but after twisting the knob, it refused to open. You let out a sigh in frustration and looked around for clues. After attempting to kick down the door, the only effect was a leg in some pain.

"What. The. Heck," you grumbled, wishing you had your phone, so you could leave an angry message. But of course, your boss had it.

"Well, Y/N, are you just going to stand there all day or go inside?" The British voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you saw the King of Hell - your boss. He stood with his arms crossed, a few feet away. His black coat was snugged tightly around his shoulders. You could barely see his tie near the collar. You forgot about his attitude problem for a moment, staring at him; his recently trimmed beard, the dark, always demeaning eyes, black clothes. Damn it, you followed orders as a demon. Now you were gawking at a demon hundreds of years your senior, and fifteen years elder, if you went by what his meat suit looked like.

"I-it's locked," you stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, propping out his hand to you. Your brow furrowed and you hesitantly set your hand on his. He pulled out a knife from his other pocket and your heart race increased in the cage. You let out a gasp in shock, drawing Crowley's eyes to yours.

"What? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just showing you how to unlock the door," your boss defended impatiently.

Mr. Crowley made a small cut on the front of your wrist, barely drawing blood. You watched it trail down your hand, but he caught it before the blood could reach the ground. The King of Hell continued to hold your hand as he lead you back to the door. He paused, staring you down.

"Don't ever let your blood touch the ground. It is the most important thing about you, humans that is. Blood is the key."

Your boss turned back around, dragging you with him. He lifted your hand over the door and let the blood slide into the doorknob. There was a click and he went inside, checking for any threats. You followed numbly, covering your wrist.

"Do you understand? This won't be your last time here, no matter what happens," he said, moving around, checking the books.

"Y-yes, Mr. Crowley," you confirmed, feeling heat in your cheeks.

He cast you a look that made you freeze. When he completely faced you, you insides churned, but not in a horrible way. He stared at you for a moment longer than you knew appropriate, but neither looked away, until he blinked and picked up a book, shaking away whatever he was thinking.

"Call me Crowley, love. Mister sounds too official. Think of us as friends, or business partners, if you prefer," said the King of Hell.

He flipped through some pages, quickly scanning over the words in foreign. You stood, frozen in place. A demon, a ruler of hell - was asking you to treat him like an equal. You would have thought you were dirt on his shoes, but when he looked at you like that - it was definitely not like looking at dirt.

Business partners.

Equals.

Friends.

Love.

<->

That quickly changed, you knew. Within about twenty minutes, you were a little more intimate than business partners. You stretched your arms and legs, mind steel playing the day you realized your feelings for Crowley. Finally, you got up and shut the door behind you, walking the hall.

Abandoned warehouses were supposed not to be occupied, yet you still felt creeped out by the eerie silence. You made your way into the kitchen and looked for any foods that might not be expired. When you caught the first whiff of something, your stomach growled loudly.

That made you realized that you hadn't had anything to eat in at least one day, and haven't had an actual meal in about a month. You opened cabinet doors, searching for the smell. After about five minutes, you still couldn't identify the smell.

Instead, you went to the bathroom and pinned your hair into a ponytail, retrying twice until it looked decent and not like a rat's nest. You checked to see that the water worked before stripping out of the clothes you had changed into just two hours ago. You turned on the hot water in the bathtub, and plugged the hole, waiting for it to fill.

You went into the smaller bedroom, that held a fair of amount of your clothes from a few months ago, and started searching for something clean. You settled for a pair of black jeans, a red tunic, and a leather jacket - one you had thought you'd lost. You folded the items and set them on the counter, slowly dipping yourself for the bath, taking a breath, waiting to feel relaxed.

There was a loud bang and two male voices began shouting.

#short story #supernatural #spnfandom #spn fic #spn imagine #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural story #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #crowley #crowley imagine #crowley x you #crowley x reader #crowley supernatural #lucifer #lucifer supernatural #the winchesters #winchesters

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sarah-bae-maas · 5 years ago

Text

Rowaelin AU!

AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Aelin and Rowan would always have met anyway

Masterlist AO3

***

“Dorian, as nice as this was, you need to leave.” Aelin smirked at the bare body next to hers, admiring the prince.

Dorian reached a hand over, smoothing it down her body and around dangerous places. “Of all the things I could do, why would I do that – Ah! Fuck.”He pulled his hand back, and held it to his chest as it burned. Aelin’s eyes widened, horrified at what she’d done. Before she could apologise for losing control of her magic once again, Dorian huffed and near-fled from the room, slamming the door in his wake. She didn’t even have a chance to apologise to her friend.

She was lucky her room was on the opposite of the castle to her parents, otherwise she’d fear they’d hear her escapades with the prince of Adarlan.

Maybe burning Dorian was a blessing in disguise. She did need to get some sleep – some fancy diplomats from Wendlyn, including some warrior that had been hired to train her, were arriving in the morning. She didn’t know if it would help at all, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. Even at twenty-one, her fire burned in uncontrollable ways. She thought maybe as she aged it might settle down, that somehow she’d magically be able to control it better, but it still flared up at the worst possible times. Like when Dorian tried to touch her. Luckily he was just a bit of fun, or this would be a serious problem.

She sighed, eager for tomorrow but dreading the likely-awful fae that would be her maker for the next few months. She decided that sleep would likely evade her the entire night, so she may as well find something to do with her time.

The halls were silent as she crept through them, her fae senses letting her know what ways to avoid so that she didn’t run into anyone else. Her body, tall and languid, thrived when in her fae form. Her human side was so erased that she’d fooled even the oldest of fae into thinking this was her who she really was.

Although only walking, a bead of sweat started to roll down her back. The air was dry as can be as a sweltering summer rolled in, the earth smelling of dead grass and dust. The back alleys she took to get to her favourite pub forwent pavement and let long-cemented clay guide her feet. The stone homes that lined the alleys were cool to touch, and she let them cool her fingers as she walked to her place.

Shady’s had been there longer than she’d been alive, and had been passed down through the same family like it was a royal crown. Not bustling, but not meagre, it was the perfect place to lose yourself. It also helped that it was smack-bang in the middle of a precinct the wealthy usually avoided. Dorian, for example, would never sully his fine shoes by walking on this dirt. Ha! What prisses. Anyone to scared to walk to Shady’s didn’t deserve it.

A little bell dinged as she entered, but no one looked up at her entrance. She had a hood over her head, or waist-length blonde hair braided back and hidden. Not many people were here at such an hour, only those who really wanted to forget themselves. Aelin ordered a pint and sat at her usual seat, scratching at the table.

Tomorrow will be fine. You can handle some old fae. You can do this! You’ve trained your whole life for this moment! Even if you can’t get grip on this, you’ll still be a Galathynius. Terrasen is your home. They’d never make you leave.

No matter what she told herself, she still felt butterflies roaring in her stomach. It wasn’t so much that she was nervous to meet her alleged mentor, but what would happen if the bastard couldn’t fix her.

It had been only a month ago that she and Aedion had overheard her parents discussing her fate if they couldn’t get her flames under control. Aelin could hear the love they felt for her in their voices, but it didn’t seem to matter as they considered shipping her off to Wendlyn, alone, until she was better. How could they suggest separating her from her family, from her life? Aelin could admit maybe there was someone in the Whitethorn lot who could teach her, but at what cost? To Aelin, spending potentially years away from those she loved simply wasn’t worth it.

Since then, her parents had pulled her aside and told her they were bringing someone to her, but Aelin knew exactly what that meant. This was her chance, and if she fucked it up, she’d be on the next ship out of there.

“You look awfully sad for someone so pretty. Maybe a drink will cheer you up?”

Aelin looked up at the low voice, surprised to see another fae. Although Terrasen was teeming with her kin, Shady’s wasn’t somewhere they frequented. He was tall, alarmingly so, and built like a castle. His skin was bronze and littered with scars, his dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. He was attractive – in the same way sin was.

“I’ve already got one.” Aelin pointed to the half-empty glass in front of her, her answer making the stranger smirk.

He leant in to speak again, but a male at the next table stopped him. “Give it a rest, Lorcan. She’s not interested, and you’re starting to look pathetic.” His voice was deep, the lilt to it making the butterflies in her stomach rest. He had a cloak on, an emerald so dark it was nearly black, and his hair was a neat and short silver, but slightly longer on the top. His skin was creamy but loved by the sun, and his eyes were a startling green. Although sitting, he clearly had some height behind him too, but unlike his friend he was not a castle; he was a palace. Elegant.

“She can answer for herself, stop being so sour,” the man, Lorcan, said.

Aelin was looking at the sitting man as she answered. “Your friend is right, I’m not interested.” She peeked a glance at him, and he smiled.

“Fair enough. And I’m going to consider that my cue.” Lorcan sauntered off to the corner and up the dingy stairs that led to the few rooms Shady’s hired out – usually by the hour.

Feeling intrigued and full of liquid courage, Aelin decided to sit at the table of the elegant fae. He barely glanced at her as she did. She rested her hand on her fist, squinting at him.

“What brings you to Orynth?” she asked.

“I’ve been to most corners of the world, yet Terrasen remained unexplored. The capital seemed like a good place to start.” He took a deep gulp of his drink, his fingers dotted with tattoos written in the old fae language.

Aelin, being a pervert, decided to breath deep, wanting to inhale the scent of the man in front of her. She frowned, the pine and snow from Terrasen too strong to get a read on him, despite winter being long gone.

“Who is your companion?”

“The brute that just left?” Finally, a small smile on those lips. “He’s like a brother. A very annoying, overprotective brother that won’t stop hitting on any woman with a pulse. I don’t imagine you came here to be seduced.”

“It’s not usually on my list of weekday activities. There are plenty of reasons I come here, although I’ll admit love isn’t one of them.”

A laughed lowly, the sound like the rumble of a dragon before it takes flight. “You must be young, talking about love as if it’s real.”

“You must be either old or bitter to believe it’s not. Or just very unlucky.” Must be bitter, there’s no way a male that looked like this had trouble finding women to warm his bed.

“Hm. Maybe.” His drink was empty, but he didn’t move from the table. “You been here your whole life?”

“I’ve been to every country on this damned continent, but this is home, always will be. I have no desire to leave. You make me think you’ve never been anywhere that’s made you want to stay.” She didn’t know what made her say it, but she could somehow feel the truth in her words. He looked at her, his eyes saying how do you know me so well, yet not at all.

“Be careful, soon you’ll know my most intimate secrets,” he playfully warned, a spark lighting his eyes.

“How deep can I go before you’ll stop me?”

“I don’t know, shall we see?”

Aelin grinned at the challenge. “Parents?”

“Dead since I was a child. Next.”

“No siblings then.”

“Took them nearly a thousand years just to have me. You?”

“Destroyed my mother’s uterus. What’s your profession?”

“Soldier, mostly blacksmith. If I were to guess, I’d say you were a handmaiden.”

“Pianist. I play every week at the grand theatre, if I had my way it would be every day. Favourite place you’ve been?”

“To war.”

“How incredibly savage.” She leant closer to him. “There hasn’t been a war in Terrasen for hundreds of years, won’t you get bored being here?”

“Lorcan has forced me to rest, said it’s best for my mental state; I couldn’t disagree more.”

“Do you have a second form?”

“Hawk.”

“What does it feel like to fly?”

He paused, considering his answer. His head tilted to the side, a strand of hair falling onto his face. Aelin resisted the urge to push it back. “Freedom, in its purest form. In the sky, there is everything and nothing all at once. No one to answer to but the wind.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Unfortunately.” He looked at her keenly. “You ever have your heart broken, since you’re such the optimist?”

“I’ve never cared for someone enough to have them hurt me.”

“You’ve been with a human tonight; I can still smell him on you.” From any other mouth, the words would have made her cringe, and then run off to tell Elide so they could laugh together. Instead, they sent a shiver down her spine. Dorian had been forgotten the moment she’d laid eyes on the male in front of her.

“Something tells me you don’t care.”

____

He couldn’t take her to his room since Lorcan was there, so he held her against a wall in a closet. His hands were under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him, setting her alight. It took every spare thought to keep her fire under control as he kissed her, his tongue an artist as it painted her lips, neck, chest. She moaned as one of his hands wandered up the back of her shirt, her cloak long since dropped to the floor with his.

“You know this place better than me,” he said between kisses. “How likely are we to get caught?”

Aelin growled in response, summoning him closer. His shirt, so pristine for a blacksmith, was in her way. In her haste and forgetting her own strength, she tore it in two, leaving it in shreds in the floor. It only spurred him on, and he turned them around so he could sit her on a bench.

The sex wasn’t graceful, but by the Gods was it good. He had her clothes off in minutes, and she had never felt so aroused in her life. It was like every nerve she had was being played by his magic; like she was the piano and he was the master musician. It was quick, his tempo perfect to hit the exact spot it needed to every time, but he also had a stamina unseen in the human boys she had been with. He was a man; a full-blooded fae male that was biologically engineered to make her moan so hard she forgot her own name. At one point, when the tips of her hair had started to curl with flames, she nearly shoved him away mid-thrust. But as he looked at her fire unfazed, he simply doused them with a pinch of his own magic. Knowing she could truly let loose, she gave all that she had to him.

And by the Gods it was the best she’d ever had.

They were panting on the floor of a broom closet, him big enough that he had to prop his knees up. She was curled into his side, leaving thank you kisses alongside his body. He was puffed, and let out an airy laugh. “You should stop, or I’ll have to take you again.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to go for round, what was it? Six?” To let him know, if it wasn’t already obvious, that she was joking, she left an open mouth kiss to each of his abs. He was the best thing she had ever tasted.

Aelin looked up to the window the size of a plate and groaned. The sky was starting to lighten, and soon the palace would be awake and she’d have to meet the Wendlyn convoy sent by the Whitethorns. “But you’re right. I have to go.”

She stood up, and trying not to step on him, redressed. He eventually did the same, but not after admiring her body greedily.

“Last question, will I see you again?” she asked, not hopeful. Shady’s attracted transients.

“I’m staying here for the next week at the least. Do with that what you will.”

She grinned, kissing him once more before running away from the pub, drunker than any alcohol could make her. It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she remembered she hadn’t asked him the most important question of all – his name.

___

“Elide, I’m serious. It was mind blowing. Like, I could have set that building on literal fire. I nearly did at one stage!” Aelin whispered furiously as she sped-walked to the main hall. She was late, as per usual, but at least she had Elide at her side. It wouldn’t be so awkward with her there.

“Please, pleasestop talking.” And Aedion was there too, and in genuine pain from their conversation.

“Where can I get a man like that? You mentioned he had a brother? I’ll pay you to take me with you tonight.”

“Won’t it seem desperate if I go to find him less than a day after I left him? And I think that’s prostitution.”

“Aelin I do so much for you. The least you can do in return is help me get dicked down to the nth degree.”

“I’m going to impale myself on my sword.”

“Shut up, Aedion!”Elide and Aelin said simultaneously, before giggling to themselves.

She nearly tripped on her gown, the green organza ruffles on her dress a pain in the ass to walk in. She could also feel her crown starting to tip off her head, but Elide quickly grabbed it and pinned it back before it could. The sight of the three of them running towards the hall doors made the sentries guarding it laugh as they put their fingers to their lips, silently shushing them.

“They’re all in there, Princess, they’re just waiting for you.”

Aelin put a fake smile on her face, dreading who she’d find waiting behind that door. She stood herself in front of it, Elide to her right and Aedion to her left. She smoothed down the front of her dress, making sure everything was perfect to give the best, first royal impression she could. She had to impress the old fae that was to train her, lest she be sent to Wendlyn. Her hair was fine, her crown straight. Her dress was fitted in all the right areas but flared out to give the impression of modesty. Her favourite jewels were on, and her shoes – oh fuck, she’d forgotten to put her shoes on.

The sentries opened the door, not giving her a chance to panic.

“Introducing, the crown princess Aelin accompanied by her destined bloodsworn, Prince Aedion Ashryver, and handmaiden Lady Elide Lochan.” The booming voice welcomed her as she walked through the double doors, the people in the room dropping to their knees to meet her. The walls were lined with familiar and unfamiliar faces. All but her parents, sitting on their thrones, and one other stayed standing. A male, tall with silver hair, eyes the colour of evergreens. He was standing on the steps leading to the thrones, clad in armour and navy and black fabrics, clothing fine enough for a king.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Princess Aelin, might I please introduce Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, your new mentor.”

#rowaelin #elorcan #fanfic #AU!#sjm #throne of glass #kingdom of ash

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vagrantblvrd · 4 years ago

Note

so i started watching The Old Guard because of your posts and mashes so well with the Immortal!FAHC so i was wondering, what are your thoughts on that, like who is the oldest, which era is each member of the crew from, how did they die the first time, and so on :3

Yesssss. >:D

But, no I hope you liked it, friend!

The first time I watched I was thinking that too!

As to Immortal!FAHC I have many thoughts on it from before watching this movie.

I’m also no good at history, and get my eras mixed up? (Like oh my God I had that intense focus thing going on as a kid for a while for WWII warplanes after watching Memphis Belle with my dad, but aside from that, yeah???)

(All of this is to say please excuse inaccuracies as most of what I know is from media and Wikipedia. Also, some of these are more well thought out than others, so pls to keep that in mind.)

Presented in no particular order:

My favorite take on it though has Gavin as the oldest, right? (Pretends he isn’t, but the others find out over time because he stops trying to hide it when he realizes it’s not an issue with them the way it’s been with other immortals he’s run across for whatever reason.)

Born during the Bronze Age and the person he was back then was just awful, horrible little asshole without redeeming qualities to speak of whatsoever.

Came from a wealthy/important family which is something that’s people can still tell to this day even if he’s not a bastard about it anymore.

He died alone and unloved (no reason to love the person he was back then, something he freely admits to anyone asking who wants the real answer) to thieves/bandits or some wasting illness, idk.

From there he learns how not to be a complete piece of shit and honestly, it takes him a long goddamned time.

Lifetimes, really. (Not his, of course, but as time goes and all that.)

Watching and learning from the people around him from the poor farmers and so on who take pity on this dirty traveler on the verge of starving to death to emperors and kings and queens and other puffed up royalty and such.

Favored Italy and England enough that he’s woven both into the Golden Boy’s persona with the accent and references to this grandfather of his that he makes to people who don’t know he’s an immortal.

(Definitely has ties to the mafia, if not served as the head of the Italian mafia for a time, making a comeback as a long-lost/bastard descendant recently discovered with a remarkable likeness to a former mafia head who’s since moved to Los Santos, because of course he did.)

To be fair, he’s still learning with the Fakes, found family and all, and he’s the happiest he can remember being? (Because sappy feels and the whatnot.)

Jack I picture as a viking, because the beard and uh, not much else reason for that line of thinking.

Just this great warrior/peacemaker among his people who dies in battle. (Possibly betrayed because jealous fellow viking at how well-liked and respected Jack is and so on.)

He’s “mellowed” over time, likes to play friendly and affable and so on, will let himself be insulted if it serves the crew’s interests and such? But oh, wow, watch out when he’s angry? (Especially if it’s due to someone hurting someone he cares about.)

Ryan I see as medieval times with the whole kings and queens and knights. (Possibly due to the influence of Kings AU???)

Noble born and served as a knight before being killed in battle or spot of ~intrigue by a political rival/enemy.

Totally got his revenge before realizing the kind of trouble he’d be in if he tried to reclaim his life - unnatural and all - and ended up living a nomadic lifestyle after that. (A vagabond, if you will, because that never not stops being funny to me.)

He gets tangled up with thieves and the like for a while, did some murder for hire that’s been his main career path ever since.

(And okay, if one of the thieves he worked with for a while was this skinny bastard with a big nose and the most ridiculous questions that’s possibly a thing that happened, because reasons. And Freewood.)

Michael I see coming in around the Revolutionary War?

Family moved to the colonies when he was a kid and so on. Signing on to fight against the British and dying in a battle against them, still remembers what it felt like bleeding out in the mud. Has nightmares about it sometimes.

There used to be this whole Thing about it when he met Gavin whenever he leans hard on the British bit that gets even more involved after Jeremy joins the crew.

(Also, also. If Michael and Jeremy collude together against that British asshole, well. That’s a thing that happens. Along with smooches, because none of your goddamned business about that, okay?)

Jeremy comes in during the whole cowboy era, because of the Rimmy Tim getup and I think it’s hilarious as hell.

Originally from Boston (hence the dumb running joke with Gavin and Michael)and moved to the ~wild west as a kid because Adventure and then shenanigans?

Died in a train heist gone horribly wrong and just. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but since he mentioned once it has something to do with his fear of heights, just.

Yikes, you know?

Also, also, the whole bit about cars becoming a thing just before he died (I’m trying not to make a joke about it being of dysentery on a certain trail, but it’s so hard), which is part of why he’s got a Thing about cars now.

(Vroom-vroom fast and that armada of his.)

Trevor, okay, Trevor.

Based pretty much on what his GTA V character used to wear and Trevor himself makes me think of Prohibition-era gangster along with Alfredo?

He and Alfredo started out as street kids in Chicago and the fastest/easiest way to make money for kids like them involved the mob and it was just.

A thing that happened? The two of them coming up in the ranks and BFFs (possibly something more, who can say???) before getting gunned down by rivals one day.

Would have woken up together if the morgue hadn’t fucked up so they went a few years thinking the other had died before accidentally running into one another again, because reasons.

They’ve been together ever since, a pain in Geoff’s ass before he managed to get them to sign on with the crew.

(Trevor kept the fashion sense he had from back then, because of course he did. Doesn’t always dress like he used to, but sometimes he gets the urge and Alfredo laughs at him for it, but he never says a word against it because Trevor looks good like that, you know?)

Speaking of Geoff?

Born around the time Trevor and Fredo were running from Elliott Ness and his Untouchables.

Lied about his age to join the Army and served overseas in the European theater in WWII. Infantry, saw his share of battles that took the shine out of things (what there was to the stupid he kid he was) really damn fast.

Actually survived through the end of the war and made his way back to the US, did some odd jobs here and there for a while as he tried to figure things out.

Listened to the wrong friend (or right one?) and ended up working for some criminal-types, got dragged into the life before he knew it.

Managed to stay alive, learning the ins and outs of being a criminal and all that up until his luck ran out and he ran afoul of some corrupt cops.

Woke up in a ditch somewhere coughing up bullets and freaked out as hell - anyone would be - and then, uh.

Kind of kept going?

Figured shit out as he went, and ran into Jack sometime in the fifties, sixties? Whenever and it was them for the longest damn time before Geoff got the idea to set up in Los Santos for a bit, see how that worked out for them.

(Regret. So much regret because look at all the assholes fucking up his life after that, you know? Really, Jack, stop laughing at him because you’re part of the problem, jackass.)

Lindsay I see as being either relatively young - died in the 80s, 90s? - or as old as if not older than Gavin, depending on the day? (My day??? Idk, I love both a hell of a lot.)

Died in a bank robbery when the asshole responsible for setting the charges to get into the vault miscalculated how much explosives were needed and it was just.

Messy.

Super, super messy.

Fiona is absolutely the youngest, someone Gavin ran into in Europe when he pulled the thing about being his own descendant.

Met her in Paris on his way to the US when she got so goddamned angry at him for accusing her of picking his pocket (a thing she totally did, btw), but she cased such a scene she managed to escape before the cops or Gavin could do anything about it.

She dies in Liberty City working for some assholes who never deserved her, and Gavin happens to be there when she makes the mistake of picking pockets to get enough money to get the hell out of the city before anyone realizes she’s not as dead as she could be?

Terrible disguise of baseball hat, big sunglasses and a scarf over her face, but her response at being caught out as a thief is too similar for Gavin not to realize it’s her.

And then, you know.

He mentions this crew out in Los Santos that would be interested in someone like her? Not as a pickpocket because she’s clearly awful at it - “Hey!” - but they’ve chatted a bit and she mentioned something about sniping - or maybe just perked up when he brought it up.

(Visiting a sniper he used to work with and so on.)

Anyway, why not look them up if she’s ever in Los Santos?

And then she does, of course, and then shenanigans???

Also, also, some of them definitely crossed paths over the years. Ran into one another and are all, “Oh, this asshole again,” maybe work together for a while before going their own ways

They all have this story about meeting Gavin for the first time that no one, no one puts together for the longest damn time.

Like.

How the hell could Jack have met Gavin back when he was being a viking when Gavin claims he died in the 60s?

(Claimed to know the Beatles personally, because of course he did.)

Ryan and that thief he met that one time, got all these FEELS for him that had them being partners in crime for a long, long time before circumstanced forced them apart.

...And then met him again a century or so later and on opposite sides before Gavin did a heroic “sacrifice” to save him at the expense of his current cover. Like, they totally picked up where they left off afterward, because not that stupid? But they got maybe fifteen, twenty years after that together before they were forced apart by circumstances again.

Pattern repeats for a long goddamned time before they happen to meet up again around the time Geoff and Jack get to Los Santos and so far their luck seems to be holding steady. (I just. Man, I love the idea of them being the kind of assholes who are stupid in love with one another but the universe at large is like, lol and tosses a wrench into the works every once in a while for the hell of it and them eventually finding one another again. Because DELICIOUS ANGST.)

Or Michael when he was marching to the next battle and some asshole asking him the stupidest question imaginable next to him? (British accent, sure, but he wasn’t the only one on their side with one, so yes.)

Jeremy and that one Pinkerton agent that one time???

Lindsay and that asshole working for a rival gang who didn’t kill her even though he could have? (When she asks sometime after joining the Fakes he’s just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ even though he didn’t like the asshole he was working for at the time and actually engineered the bastard’s death, but yeah, sure, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .

Fiona, well.

Everyone knows that story because she’s like “YOU MOTHERFUCKER,” when she sees him at the penthouse the first time he strolls through the door after she joins the crew.

And just.

Yes.

They put the pieces together at some point and are like son of a bitch because they figured Gavin’s story about being a beatnik or whatever he said he was when he died was the truth?

And Gavin’s like, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ because technically it wasn’t a lie.

He was a beatnik when he died in the 60s, it’s just that that wasn’t the first time he died.

Eventually he tells them about it in bits and pieces, because they don’t push, demand an explanation. (God knows they’ve all got their secrets and reasons for them and such.)

He tells them because he trusts them and they prove he’s right to by not betraying his trust in them and I’m just, like. Full of FEELS right now, so yes.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALSO.

Bonus?

But I seriously love the idea of Meg being the inspiration behind the Morrigan.

Just.

Yes.

And if she happens to meet Ryan and Gavin while those two idiots are thieving their way across Europe sometime? That’s definitely a thing that happened.

Also, also, you know she checks up on them in Los Santos from time to time, because old friends (possibly more?) and gets along with Lindsay and Fiona like a house on fire.

Sometimes literally, the three of them >:DDDDDDDD while Geoff’s back at the penthouse shut up in his room because no, no, do not tell him how much of his city’s on fire, Trevor, no.

Idk whether I like former Roman soldier Dan or medieval knight Dan, but whichever one it is he and Gavin go way, way back and they delight in shenanigating about almost as much as Meg and her terrors do in that Geoff is very much :(((((((((((((((((((((((((( when they get together because some part of the city is guaranteed to be on fire at any given point.

#ragehappy #freewood #jackeoff #alfreyco #jeremichael #immortal!FAHC au #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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jadedragoness · 4 years ago

Text

Review: Peace Talks

First Read Through Reaction

Now staring off, knowing that the book was essentially part one of two did mean that I went in expecting that there would be plot lines that wouldn’t be resolved. I did NOT expect that nearly zero of the plot lines would be resolved, at all. Yikes. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. I did. But it felt like there were 50 to 60 pages missing that should have been in the story to at least wrap up minor plot lines before heading into ‘Battle Ground’.

Warning: Full of Spoilers

Such the arrival of the Outsiders those Cornerhounds. Um… Outsiders and at no point that Harry wonder why in the hell they were called to Chicago? Or why they were targeting him and Ebenezer. Seriously, unless the author totally forgot we know that Outsiders can only be called by mortals. So human wizards brought them. So was it someone in the ‘Black Council’ or was it the Formor, since we know from previous stories that they grab humans and mind-whammy them and also modify them. And we know that they’ve been pretty focused on grabbing minor practioners for a couple of years now.

Hell, even just knowing why Thomas attacked the svartalf King would have been good to know in the book even if we don’t find out who it was yet.

That being said lets start of with things I didn’t like.

Thing Which I Wasn’t All that Pleased About:

1. Butters in that threesome relationship.

Now, let me explain, it’s not because its a poly relationship. I don’t even twitch over how Justine and Thomas include others in the sexual part of their relationship. It’s because I kept wondering if Marci was even into dudes. As far as I knew she was only into girls. And now she’s suddenly bi?

What the hell?

I think my reaction has a lot to do with how skewed the sexual orientation gradient in shown among Named characters. You have straight men. Straight women. Bi women who are shown to be blatantly into men and women…and that’s it, now.

No lesbian women with zero interest in men. No bi men. No gay men. No asexual characters. No trans characters. No gender fluid people.

I know that this due to the author’s eye and while it hasn’t irritated me much in the past as we keep getting more and more books with more newly introduced characters the lack is becoming more and more glaring to me. Especially, as I have drifted into reading other series that manage to be way more inclusive about this sort of thing in great and amazing ways *sighs happily over Rivers of London series*. And I don’t just mean in passing with random nameless scenery people that never talk which have popped up in the Dresden Files but with actual characters that have names, dialogue and contribute to the series.

So it really, really annoys me that Marci went from being the only lesbian who is a named character to joining the horde of bi women in the DF verse.

Okay, so its not really a Butters issue to much as a grumble about the spectrum of gender and sexually needing better representation.

*grumbles* Step up your game, Butcher.

I will add that I’m head-canoning that actually the relationship here is Butters with Andi, Andi with Butter and Marci, and Marci with Andi. That pretty much with Butters running around being the new Knight Andi didn’t like how her boyfriend wasn’t paying attention and gave Butters the ultimatum of letting Marci in as Andi’s girlfriend or they broke up.

… yeah, I’m totally liking that spin way, way better.

2. That Marcone took forever to show up! ARGH! I love him ok.

Considering how early he was name dropped in the story the amount of time it took him to show up… Jim Butcher is a damn Marcone-tease. *glares hotly in author’s direction*

3. I don’t like it that Murphy is so hurt. I don’t hate it. I think I’m just uneasy about the future implications.

Having reread the entire series before reading ‘Peace Talks’ I fully expected some lingering injury but not to that level. I’m actually worried about her chances of surviving any upcoming battle, and not just in Battle Ground. There’s even more danger coming down the pipeline in future books and she won’t let herself stay ‘safe’ when she could be watching Harry’s back… so its a worrying problem.

Now if she died I have no doubt that her being recruited to be a Valkerie is an option. But then I remembered how those warrior women go out into the world with ‘clients’ and of the two we’ve seen they’ve been attached to ‘monsters’ aka Lara and Marcone.

Unless, the payment isn’t cash and she can be attached to Harry. *hums in thought*

But then I have to wonder how much Murphy would accept that role. She’s also a pretty devout Catholic as this book reminded us so that is also something that would make her say no to the offer.

4. That the younger Wardens who had so looked up to Harry being so damned suspicious… ow. That hurt. I may have teared up and sniffled into a tissue thinking about it. And then sobbed because so much of it came from Carlos… Carlos! The man went into the Deeps with Harry! Ouch.

5. Rudolph… that roach.

Ugh, I’ve had the disturbing thought that now that magic and the supernatural on the path to being exposed to all of humanity, scared humanity too, that will end up with a resurgence of a new Inquisition and the killing of anything eldritch. And you know that Rudolph would definitely be in it. *shudders in disgust* Creep.

BTW I totally don’t believe that Rudolph answers to Marcone. It doesn’t make sense as to why he was so pushy go get Harry during ‘Changes’. I had thought he was answering to the Red Court but with them being taken out of the picture… now I wonder if he isn’t answerable to the Black Council.

Things I Did Not Expect:

1. Damn… when Ebenezer sent that spell through Harry and ‘killing’ I was so shocked even though I was pretty sure there was a twist coming. Mostly because of what it says about Ebenezer.

Ebenezer actions killed Harry.

Sure it was a fake body that brought no harm to the real Harry. But if Harry hadn’t thought ahead? If he hadn’t used his brain to ask Molly to create a fake? Eb would have killed his own grandson.

Sure it was an accident but it could so easy have resulted in a dead Harry. I was crying so hard I wondered if my eyeballs were loosening in their sockets. Argh.

2. Bonea…. Harry your naming skills are simply weird. I’m so glad that Susan named Maggie.

Although Bonnie is a pretty great nickname.

Thinks I Found Utterly Hilarious

1. The line about the best offense being a T-Rex? Gold. Pure gold.

2. When Harry figured out there are angels in the hilt of the Swords of the Cross and Butter’s immediate reaction of horror because he’d accidentally laundered the hilt, giving it a ride in a washing machine.

OMG! I had the instant image of a miniature angel screaming and growing dizzy when going through the spin cycle.

I know that makes no sense but that’s where my mind went, okay.

3. The conjuritis. Omg, it’s so gross with all the ectoplasm leaking from Harry’s nose but it’s sooooo funny. Also the way he kept getting the ‘aren’t you too old for this’ from Ebenezer and then Lara made me giggle even harder.

Then I thought: dude, it’s like chicken pox, something you got as a kid but if you never had it you get it when exposed later in life. So one of his kids has it. Probably Maggie too.

4. When Sanya pretended to have his hand lopped off. I straightened up and was so worried Sanya had lost a hand. Then when I realized he was pretending to freak out Butters and Harry I admit to laughing way too hard. Got me too.’

Also there’s no way that Sanya was actually defeated there. He’s younger and better trained then Butters, I don’t care how light (Heh) the new sword is. He definitely threw that fight to test his hunch.

5. Murphy’s inability to handle being flirted on with a red-headed warrior woman. Sooooo funny. I mean, Murphy could have said a number of things such as ‘I’m exclusive.’ or ‘I’m not interested in women.’ But she just floundered. Heh heh.

6. I continue to find it completely hilarious that Lara, a couple of centuries old vampire, seems to keep learning a lot of power moves from Marcone.

Such as: having trained fighters that are NOT food, well… mostly. Having those mines installed in the walls. And now hiring a Valkerie of her very own.

I keep thinking, yeah, there’s no way she’d win in a fight against Marcone because there’ s no way that Marcone has let slip all of his tricks.

Things I Really, Really Liked:

1. Marcone. Everything Marcone. *heart-eyes*

And then he proves why he’s so damned scary by standing up to the Titan. Then to the ghouls. Then after proving his bad-ass quotient if off the charts he gets everyone organized to fight.

Yeeessss… It proves to me that when it comes to protecting Chicago he is actually the best person after Harry. Hell, in some ways he’s better than Harry. Now, I’m not saying he’s a white knight or anything like that. Just that he has the intelligence, the ruthlessness, the will, the power and the men to provide the most protection to the city’s mortal denizens. At least when there’s a war raging with multiple enemies who will be attacking at various points.

And oh, I can’t wait to see how he’s going to get revenge for the death of his people. Omg, he’s going to kill the Formor so hard. *goes starry eyed thinking about more Marcone*

But why did he have to appear so late in the book?! *wails in a heart-rending fashion*

There better be a ton more Marcone in the next book! *makes desperate gimme gimme hands*

No, I don’t have a Marcone addiction… I can stop anytime I want to. *sneaks off to mainline some “Even Hand” straight into the brain*

2. The return of Goodman Grey! Oh, I hope he’s around a lot! I’ve really grown to like him.

<b>Things Which Blew My Mind or Were Just Freaking Awesome: </b>

1. Dad!Harry is actually the most amazing Harry. Forget the magic flinging and the fire storms… this is the best Harry.

Just the way he takes care of his kids…. *turns to mush like ectoplasm*

2. Murphy and Harry are finally together! Yay! Yay! Hip hip hooray!

Now, I’m a rather shameless Marcone/Dresden fic writer, but as I never ever expect this to be canon I’m content to write it as fanfic for my own sense of delight. However when it comes to canon I’m full on board with the Karrin and Harry relationship. Be it friendship or romantic, I think its great.

3. Marcone… that is all.

Random Speculation

1. I find myself wondering about Ebenezer’s rage against vampires. And my brain muttered this theory: Maybe Harry’s grandmother was killed by White Court vampires.

Whoa.

It would explain the vitrolic rage.

And if Lara was involved it would also explain her flash of shame.

We don’t know anything about Harry’s grandmother, not even her name. So… that’s a thought.

2. River Shoulders teaching Harry.

Oh man, oh man, I hope Harry learns shape-shifting.

And thinking about it I had to wonder if the animal-shifting had anything to do with knowing the animal in question which of course made me think…

Harry should learn to shape-shift into a T-Rex.

He already knows how one is put together and the mind of one. And he knows that it’s possible to add extra mass to a shift from the Nevernever in the form of ectoplasm… so

Harrysarous Rex, baby…. I may have to write a fic with this premise.

3. Oh, if it’s possible to make a ectoplasmic body can Harry learn to make one for Bonea? After all Maggie would probably really enjoy getting to play with her little sister that way. Even if Harry can’t do it all the time and it wouldn’t last longer than a day. That would be delightful.

4. Okay, not this is more head-canon than speculation but… considering how hard Harry has been made to be analogous to Merlin I can’t help but wonder if Marcone is suppose to be Arthur’s analogue. So wielding Amorrachius *coughs*Excalibur*coughs* would make sense.

…it’s not just my Marcone-love talking dammit.

Speaking of Merlin, I’m convinced that he’s behind this whole ‘starborn’ thing. Seriously, otherwise its way too convenient that a wizard with that power is born every 666 years. It smacks of a spell.

And if that’s the case it also feeds into my pet theory that the whole reason we have Outsides at the Gates is because Merlin was the schmuck who drew them to our reality in the first place. And everything surrounding the war with the Outsiders are his attempts to try to fix what he broke.

*lost in pondering thoughts*

Things I Have Questions About

1. Did Harry forget he has The Ways Map from his mother? I would have thought he would have figured out a way (heh) to get to the island somehow. He was on it for so long I thought for sure he’d spend time exploring it. Also we knew from ‘Skin Game’ that even tiny factors can change where the Way goes in the Nevernever. I doubt the ENTIRE island has Ways that lead to a bad place. Especially for Harry now that he’s the Warden.

2. Also why didn’t Harry get Lea to help him? After all unless she’s moved it since ‘Changes’ her garden is still on the other side of the sub-basement.

3. What did Lara use that first favor from Mab on? *eyes her suspiciously*

4. Where are the Za Lord’s Guard? *wondering about what been happening with Lacuna and Toot-toot*

5. If Harry gets kicked out of the White Council (good riddance, since they haven’t exactly been all that helpful lately) can he get enough signatures to be added as a member of the Accords in his own right? After all being Warden of Demonreach has got to mean a lot to the older members.

Then he wouldn’t be reliant on Mab’s protection.

I can’t help but hope this proves to be the case, especially if in ‘Battle Ground’ Harry ends up taking down that Titan. Because he needs as much protection and influence he can gather if he’s no longer White Council to protect himself, his people and his kids. Especially if he eventually gets rid of that Winter Knight mantle like I hope he does.

6. How in the hell (pardon the pun) did evil demon Sasquatch survive being turned to mush by Hade’s Ice Gate? Or the shades that were part of the security system that almost got Harry?

*frowns* The only reason I can think of would be the coin of Ursiel being the factor. I doubt a Fallen Angel is allowed to stick around in the Greek realm of the afterlife.

7. WHERE IS BOB?! Seriously, if Butters doesn’t give him back...

#peace talk spoilers #the dresden files #john marcone #full of speculation #can't wait for more #harry blackstone copperfield dresden #karrin murphy #spoilers #the dresden files spoilers

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9worldstales · 4 years ago

Link

INTERESTING POINTS TO PONDER FROM INTERVIEWS 7

Interviews might not remain forever available or not be easy to find so I’ve decided to link them and transcribe the points I find of some interest so as to preserve them should the interview had to end up removed.

It’s not complete transcriptions, just the bits I think can be relevant but I wholeheartedly recommend reading the whole thing.

And of course I also comment all this because God forbid I’ll keep silent… :P

Title: EXCLUSIVE: Screenwriter Don Payne Talks Thor!

Author: Elisabeth Rappe

Published: Feb 23, 2011

BEST BITS FROM THE INTERVIEW

ABOUT THE SCRIPT FOR “THOR”

Thor has seen a lot of screenwriters come and go, and I imagine that led to some very drastic changes to the character and story. Can you talk at all about that process, and what changes were made over the course of project? (For example, I know rumors swirled very early that the Thor movie would be an origin story with his alter ego, Dr. Donald Blake!) How did the script come together? At what point in the process did you come on board, and what was your contribution?

Don Payne: First off, for the record, the final, official WGA writing credits for the film are “Story by J. Michael Straczynski and Mark Protosevich, Screenplay by Ashley Edward Miller & Zack Stentz and Don Payne.” Any other writing credits you might have seen elsewhere are either outdated or incorrect.

As far as how the script came together, J. Michael Straczynski and Mark Protosevich worked on the project before Kenneth Branagh came on board to direct. At that point, Ken and Marvel sat down and decided exactly what kind of story they wanted to tell. They took everything that had been written so far and figured out a game plan. Marvel then hired Ashley Miller and Zack Stentz, and, as I understand it, those guys worked pretty intensely on the screenplay over the course of four or five months. After they left the project, Marvel hired me, and I stayed on all the way through the end — about a year and a half total. For the first eight months, I continued to develop, rewrite, and restructure the screenplay, bringing in new characters and new scenes. I worked closely with Ken and Marvel throughout the process, and, as the cast came together, I worked with Ken and the actors during rehearsals here and in London.

Then, once production started in January 2010, I was on set writing every day, both at the studio in Manhattan Beach and on location in New Mexico, and continued to work through post-production.

I’d like to say more about how the script has evolved since the very beginning of the development process, but I don’t want to spoil anything. I hate spoilers. (Mostly because I’m weak, and I can’t resist them myself!) But I’ll be happy to talk about it all after the film comes out. What I can say is that this really has been the greatest writing experience of my life. I’ve never worked harder or been as closely involved day-to-day on a project as I have on Thor.

And as far as Thor’s alter-ego goes, as Kevin Feige has said, people looking for a Donald Blake reference might just find one.

ABOUT THOR’S JOURNEY AND FAMILY

I know you’ve worked with iconic superheroes before, was Thor more or less daunting to deal with? He’s a real anachronistic, medieval character. How do you bring that into the modern world? Is it ultimately the same as trying to make any superhero realistic and relatable?

Don Payne: Well, I think the challenges are pretty apparent. As you say, Thor’s a unique character, and it’s an unusual story we’re telling. When you’ve got something like Captain America, the premise is easier to get right away — he’s a superhero fighting Nazis in World War II. Whereas we’ve got an extra-dimensional being once worshipped as a god by the ancient Norse who’s banished to earth and stripped of his powers to learn humility, all set amidst the Shakespearean intrigue of a dysfunctional royal family. It’s not as simple to grasp.

You just have to find the things that make Thor timeless and relatable as a character. It certainly helps that he’s charismatic and likeable, albeit flawed. He’s banished for good reason, but I think people will want to go on the journey with him and root for him to find redemption — particularly with Chris Hemsworth’s performance.

I think what really makes Thor relatable are the family relationships. There’s a lot of dysfunction in the House of Odin. Thor’s got a hard-ass father and a jealous brother. But for all of Thor’s hardheaded rebelliousness, he, like Loki, is really just trying to live up to his father’s expectations and make him proud. I think people can relate to that father and son dynamic.

ABOUT SIF, THE WARRIORS THREE AND HEIMDALL

What can you tell me about the parts popular Asgardians such as Heimdall, the Warriors Three, and Sif play in the overall plot? Will we see more of them in other Marvel movies? Is there potential for a Sif spinoff, as she has enjoyed in the comics?

Don Payne: The Warriors Three and Sif are very much like they are in the comics. They’re fierce warriors who are fiercely dedicated to their friend Thor. They’ll follow him anywhere — which might not always be the wisest thing. Also, as in the comics, Heimdall is bound by duty and honor to guard his post on the Rainbow Bridge, and he’s got serious issues with anyone who tries to cross it who would endanger Asgard.

As far as seeing these characters in other movies or their own spin-off films, I think Marvel already has a full slate of projects in development, so I imagine we’ll only see them as part of the Thor franchise. But you never know. I’d ask Kevin Feige if I were you!

ON THE HUMOUR OF THE MOVIE

One element that jumped out at me in the trailer was the comedy – it felt very light and natural, not corny. (Jane reacting to Thor’s name, for example, or the coffee cup scene.) How did you strike the balance between the comedy and drama of the piece? Were there moments where you thought “Ok, this goes too far with the fish-out-of-water joke”?

Don Payne: Well, my hope is we’ve included just enough humor in the script, but no more than that. This isn’t a comedy, and that’s not what I was hired to do. It’s an action film, and, as in all action films, you need those fun moments. But you have to do it sparingly. You don’t want things to get silly.

One thing we all agreed about early on was to make sure we were careful about how we approached the fish-out-of-water moments. We didn’t want Thor to come to earth and suddenly become an idiot for comic relief. Even without his powers, he’s the same person on earth as he was in Asgard — a smart, headstrong warrior. He’s a being from an advanced race who’s used to travelling to other worlds and thinking on his feet. We didn’t want him looking at a television set and going, “What is yon magic box, with phantoms that move and speak inside it?”

Still, he’s on unfamiliar turf, and there’s some fun in that. You just have to find the right balance. You also want to have fun moments and dialogue during the action sequences, so you put those into the script. Of course, those bits are the easiest to cut in editing if you find the jokes are too much or too distracting. You can pick and choose.

ON JANE AND DARCY

I particularly liked how Jane and Darcy react to Thor’s arrival. They aren’t immediately throwing themselves at him. They think he’s hot, but likely to be crazy. I know you’re a staunch feminist, so I imagine their portrayal was important to you. Can you talk about how you approached them? It seems rare to have two girls in a single Marvel film, possibly competing for Thor’s attention. How did that play into the romance, and how did you approach the relationship between Thor and Jane? Did Natalie Portman and Kat Dennings have any input into their characters?

Don Payne: Kat did an amazing job taking the words on the page as written and making them fly. She really embodied the character of Darcy.

After the second trailer came out, I read some people mistakenly speculate that her character was created as a marketing decision to appeal to the youth audience or some such thing — as if the producers sat down and said, “Hmm… this script is good, but we need a character to appeal to the tweens! With current pop cultural references!” I promise you, that wasn’t the case at all. I came up with Darcy because we needed someone to work with Jane Foster, and the character had to have a vastly different background, personality, and world-view from Jane in order to make that relationship interesting. I decided to make her a woman, frankly, because other than Sif and Frigga, we had a very male-heavy cast of characters. I thought it might also be interesting to have someone working for Jane who both frustrated her and who Jane saw as protégé whose potential she could help fully realize.

But I also wanted Darcy to be the voice of the common man. We’ve got Asgardians and astrophysicists, so I wanted someone to say what the average moviegoer might be thinking. If someone in the audience is thinking, “What the hell is that weird, glowing thing?!” Darcy should be asking “What the hell is that weird, glowing thing?!” (That line isn’t actually in the movie, but you get the idea…)

Natalie actually helped out tremendously with the character of Jane Foster. Let’s be honest, Jane Foster in the comics has traditionally been one of the most boring characters in the Marvel Universe. In the film, she’s an astrophysicist, so that makes her more interesting right off the bat. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s played by Natalie, who brings loads of personality and charm to any character she portrays.

Originally in the script, however, Jane was more of a traditional scientist — a hardcore skeptic. But Natalie came to the first rehearsal with the idea of turning that on its end. She suggested making Jane the believer. She thought Jane could be more of a kind of “scientist as poet” — someone who thinks outside of the box, someone whose theories are considered outlandish and are frowned upon by the scientific community. But it’s the kind of thinking that leads to great discoveries. When Thor arrives, she’s willing to take a leap of faith — and she has to pay the consequences for it. Natalie’s input made the character more interesting, improved her relationship with Thor, and, in general, made the story better. And she helped make sure Jane Foster isn’t boring. So I’m grateful to her for that.

During my story meetings with Ken and Marvel, we put a lot of work into the Thor/Jane relationship, and there was much discussion about exactly how and how quickly things should progress between them. I think we succeeded in developing their romance realistically, so it doesn’t feel forced.

ABOUT HEIMDALL AND THE MCU TAKE

There has also been a lot of ugly and foolish controversy about Idris Elba being cast as Heimdall. I don’t like to justify bigotry with attention, but has the reaction surprised you and the rest of the team?

Don Payne: You’d think as a society we’d be beyond this now. The funny thing is, this film was never meant to be a straight representation of traditional Norse mythology. It’s the cinematic take on the Marvel comics take on Norse mythology. In fact, in the reality of our movie, the Norse myths are actually based on our version of the Asgardians, after they visited ancient Norway. The Norse just got some things wrong, based on their primitive understanding of their encounters. (Like, for example, worshiping the Asgardians as gods.)

The bottom line is Idris is great in the movie. I think almost all of the people who are skeptical or have issues with the casting will be convinced when they see the movie — except for all the actual racists out there. But who needs them?

MY TWO CENTS

This interview is so goddamn awesome because it’s so informative. Don Payne talked about a lot of topics and didn’t give just two lines answers but well rounded explanations. There’s so much more than the bits I’ve selected but I couldn’t really copypaste it all, though I wholeheartedly recommend you to read it.

I’d kill to get a peck at the old scripts but definitely there was a lot of work ongoing to produce the definitive one.

Anyway I love how almost all Marvel seems to know Odin is a bad father yet Odin doesn’te ven get a slap on his wrists. Really guys...

I like how he admits Thor’s journey is one of redemption... but really that’s not how you made a redemption arc...

I also find interesting how again we get a confirmation that Sif and the Warriors Three are ‘fiercely dedicated to THEIR FRIEND THOR’.

In the movie Thor says:

Thor: Why don't you tell her how you sent the Destroyer to kill our friends, to kill me?

But the truth is that those were his friends, not both’s. For the Warriors Three and Sif there was never a choice between Thor and Loki. They were Thor’s friends and to him their loyalty went.

I also like how he says he hopes they included enough humor, but no more than that as this is an action film, and, while fun moments are needed they need to have them sparingly of things get silly. How they didn’t want Thor to come to earth and suddenly become an idiot for comic relief. How they didn’t want for the jokes to end up being too distracting. I think this speaks of care for the story.

They even put care in creating Jane and Darcy. I still think they could do Jane better, but still they tried.

#thor odinson #lady sif #fandral #volstagg #hogun #loki odinson #odin borson #heimdall #jane foster #darcy lewis #interview #don payne #mcu thor #9 worlds interview study

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

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(requested by anonymous)

“Alright, that’s all for today.” The Doctor stretched in his chair. “Made pretty good time, too.”

“Mmhmm.” Schwarz acknowledged his comment.

He stood up, throwing on his jacket. “You wanna grab a drink? I’ll buy.”

“You’re still trying?” She shook her head. “I won’t say no to a drink.”

“Before you fully agree, though, one condition: you tell me how you got to where you are today. I’ve heard something about you taking out an entire clan, and I want to know how much of what the rumor mill fed me is true.”

Schwarz thought for a moment. “You’ll buy the whole night?”

“The whole night,” he agreed. “Get whatever strikes your fancy, I’ll foot the bill.”

“Alright. You, me, two bottles of good whiskey, and I’ll tell you my story.”

The Doctor nodded. “Sounds like a fair trade to me. To the bar.”

“So, yeah...that’s my story.” They were at a table in the bar, several bottles of whiskey in front of them (one half-empty, the others fully drained). “Like I said, it’ll keep you up at night - took awhile for me to get over it, I know.”

“That is a nasty one...I wonder if the old me would’ve batted an eye, though. From what I’ve heard, I’ve been a part of similar events, both the winning and losing sides. Did you get the clean break you’d wanted?”

Schwarz thought for a moment. “Mostly. I don’t have any guilt about what I did, but...I still carry that training, those scars, the pit in my heart covered over with others’ blood and Ceylon. That poor girl - she still thinks I can be saved. Imagine that.”

“She’s not the only one,” the Doctor smirked. “This might be a bit rich coming from me, but I bet there’s still hope for you.”

“You really mean that, Doctor?”

He nodded. “I do. There’s your connection with Ceylon, which you might laugh at me considering, but...honestly, if you were truly heartless, you couldn’t even have forged that bond, and for it to have become this strong over the years since? You still have a sense of right and wrong - a rather precise one, even. Look at Lappland, look at Spectre, look at Skadi; the truly far-gone don’t have an understanding like that. And then, there’s...eh, maybe that’s too far a stretch, even if it matters to me.”

“While we’re in a spilling mood, Doctor,” Schwarz replied, “I’d prefer you do your fair share.”

“Alright, then. Well, Schwarz, the fact that you were willing to come and talk to me like this. I know you go out to drinks with the other mercenaries and whatnot every now and again, but the fact that you were willing to go into this with me, it...it made me happy.”

She shrugged. “I make Ceylon happy as well. Usually by accident.”

“Fair, but...” He was drunk enough he knew he had to be more careful about his choice of words, but also drunk enough for that definition to slip. “Is she attracted to you? Like, romantically?”

“I...I’ve never asked.”

The Doctor smirked. “That’s one big difference, then. I certainly am.”

“Hmm.” Schwarz poured another glass for herself. “Another glass, Doctor?”

“Sure.” He went to grab the bottle, but she still had her hand on it, and they ended up touching as she poured into his glass.

The Doctor pulled his hand back even as she was unfazed. Schwarz set the bottle down and gave him a look. “What is it about me you find attractive?”

“Oh boy, where do I start...” He drained his glass faster than it’d been poured. “Well, let’s be frank - you’re beautiful. I’m sure you’re more than aware of that.”

“...” Dead silence.

The Doctor responded with a disbelieving look. “Surely, someone has told you that by now. Ceylon, the Mayor, some trashy mercenary - I’m not the first person to tell you that your combat outfit leaves very little to the imagination but still leaves me fantasizing, or that your hair shines like silver and your eyes like gold, or that-”

“Doctor.” Schwarz waved her hand to tell him to stop, brightly blushing. “Please.”

“You wanted to know,” he shrugged, grabbing the bottle for himself and pouring another glass.

She sighed. “I didn’t expect you to have so much to say...”

“Have you really not been told?” The Doctor shook his head. “That’s a real shame. Besides, I didn’t even get to the harder stuff.”

“The harder stuff?”

He smirked, leaning forward. “Your faraway expressions as you fight your demons, the ones that remind me of my own at times despite the attached memories being long lost; your glare, that go-to-hell expression that doesn’t really mean malice so much as a warning to keep your distance, because everyone around you gets hurt and everything around you burns; your naturally stoic face that demands someone spend substantial time by your side to read your true emotions, something I wish I was better at...Sorry, I got lost in your eyes again.”

“Again...” Schwarz truly couldn’t believe him. “Is that why you lose your train of thought when talking to me?”

“They strike me to my core, as if they’re baring my entire soul to you...even though they clearly aren’t if you didn’t know all of this already.”

She crossed her arms and set them on the table, resting her chin on them to stare at the now-empty bottle with her ‘stoic face.’ “We’re out of alcohol.”

“I can get us more,” he shrugged. “Unless that was simply an observation?”

“...We’ve probably had enough by now.”

The Doctor nodded. “Much more and I won’t be able to work tomorrow. Can I tell you something else?”

“While we’re on the subject.”

“I’m really trying to not bring up every little thing, I promise,” he blushed. “It’s just...there’s so much about you to love.”

That seemed to be the final straw. “So much to love? Doctor, I am a shell of a person after the life I’ve led; I am a monster, bound to the shadows of the battlefield where I can mete out a life as a professional killer, a bodyguard and contract assassin who found her way to RI because of the person who freed me from my worst servitude in exchange for a lighter-than-deserved sentence. What is there to love about a person-shaped dark patch, hmm?”

“...Do you really think you’re the only monster here?”

“They’re children,” she retorted. “Children, misguided idealists, people with hope and life in their eyes-”

The Doctor’s voice picked up volume. “-Veterans.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Veterans,” he repeated. “Child soldiers, experiments in Originum compatibility gone wrong, revolutionaries, outcasts, vagabonds, warriors who should have been able to put down their swords long before now. There are Operators who have been abused, brainwashed, cut apart and sown back together, betrayed, bought and sold, cast out from their homes, stabbed, backstabbed - and that doesn’t just go for the Infected, like you and me.”

Schwarz had long since fallen silent. “Like you or me?”

“That’s right; at some point, I joined the Infected myself. If all the stories are to be believed, I’ve been a scholar, a tactician, but first and foremost a warlord cruel and unrelenting. I’ve led criminal enterprises, genocides, mass exterminations, and utterly despicable acts of sabotage and treachery in the name of some master I’ve long since forgotten my attachment to. It took losing my memory to start over, but you know what else it did? It left me a shell of a person as well, always minding my manners to not offend someone whose back has had my dagger in it once or a thousand times before, always looking for new tidbits about my past self so I can avoid being the disaster of a man I used to be, always wondering if the Operator I’m hiring on has suffered either at my hand or because of something I did in my past life. Reincarnation like this doesn’t mean my past is forgotten...it simply means I’ve forgotten it. Many of us, including yourself, don’t get that luxury...or that curse.”

“I’d...” She stared at him. “I’d never thought of it that way before.”

The Doctor sighed, standing up and donning his jacket. “I’ll walk you back to Ceylon’s.”

“I can’t let you do that; what if something happens to you on the way back?”

“I’ll say the same right back to you,” he retorted. “You know how I feel; imagine how terrible I will if you get hurt because I got you this deep into the bottles.”

Schwarz sighed. “I guess we’re spending the night together, then.”

“I guess we- what.”

“I can’t let you out of my sight,” she continued, “and you don’t want me out of yours for several reasons, so we’ll just have to spend the night together. I’m assuming your place, because Ceylon might learn something about you it’d be best for her not to figure out.”

The Doctor simply could not process this information properly. “Right, right...my room, then.”

“Let’s be on our way, then. Here - we should help each other stay on our feet.” Schwarz put an arm around his shoulder and pulled his arm around hers, and then they were off. It took some time, thanks to the staggering they were doing, but they made it to his room in one piece.

“Not that I’m ungrateful,” he managed, “but um...what’s happening tonight?”

She blinked, slowly. “You and me, sharing a room.”

“Right.” The Doctor shrugged it off, opening the door.

“Nice place.” Schwarz strolled in, a little shaky but still mostly in control. She collapsed onto his bed. “So.”

Still in the doorway, he steadied himself on the frame. “If you want the bed-”

“I want you in the bed with me.”

“Oh.” The Doctor stumbled forward, turning a fall into a tumble and standing afterwards. “Alright, then.” He shed his shoes and coat (which she had done while watching his display) and joined her.

For a few moments, nothing happened; eventually, she put a hand on his chest and gave him a probing stare. “Well?”

“...I dunno what I’m doing. One thing to dream about it, another-”

“I thought I was hopeless.” Schwarz’s statement wasn’t really a response to him. “I love Ceylon like a sister. Tonight, I want to know if I can love you like a woman.”

He collected himself - which took a moment. “Well, let’s give this a shot, then...”

He told himself he’d stop at a kiss; he was drunk, she was drunk, no guarantee if they’d remember any of what happened tonight afterwards. He told himself that would be enough, regardless of how much he wanted more. Take it slow, take it slow, take it-

Their lips met, and suddenly, the world was moving a thousand miles a minute.

#arknights #schwarz (arknights)#she's a hard nut to crack #might've mentioned that before #but we gotta remember: our doc's done some shit #everyone at RI has done some shit #with maybe one or two exceptions #but that doesn't last long thanks to reunion and other threats #so treasure what innocence you have #don't chase the future like it's the water to quench your thirst #because one day we'll all end up in the dirt #c'est la vie #arknights fic

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fenmere · 4 years ago

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Harmless Free Radicals and the story behind Fenmere's Great Alliance of the Dragon People

We’ve basically told this story in our autobiography, but here's a condensed and more clear version of it.

Our comic, Harmless Free Radicals, will never be completed as is, for so many really good reasons, so we WANT you to read this. Especially if you were a fan.

The story goes like this:

The Great Sky Serpent Eh had 900,000 children, each one the master of an Art. Eh created the the world as a haven for them using ihn’s own body to build it. Eh covered the world with ihn’s hide to protect it.

Eh’s children had disagreements and faught. They eventually broke a hole in the sky and let Outsiders in by accident while goofing around. They then fought with the Outsiders. Then had children with the Outsiders, and that's how humanity was born. The children of Eh then broke into two factions who disagreed about how to proceed with the future: to always work to protect the world, or to escape through the hole in the sky to take a place in the rest of the universe.

The first of the children, Fenemere (or Fenmere), thought that the fighting was absurd, and that both goals were important and not mutually exclusive.

Fast forward fifteen thousand years or so. The tools necessary for Fenmere to do kihn’s work are finally in place, created by humanity.

Using the internet and humanity’s magic (to make things they believe in become real), Fenmere created a webcomic called Harmless Free Radicals that took place in an up to that point fictional town called Fairport. Fairport became real through the comic, but still existed in the land of the imagination.

By publishing the comic and making it about a mysterious scheme that keh was supposedly cooking up but wouldn't tell anyone about, Fenmere lured kihn's siblings to Fairport to trap them in its bubble of quasireality, with the goal of forcing them to sit down and discuss Fenmere's proposed treaty in a realm where they couldn't hurt each other. The realm of comics.

The Harmless Free Radicals were formed as a sort of elite trouble shooting group who were supposedly humans hired by Fenmere to do kihn's “mysterious” dirty work. To that end, they mostly goofed off in the comic and only referred to adventures they had off page.

It turned out that the Radicals were actually Fenmere's sibling allies in disuise. This is why Ian could convince anybody of anything with his graphic design, because it was his Art. And why Brenna could rally everyone around her to assist her by singing, as she was the Singer. Gretch was the Programmer, Brian the Warrior (who destroyed things with his power chords), and so on.

And that's why the comics were the way they were.

Fenmere had actually had most of this figured out by the end of the first year of the comic. We have notes that detail almost all of this, written at various times since. There were a lot of details to hash out, and those of us involved really only had a partial clue to what was going on, and none of us fully accepted that it might be all based on reality.

Finally, we just didn't know how to write the story so that it made sense. Key parts were missing, and we felt like it was something never really told before. We had disagreements about how to tell it, too. We were learning as we went. This made it really messy. Which brought more and more of us forward to help out and try to make it happen.

Somewhere by the fourth year of the comic, someone on our team figured out that we were a plural system, and decided to make the story about how a bunch of fictional characters were actually trying to leave their authors’ imagination and enter reality. This would eventually become the story for the Epic of Sally. Then we argued about whether that was something we wanted to be true or not, not really believing it was.

To that end, we latched onto an idea we’d had since before we started the comic, where everything in the comic was happening in Jenifer's head. Jenifer was a character who had had her own story about her imaginary characters coming to life that we wrote in 1996.

We didn't know if we'd ever revral that or just leave it as unspoken backstory, while Sally would be guided by Jenifer on how to make it to the real world.

Which she did, and that's when we came out as trans and came face to face with out plurality at the same time.

Here are the things:

- We signed Harmless Free Radicals under the name Fenmere the Worm under the conceit of making Fenmere seem real to readers

- Fenmere actually DID write Harmless Free Radicals, with the help of Ian, Brenna, Gretch, Brian, and the others

- It was about luring their siblings into Fairport to get them to come to an agreement as told in the background myth

- It really did do this! We actually became engaged in the story and had to interact with each other and come to agreements to do this!

- And, we are all the children and grandchildren of Jenifer and Eh, plus a small handful of walk-ins.

Literally, we are the characters in the comic, because they were based on us. And while what happened in the comic was fictional, the act of making it fulfilled the official plot of the comic. In every way.

We came out, became aware of each other, and then to make peace amongst ourselves and continue living and protecting “the world” (our body) we made an alliance between our various systems.

All of this was actually orchestrated and guided by Fenmere. It was her vision. The alliance is according to her ideals, though they were formulated with help from Eh, Jedekere, Benejede, Jenifer, and Phage. She is the one that put them together and wrote them down. She is the one who drew us together, literally, with a pen.

Which is why we name ourselves “Fenmere’s Great Alliance of the Dragon People”, or Inmara Ktletaccete Fenumere.

There's more. Lots about all the little details, like how we came up with our constructed languages, but by then we’re rewriting our comic. Which we might do some day. But a LOT of it is in our autobiography.

And we’ve got other novels we need to write.

#harmless free radicals #inmara ktletaccete #Fenmere the Worm #plurality #plurals #autobiography #our name #personal mythology #multiplicity #plural system #positive plurality

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bae-leth · 5 years ago

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A really long Miklan and Margrave Gautier headcanon

Is this how you submit longer asks? This is my first time, so I’m really not sure. It got a bit long and I’m really sorry about that. I got carried away. This contains spoilers for Miklan and Sylvain and has a lot of my own ideas scattered within it. I don’t know how old Miklan is, but he looks 21-25ish, so I just went with 25. I also don’t know when crests manifest, so I’m guessing it’s something you find out at birth? Correct me if I’m wrong.

Miklan is a character that I’m really interested in. He was just another victim of the crest system, and it must have been brutal to be abandoned by his family because of something out of his control. From the moment he was born without a crest, his fate was decided. I ended up coming with a small backstory for him and his father.

He probably didn’t understand what was going on as a child. It’s likely that his father treated him well before Sylvain was born because Miklan was his only child and heir at the time. There was no guarantee that Margrave Gautier would ever produce a crest-bearing child, so he had to raise Miklan to be the next head of the family.

He provided Miklan with the best education he could and hired skilled warriors to train his son. He spent countless hours teaching Miklan about what it means to be the head of the family, of what it means to be a leader, of what it means to be a noble. Maybe Miklan even had a fiancee seeing how Ingrid already had a betrothed at such a young age.

Miklan was introduced to his future wife at age 5, and while he didn’t understand what it meant to be engaged to someone, he liked her. She was three years older than him, nice, and liked a lot of the same things five year old Miklan did. Due to his status of a noble and future heir, Miklan didn’t really have that many opportunities to interact with children his age. The moment they met, something clicked and he spent the rest of the visit with her talking about anything and everything that came to his mind. She had a nice laugh.

Life was perfect for him. Miklan was surrounded by loving parents and loved spending time with the girl he was to marry. He was a noble and his family had no shortage of money. Anything he wanted, he got, but he rarely felt like he was missing something. There was not a cloud in his sky.

But, I’m sure Miklan’s lack of a crest was a sore spot and a major source of shame for Margrave Gautier. Crests were important in the status quo in Fodlan, and especially for the Gautier family. Their family had always placed great pride in their crest. Perhaps Margrave Gautier never manifested a crest either, the first head of family to not have one in a very very long time. Had his youngest brother not died from illness, had his mother not become infertile due to the same disease, and had any of his three other younger siblings bore a crest, he never would have been able to claim the title. Growing up, Margrave Gautier couldn’t go a day without being reminded that he was inferior to his brother.

“Did you hear that the next Gautier heir doesn’t have a crest?”

“What a shame that the only child with a crest died. The Goddess can be cruel sometimes.”

“I’m sure that his father must be disappointed. The Gautier family did value their crests so much.”

It drove him mad. He worked and trained night and day, sacrificing meals and sleep to try and better himself so that he could prove that he was worthy despite not bearing a crest. But, no matter how hard he worked, no matter what he did, no matter what, the truth was that he did not bear a crest and that was it. It was clear in his father’s face, clear in the other nobles’ mocking jeers and mock sympathy, and clear in the way that all of his achievements were overshadowed by the lack of a crest. He tried to escape the system, but instead he became like Sisypus who was forced to roll a boulder up a hill only for the rock to roll back down the hill before he could reach the top. All of his struggles were futile and he willingly let himself fall back into the system. I like to think Margrave Gautier was also a victim of the crest system.

When he became the head of the family, he thought that if he could produce a crest-bearing heir, his honor would be restored. So, when Miklan was born without a crest, he was crushed. He still loved his son, his beautiful newborn child, but there was always a small voice at the back of his head that whispered in his ear.

“A child without a crest is worthless.” He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but it was always there. I think that although he loved Miklan, he unconsciously gave up on him. Margrave Gautier may have provided Miklan with a good education and trained him to be the next head of the family, but you can see that Miklan’s stats show that he isn’t proficient at lances which is the Gautier’s holy relic. He didn’t even bother to try and train Miklan to use it. Though you could argue that it would be useless since Miklan couldn’t wield it anyways.

He couldn’t ignore the others’ whispers either.

“Oh my, did you hear? Margrave Gautier’s son also doesn’t have a crest. I wonder if the margrave is cursed?”

Cursed. Perhaps he was. All he wanted was a child with a crest. He needed a child with a crest. In the end, it became an obsession, a manic craze.

Miklan and Sylvain weren’t his only children. The year after Miklan was born, his wife gave birth again. Stillborn.

The third child was miscarried. He probably started to give up at this point, after all, he’d already had three children and two were dead upon arrival. It must have taken a major emotional toll on him, having to live through the deaths of two of his children within two years. During this time, he paid extra attention to Miklan, ensuring that his remaining child was safe and healthy.

But then, the fourth child was born, healthy, with a crest. The Goddess had heard his fervent prayers and blessed him with a crest. His name was Sylvain Jose Gautier.

This was the one. This was his future heir, his shining beacon of hope. And in that moment, Miklan was all but forgotten in Margrave Gautier’s mind.

Ok! Now back to Miklan. He was probably happy to have a sibling, a sibling who was alive. I headcanon at him being around six when Sylvain was born. He was giddy with joy at the idea of having a partner in crime after being alone for so long. But, of course, this wouldn’t be the case.

Margrave Gautier would spent all his time doting on his crest-bearing child, making sure he was safe and well taken care of. He couldn’t lose this child.

Young Miklan would have noticed that his father wasn’t spending as much time with him anymore, but he wouldn’t have realized that it was because of the crest until much later. He thought that maybe if he worked harder, trained harder, his father would pay more attention to him. Miklan was always an obedient and hardworking child. But, now, he spent hours training and training, never getting a bad grade on his tests, always receiving the highest of praises from his instructors. But history repeats itself and to Margrave Gautier, Sylvain’s light is so bright that Miklan is completely outshined.

Seeing how Miklan was able to assemble a group of bandits and be successful in his plunders, I think he probably has pretty good leadership skills on top of being educated in tactics. In different circumstances, Miklan could have been highly successful. He’s a natural leader, charismatic, and incredibly hard working, but instead of nurturing his strengths, Margrave Gautier uprooted him like a weed to make room for his flower even though there was enough land for them both to coexist.

Miklan didn’t find about why he was being ignored until he overheard nobles gossiping in at a party. Then, it finally all makes sense. He was being replaced by Sylvain. Although, Miklan is a smart kid. There’s no way he never realized that Sylvain was being favored because of his crest. Instead, he went into denial for as long as he could because he couldn’t accept the truth. Naturally, if Sylvain was born with a crest, the Sylvain would be the one to inherit the title of Margrave, the position which Miklan has shed blood, sweat, and tears over to prove that he was capable.

But now, he’s angry. He’s frustrated. He’s jealous. He’s resentful. Everything he’s ever done has now gone to waste all because his brother was born with a crest. Sylvain will never have to work for anything. Sylvain will never be looked down upon because of something outside of his control. Sylvain will never have to prove himself.

And then a terrible thought comes to him. If Sylvain died, then everything would return to normal. He feels like a monster the moment he realizes what that meant. He couldn’t hurt his baby brother like that, not when Sylvain toddles up to him and looks up him adoringly with those large eyes of his and calls him “Mik” in that giggly voice of his. But, he can’t help but think and it only gets worse as the years go on.

He thinks when he sees his father smile lovingly at Sylvain. He thinks when Sylvain makes eyes and coos at Lady Galatea. He thinks when he sees Sylvain brightly smiling while surrounded by a gaggle of rambunctious friends. He thinks when all of the nobles gather around Sylvain and predict a bright future of the boy. He thinks when he corners Sylvain and asks him why he isn’t taking his studies and duties more seriously and ten year old Sylvain stares up at him and replies, “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Hate continues to fester within him like a tumor. It’s barely noticeable at first, but it’s there, growing more and more each day, unhindered, killing him, killing the kind and cheerful Miklan until all that’s left is a mess of hatred and a boy who’s far too lost in his own jealousy and insecurities.

So much tragedy could have been prevented had someone simply stepped in to check on him, but no one ever came. Miklan was alone in his internal battle and it was a matter of time when the devil in him won the war. He went through the latter half of his childhood and the beginnings of his teenage years, some of the most important developmental years, alone with only his demons to guide him.

One day, he sees Sylvain leaning over the well. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he takes a quick look around before shoving Sylvain as hard as he could. A wounded cry bounces off the walls of the well, and Miklan is shocked back to his senses as he stares in horror at what he’s done. He’s afraid to check so he runs, runs until he reaches his room and locks the door. Curiosity drove him to peek outside the window to see servants hauling the young Gautier out of the well, face purple and bleeding, arm twisted at an unnatural angle. And he cries alone, terrified at the person he’s become because there’s a small voice in the back of his mind that had hoped Sylvain was dead.

Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he lost his balance while looking into the well, but Miklan knows that Sylvain knows.

Things only continue to get worse. Miklan leaves Sylvain alone in the forest when they went hunting together. Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he had wandered off by accident. Miklan shoves Sylvain down a flight of stairs. Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he tripped on the carpet and fell down the stairs instead. Miklan impales Sylvain’s chest while sparring. Sylvain tells Margave Gautier that it was his fault for not paying attention.

Why didn’t Sylvain ever blame him? After Miklan’s realization that he was being replaced, he began to distance himself from his brother, from the reminder of his failure. Despite sharing the same blood, there really wasn’t anything else to their relationship other than this cycle of hurt. But, Sylvain never confronted him about his behavior nor did he blame him for anything. Miklan would have prefered for his brother to retaliate compared to the passive approach Sylvain took on. It would have hurt less.

But instead, Sylvain comes up to Miklan one day as he’s studying and pulls up a chair next to him. Gently, he lays his head on Miklan’s shoulder without a word, soft red hair tickling Miklan’s neck.. Why he didn’t shove Sylvain off of him, he doesn’t know, but they stay like that until until the room is cast awash with gentle red glow of the setting sun.

“I’m sorry.” Is the last thing Sylvain says to Miklan before he stands up and leaves the room. That’s the closest they’ve been in years and the last time they’ll ever touch each other until Sylvain pierces the Black Beast’s heart many many years later.

I think Margrave Gautier still loved Miklan, but was so enamoured at the idea of restoring his honor with Sylvain that he neglected his other child. Why was Miklan disowned when Sylvain was 16? Was Margrave Gautier waiting for Sylvain to come of age to become his heir? Then why disown Miklan when he could have just stayed in the family? Perhaps Miklan went too far and got caught and Margrave Gautier who feared for Sylvain’s life, banished Miklan. According to my headcanon, he would have been twenty one.

He never says goodbye to Sylvain, not that it would have had any meaning behind it. He doesn’t get the chance to see his parents one more time. He’s just thrown out.

How lost would he have felt. Where would he go? What would he do? Deep down, he knows this is because he couldn’t control himself, because of his jealousy, but instead, he blames Sylvain because if he hadn’t been born with a crest, none of this would have happened. He blames his father for abandoning his child. He blames everyone else for putting so much value on the crests.

Maybe he sneaks into his fiancee’s residence, climbs up to meet her at her balcony, to ask her one last question because now that he’s been disowned, he’ll never get to marry her. He asks her (hypothetically at this point because the news hasn’t broken out yet) if she could love him if he couldn’t become Margrave Gautier.

Silence.

So he leaves as a broken man with a broken heart and a broken life. Later on, he finds out that his father had sent a letter calling off the engagement and that the girl had already known about his situation.

We all know he forms a bandit groups later, but what if he finds a family there? A group of bandits who’ve been hurt by the crests or need to steal in order to survive. He’s notorious. After all, he’s Miklan Anschutz Gautier, the former heir to the house of Gautier and a man with incredible leadership skills and strength. They flock to him and while he doesn’t realize it until much later, it’s some twisted sort of a family for him. They steal, murder, and hurt to survive, and yet he finds that he’s happier here than anywhere else. He’s treated normally here. He’s noticed.

How ironic. He was once trained to destroy groups like this, and yet, he’s leading one now. It gets to his head. Once upon a time, Miklan was nobody, ignored like he didn’t exist, but now, the kingdom deemed him important enough to deploy its troops to try and take him down. He was strong. He was capable. He would show them what they missed out on. He would ruin the people who hurt him.

Stealing the Lance of Ruin is far too easy. The Gautier residence is like the back of his hand to him and he watches as his men cut down the guards in a sneak attack, not batting an eye as they called out to their former master to spare them. He notes that they were the same ones who dragged him out of the mansion after he was disowned. Before long, he’s face to face with his enraged father. Miklan disarms him easily before snatching up the lance, feeling it tremble and buzz with power before he turns and literally walks out of the mansion. his father, no, Margrave Gautier wasn’t worth wasting time on. Besides, he wanted him to live so that he could hear gossip of Margrave Gautier losing the holy relic to the failure. He would never be able to live it down.

But then, the Church becomes involved and it isn’t long before he’s standing in front of Sylvain again. There’s no heartwarming reunion, no happy hugs, no tears, only two strangers who knew they hated the other. It was all Sylvain’s fault that he was like this now and he’d kill him for that. He wouldn’t let Sylvain ruin his life again. He’d show the world that he was better, that he was stronger and smarter, that he was worthy. That’s his last thought before he’s consumed.

There were so many times that this ending could have been avoided.

If only he was born with a crest.

-----------

notes from bae: I... wow..... I love this. so much? You did a fantastic job at adding so much depth to both Margrave Gautier and Miklan, to the point where I was feeling sympathetic for the both of them by the end of it all. That’s good writing right there.

but instead of nurturing his strengths, Margrave Gautier uprooted him like a weed to make room for his flower even though there was enough land for them both to coexist. - this metaphor??? SO GOOD??? IM????

this is so well thought out and absolutely well done from the beginning to the absolute end. everything from the Margrave’s own personal history with him not having a crest, to his unborn children, to the slow neglect of Miklan, and how Miklan then slowly gets consumed with jealousy.... oh my god. If you wrote a fic on this.... I would genuinely hand you money.

THIS IS SO GOOD. IM OFF TO REREAD IT. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN.

#submission #anon #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #sylvain #miklan #margrave gautier #THIS IS SO DETAILED AND WONDERFUL

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your-worst-knightmare · 5 years ago

Text

Red: Pt. 9

“Me think Red Him am waking up.”

“Wait Biz, I’m not done yet.”

“That looks bad. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Quiet and help with the stitches.”

My eyelids feel like they’re glued shut. Part of me doesn’t even want to open my eyes, for fear of the events of when I was last conscious to be figments of my imagination. Why else would Bizarro, Artemis and Louis be in the same room?

Someone slaps my cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be annoying. “Come on, don’t make me wait any longer…”

I peel my eyes open. It’s Artemis. The pain in my shoulder and side confirms that my last memory was, in fact, real. She must have brought me to my safehouse, somehow. I give her a small smile. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me, Todd. What the hell was that out there? The All-Blades? And you took more Lazarus? You I know I had to, quite literally, carve those bullets out of you?” She sighs, probably realizing that her rant is more than my groggy brain can handle. She leans down to give me a hug. “ It’s just.. You’ve been so incredibly… stupid and…” she buries her face in my shoulder, and I hold her as she presumably finds the right words to scold me. “And I’m just glad to have you back.”

“Aw, Red, I- ow watch the shoulder-”

“Sorry.” She stands up, her face almost as red as my helmet. “ You should get some rest. I just needed to see you,” she says, smoothing her hair and her expression.

“ Arty, wait. Don’t go yet.” She raises an eyebrow. “Please.” I swing my legs off the bed, against the protests in my side. “Help me up.”

“Jason, you need to-”

“Artemis, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“Well I don’t. Not when it’s about your well-being,” she says, giving me a hand anyway.

I grunt, thankful for her help. “Take me to the control room. We need to find out who captured you and Biz and why.”

“A fine idea, but I think I already know who it was.” She gives me a chair and pulls up another one for herself. The building is cold, ( I don’t really have the time to install heating) and I’m starting to envy Artemis’ hoodie.

I stare at her for a second. “Wait, is that my sweater, Arty?”

“You don’t care to heat this place, so yes, I took your sweater. Happy?”

“Cold is what I am.”

“Fine. I’ll call Bizarro and your friend and tell them to get you something. Now focus.” Artemis grabs a pen and a pad of paper and scribbles something onto it. She slides it over to me. “I saw a man wearing this mask at the place they took us to. I think he hired a group of mercenaries to do his bidding.”

I inspect Artemis’ drawing. It shows a mask, large enough to cover the whole face with only two holes for the eyes. The sinking feeling in my gut only worsens when I realize who the mask belongs to. “ Pray I’m wrong, Arty, pray I’m wrong, but that looks like a mask from the Court.”

“The Court of Owls? Why would they want you?”

“Not me specifically. They still need their… Oh God, Arty…”

“What?”

“They need their Gray Son. And I’m their link.”

Before I can even finish telling Artemis the rest, Bizarro and Louis barge in, Dog barreling after them. Louis’ face is one of concentration, intent on not spilling the steaming mugs of coffee on his tray. Bizarro drops a sweater in my lap. “Me am brought sweater for Red Him. Red Him am still hurting?”

“Yeah buddy. Life’s just like that sometimes.”

“Always with the dramatics, Todd,” Artemis says, leaning over.

I crack a smile, pulling on the sweater. The task is harder than I’d expected, especially with and injured shoulder and torso.

“Yo’ need some help there?” Louis asks, setting down the mugs carefully on the table.

“Nah,” I grunt, finally accomplishing my task. “I’m good.”

“So is there a reason you’re here and not resting or are you just too stubborn for your own good?”

“Both, actually,” Artemis cuts in before I can answer.

“Hey!” Louis raises an eyebrow, still waiting for an explanation. “ We had to investigate who took Arty and Biz and why.”

A crash comes from the back of the room. I turn to see a sheepish Bizarro, a spooked Dog and four broken coffee mugs. The coffee now forms a sizable brown lake across the floor. Said coffee, would not be good for Dog. “It’s okay Biz, we’ll clean it up. How ‘bout you take Dog outside?”

Bizarro nods. “Okay Red Him.” He scoops up Dog in his arms easily and heads out the door. The coffee is cleaned up rather quickly, despite the fact that I was made to sit out and watch. Louis and Artemis return to their seats to further pester me with questions about the Court.

“Ok, so run this by me again Hoodie. This secret society wants your brother to become their general-or-something or they will unleash hell on Gotham?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And they’re using you as bait…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then why in Bast’s name are you going to find your brother?” Artemis exclaims, punctuating her words with her hands.

“Red, no matter what happens, I’ve got to go back to the Manor. Someone’s gotta warn the Bats. And I’d rather go through with this with a little more manpower.”

“Your brother lives in Bludhaven, Todd.”

“We’re sticking together. If the Court comes for one of us, they come for all of us. That’s just how it rolls.”

“Hoodie, I hate to interrupt,” Louis cuts in,” but you can’t just up and leave. If the board finds out what I’m letting you do, I lose my job. And, I hate to be the voice of reason, but you just got shot. You can’t just run into another fight.” Louis plants his hands on the table, his voice firm.

“As much as he is a reckless idiot with no concern for his welfare, Jason lives a warrior’s life. With the Lazarus, he should be almost fully healed within a few days. You don’t have much to worry about, Louis.”

“Selfishly, I worry about my job as well, Artemis. How’s he magically supposed to fix that as well, huh?”

“I got magic,” I pipe in. The tension between the two is driving me nuts, although I’m honestly surprised Artemis sided with me. “When the right people get the right paycheck, the Red Hood gets off the hospital’s books. You might even get a raise.”

Louis looks disgusted. “You’re going to bribe the board?”

Artemis summons Mistress and begins to polish the giant blade. Louis’ eyes widen and inches away from her path.

“Essentially yes.” He looks unsure. “Don’t worry Louis, it’s worked before. Consider it done before noon tomorrow.”

“And what am I supposed to do now?”

“Try to forget you ever met me.”

“Hoodie…”

“Don’t get sappy on me now Louis. I don’t want to ruin your life.”

“Well I can’t sit here and do nothing Hoodie.”

“Keep an eye on Arty and Biz while I’m gone then.”

Artemis looks up from her blade. “I’m coming with you,” she says bluntly.

“What?”

“You heard me Todd. I’m coming with you to watch your sorry back. Louis wanted something to do? Well, he’s keeping Bizarro and Dog company now.” She stands up, Mistress in hand. “ Your conversations are tedious. I’m going to go train. You better be ready to leave by noon tomorrow.”

“Well, how do you plan on getting to the Manor? And I better not hear the word motorcycle involved.”

“I’m not carrying you!” Artemis yells as she leaves me and Louis alone.

“I’ll get ‘A’ to drop a car off. Or he’ll pick us up. Whichever.”

“Yeah. Glad to see you’ve planned it all out.” He gestures towards the door. “Quite the girl you’ve picked out there Hoodie.”

“What? She’s not my-” Louis amusement only grows as my face grows hotter.

“She cares about you, that much is clear. Even this old man could see it. Hold onto her.”

I’m about to argue with him but Artemis’ drawing of the Court mask catches my eye. I need to get back on subject. He’s right though, to some extent. She was probably one of the better things to happen in my life. But that doesn’t mean I necessarily want to discuss it right now.

“Hey Louis, when you were patching me up, did you notice anything weird?”

“Oh now you’re just changing the subject.”

“I’m serious here Louis. This is important.”

“Well you did just take the Lazarus, so of course it was weird…”

I run a hand through my hair with my good arm.” No, that’s not what I meant. Like, was there any implants or traces of metal in my bloodstream?”

“No, I didn’t notice anything. Why?”

“The Court. They’ve got to be tracking me somehow.”

“We could look for a chip…” Louis starts, clearly lost on the matter. He’s been thrown out of his normal routine quite violently as it is, and all this talk of the Court isn’t helping.

“I have an X-ray gun in the med-bay. Get it. Bring a scalpel and tweezers. You need to be ready to take it out if anything’s there.”

He swallows dryly and goes to look for the requested tools. I let myself slouch once I’m out of view. My eyelids droop closed, a testament to my tiredness. I’m exhausted, to say the least, with the Lazarus working my body overtime to heal me.

He comes back sooner than I’d expected, and has no doubt caught on to my tiredness despite years of training to be alert in an instant.”Hoodie, we can do this later if you want…” he starts, fingering the plastic-wrapped tools.

“No. I’m fine. Do it now.”

I stare up at the ceiling as he looks me over. An annoying beeping alerts both of us to the presence of something. “Base of your neck. Left side.”

I tilt my head so that he has a clear view of my neck. “Take it out.” I barely see his worried expression in my peripheral vision. “You’ve got this, Louis,” I decide to add.

He sighs, finger brushing over the spot before reaching for a numbing agent. I stop him. “It’s fine Louis. It messes with the Lazarus.”

“You sure?” he asks, not convinced.

I nod.

Louis disinfects the area carefully before making an incision with a scalpel. A small noise escapes my throat. It’s not from the pain– no that is bearable. It’s the acute sense of feeling it all. My body repairing itself almost as fast as Louis can cut through the flesh. Louis falters and the hesitation rolls off him in waves. “Keep going.” To his credit, he does it quickly, pulling whatever the hell the Court gave to me out. It’s an odd feeling, but I keep quiet.

“Done.” Louis places a chip, slick with blood on a tray. “Do what you want with it, but I’m not keeping it.”

“Thanks Louis. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get some rest before ‘ya actually fall asleep in the middle of the floor. And before you go partying in dreamland–” he affectionately slaps a smiley-face band-aid on my neck and hands me a bag of Skittles.

“Hey!” I protest. The band-aid, not the Skittles.

“Knock yourself out. I mean literally this time,” Louis smiles, before helping me to bed.

#red hood #jason todd #fanfiction #my writing #rhato rebirth #rhato #rhato 2016 #red hood and the outlaws #artemis grace #bizarro #oc #gotham #dc comics #dc #batfam #court of owls

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