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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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tapestry 👑 XVII

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The trial continues.

Note: What’s up all my thot-lovers and barnacles bitches. 💋 😉 We’re still watching some shit unfold here and this trial is gonna get unreallll. But I’m excited to keep going and to have something to feed you thirsty thirsty ho. Just a little longer... erm, I don’t know exactly how long tho.

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

In the days following King T'Challa's testimony, several witnesses were placed on the stand. Though their authenticity was questionable, they were heard with the same silent awe as the first to speak.

Prince Loki had brought a physician from Asgard who had served the royal family since his father, Odin's, reign. He swore to have examined Eleanor before she was sent away to the marry Steven and had found her virtue broken, though the document presented did attribute this to unknown but surely innocent circumstances. What else could he have written when the king's signature would seal the declaration?

Next, a chamber maid who served Eleanor when she was a princess still. The woman had no papers or letters to present and if she did, she'd not have known their contents.

She stated that Eleanor doted upon her betrothed and spoke of her future as queen with girlish cheer. That she did blush when the prince's name arose. That the princess did divulge that she had "surrendered her heart and body" to him and that she did speak of them as husband and wife already.

Ellis presented several more documents provided by Asgard and its royal prince. A copy of the original betrothal, several letters which upheld its validity over the years between Odin and T'Chaka.

And the most damning, a letter in Eleanor's hand addressed to her mother written after her departure to marry Steven. In it, she spoke of her lingering feelings for the other prince and her hesitation to marry the second. Though she did not question the union outright, her youthful fears were presented as knowing deception.

You watched, barely able to conceal your despair. The pit deepened in your stomach as you watched the queen stand before her accusers and her judges, head held high despite all she faced. You knew you could never be her; you could never face anything so terrible as such and indomitable force. She hadn’t slipped since her first day on trial. Her shoulders remained still, her figure straight, head held high.

And when the issue of Eleanor’s marital fealty was thoroughly dissected, the court turned its attention to the accusations of treason. On the fifth day, Lord Ellis called forth Ladies Mabel and Diana. Mabel was first, her face drawn and sullen. She was led to the stand as Ellis asked her to tell the truth and nothing more. Marion bent her head as she began to pray quietly beside you.

“Lady Mabel,” Ellis began as he looked up from the podium. “How long did you serve Eleanor of Asgard?”

“Near five years now, my lord,” Mabel answered in a small voice.

“Mmm,” He looked down and his eyes roved over his notes. “And it was her who did request that the king arrange your marriage to Lord Wilson?”

“It was.” She replied as she brought her hands together before her. “The queen always did see her ladies married well.”

“So you would say she was generous? She has sewn no ill-will between you?”

“I would say that,” Her voice quavered and she looked behind her to the audience. She stared at her husband as a hush took over the court. “She was ever kind to me and all the ladies.”

“All her ladies?” Ellis nodded and flicked the corner of a page with his thumb. “Every single one?”

“Well…” Mabel’s voice trailed off.

“To return to my previous point, as she was so courteous, you would have no reason to speak unkindly of her would you, to lie about her for any reason?”

“No, I w-would not,” She looked to the queen and gulped. Eleanor stared at the dimming window. “I wouldn’t lie, my lord.”

“And so when you say she was kind to all her ladies, would you include in that one Lady Y/N?” You fidgeted at the mention of your name. You hid your face as you listened.

“I only ever saw the queen treat her well.” Mabel said.

“Even as she did meddle with the lady’s saddle on a hunt this past autumn?” Ellis suggested.

Mabel was silent. She gripped the podium before her and hung her head. She did not respond.

“Lady Mabel?” Ellis urged and Mabel shook her head. “Were you aware that Eleanor of Asgard did arrange for this lady to have a wild horse and an altered saddle that day?”

Mabel sniffed and didn’t move. The court waited as her shoulders began to shake. She nodded at last. You could hear her weeping.

“Lady Mabel, you must answer aloud so that the clerk may record your response.” Ellis chided.

“Yes…” She spoke softly at first and lifted her head. She gulped harshly and cleared her throat as she wiped away her tears. “Yes, I did know.”

“And how was it that you knew of the queen’s ploy?”

“She told me of it.” Her voice threatened to crack as she wrung her hands.

“When did she tell you of it?”

“After...after the incident.”

“What incident?”

“The one in which the lady was thrown from her horse,” The tears bubbled again and Mabel hiccuped. “She didn’t mean her any harm. She didn’t. She only meant to frighten her.”

“And did you ever know Eleanor of Asgard to have any ill intent for anyone else?” Ellis asked.

“I…” Mabel couldn’t answer as she sobbed.

“Did she ever wish harm upon her husband, perhaps?”

Another sob. “I… Only…”

“You may tell the court. You will not be punished for your honesty.” Ellis coaxed. “Did she ever devise any other schemes? Against her own husband?”

Mabel was quaking. She could barely form words as her body rattled. “She… she… she did… send… poison to the king….” She spoke so quietly and yet you heard her clearly, as did the entire audience.

“And how do you know it was her?” Ellis led her as he leaned on his podium eagerly.

“She… told… me.” Mabel swayed as she clutched her hands together. The queen pushed her shoulders back.

“And why should she tell you that?” Ellis wondered.

“Because she told me everything. Because…” She gasped. “Because… she was…my friend.”

“And did she tell you of why it was she would do such a thing? Of why she would conspire to kill her own husband?”

“Sh-she hated him,” Mabel stuttered. “She said so very often and when he came to her as a husband did, she did deny him because… she could not stand to lay--to lay next to him.” Her voice squeaked and she shuddered as she covered her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

She kept her face buried as she repeated the words over and over. She shook so much you were sure she would collapse. The court was deathly and still. Shadows fell over the figures at the centre of the scene as the sun began its descent.

“Please, take the lady away. She is much overwhelmed,” Ellis feigned concern as he touched his chest. “I think that is quite enough, Lady Mabel.”

You looked to the box where the king sat. Steven’s eyes were bright as he watched a guard escort Mabel from the stand. He leaned over to T’Challa who turned to whisper in his ear. Prince Loki did not betray his thoughts as he looked down his long nose. You were startled however to find that he looked upon you. His cheeks twitched as if he would smirk before he drew his attention away.

“If the cardinals and your highnesses should allow it, I should think a brief recess would be in order.” Ellis intoned. “And we shall have our final witness of the day thereafter.”

“I should think it a wise idea,” The cardinal who seemed the leader of the party agreed as he rubbed his large stomach. “A day such as this has been most taxing.”

The royals nodded in approval and Ellis announced the recess. No one moved until the queen was led from her podium and out the side door. You watched her go, her steps as long and certain as any day she had sat the throne.

You looked away as the door closed behind her. King Steven was the first to rise and the entire chamber was upon their feet within second. He searched between the bodies until his gaze fell upon you and he gave a slight nod. You did not look away; could not for you feared what should happen if you were to offend him. If you were to fall from his favour.

Surely, if these were the consequences for a queen, you could not meet any better.

👑

You were due for another day on the bench. You were tired and did not relish any further testimony. You found it hard not to think of Mabel and her distraught confessions. And Diana who followed with a similar display. Both had implicated their queen and friend, though both those titles would seem to have been relinquished.

You walked with your father. He had come to you early that morning to deliver a letter from the king. You had been want to set it aside and continue to the court if only to have it done with. He did not allow your delay and reproached you until you opened it. He read it after you did and grinned at the king’s still infatuated words. You smiled if only to conceal your distress.

As you swept through the halls beside him, you were quiet. You let him rant until he was silent and clung to the lull of his words. You did not dare fuel his lectures of your future; more importantly, of his. There would be much talking that day, as there was every day.

You turned the corner and came upon another pair in the hall. You nearly faltered as you recognized the dark-haired prince of Asgard and his burly guard just behind him. He stood with his eyes upon a large hanging. As you came upon him, you curtsied and your father bowed. Prince Loki did not look away from the map painted on elk skin.

“Lord Willis,” He said without a glance. “My lady. I assume you are upon the same path as me.”

“We are, your grace,” Your father answered and you tried not to squirm at his weaselly tone.

“Oh, but they do always find reason to delay, so why hurry?” He mused. “Do you see these mountains?” He pointed to the skin.

“I do, your grace,” Your father turned to look alongside the prince. You peeked over his shoulder but did not near the Asgardian.

“Do you know of their history?” He asked. “Of who does claim them?”

“Why, your grace, I do see that they bear the crest of King Steven and his ancestors on this map.” Your father answered diligently.

“Upon this map, yes,” The prince smirked and you squinted at the pointed range upon the skin. “But not every map.”

“Your grace, is that not The Beak?” You ventured. “The mountains that house your ancestral temples? Those carved by the unblessed?”

He slowly turned his head, at last looking away from the map. He grinned as he stepped back and approached you. “The lady is right. Well-educated, I assume. And do you know then the answer to my first question?”

“The mountains are claimed by many; our people, yours, and those of Wakanda.” You replied. “Though for how many times they have changed hands, it cannot be said to who they belong.”

He nodded and lifted a brow. “Clever lady, indeed. You do prove the rumours true. At least those ones.”

“Rumours?” You repeated.

“I do know of you, my lady,” He affirmed. “And your alleged part in my purpose here.”

“And you would believe the whispers of a court you are unfamiliar with?” You blinked and pressed your lips together before you righted yourself. “Your grace.”

“I do not, but I know there is truth beneath each lie, merely contorted and exaggerated for effect,” He swept a strand of his dark hair back. “And the same can be said of the truth. That it can be bent to fit our needs.”

“Perhaps,” You said evenly as your father returned to your side.

“The line between truth and falsity is thin and not so firm as we should like it,” Loki reflected. “As many lines which constrain us prove to be.” He lifted his chin and looked down at you. “Shall we walk together then? Since we do seek the same destination?”

“As you wish, your grace,” Your father answered keenly but the prince didn’t so much as look at him. You bowed your head in ascent and Loki turned to walk beside you.

“Your grace, are you enjoying your visit?” Your father cajoled.

“As much as I can, given its purpose,” The prince said dully.

You walked silently between them as they continued their courtly dialogue. The forced amiability of politicians. You did not miss the prince’s green eyes as they peeked at you. You ignored him and carried on. He must have loathed you for your role in his sister’s current circumstance, though he seemed happy enough to sit and watch it unfold.

“Well, my lord, it seems I must be away,” The prince turned as you came upon the doors to the courtroom. “I have lingered far too long. My lady,” He smiled again as he looked to you. “It was… an intriguing meeting. As brief as it was.” He stood straight and resumed his usual cool stature, “Take care.”

You watched him go and took a deep breath as he disappeared through the door. Your father squinted at you as you crossed your arms. He kept away from the other lords and ladies who waited without.

“You do not like the prince?” He asked.

“I haven’t reason not to,” You said. “I find him… cordial enough.”

“But you do seem perturbed by him.” Your father insisted.

“I do find it hard not to wonder how he can be so jaunty as he watches his sister face such an unfortunate ordeal.” You countered. “How he can let his sister stay silent as she is faced with such accusations..”

“His sister did refuse his aid,” Your father lowered his voice and beckoned you away from the crowd. “The Prince and his kingly brother did come with an offer. If she would admit to her crimes, she would be met with exile. Upon their bearing and that of her name, she would walk away to isolation and a slight taint.”

You frowned and stared dumbly at your father.

“But she does insist upon her innocence and if she cannot prove it, then she will face whatever fate the See decides upon.” You father shrugged. “So is the lot of a woman who cannot mind her place.”

“Is it?” You growled.

“It is,” He smirked at you sourly. “On women who would try to outpace a king; who would toy with him and deny his will.” You bristled as he stepped closer. “Remember this, daughter. Remember that if you should fall, we will all fall with you.”

“But you could’ve never risen without me,” You rebutted.

“And we will not remain unless you appease him,” Your father hissed. “So keep him happy and we’ll all be content.” His nostrils flared as he scowled. “And we might just keep our heads long enough to revel in it.”

Your father drew away suddenly and looked over your head. He smiled and you turned to follow his gaze. Lord Ellis and several other council members approached. You stepped back as you were quickly forgotten.

“My lords,” Your father greeted. “I see you are well this day.”

You backed away and shook your head at your father’s act. He was truly repulsive. You joined the other ladies who waited along the wall and clasped your hands together. Even if he was entirely false, your father had played the game well. He knew the court and its deceits better than any. And he was right.

The only way to save yourself was to keep King Steven happy.

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #fic #au #series #medieval au #mcu #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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shooks-stupid-stuff · 4 years

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i have the text dump, it has lots of lore and will probably break the text limit-

SO BASICALLY JACIAN AND TAIANA SHIZ BASICALLY ALL I HAVE COME UP WITH FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND PLOT STUFF AND YES-

so basically they first meet in act 1 of the main plot (tm) which is really just adventure to go stop odd thing thats happening (idk exactly what atm but thats not really important). Jarcian is basically a knight whos working for an unknown(at the time, we'll get to it later) person, and he has been tasked with impeding the progress of the main group. how does he plan to do this? well, despite literally having troops at his disposal (who all adore him and are 100% loyal to him, they love their goofy captain), of course he challenges the main character group to a one on one duel, because he is just a goofy villain who fights fair and lives by his honor. Of course Taiana accepts his challenge, being a knight herself, and they proceed to have a draw. Out of respect, and because he's lowkey thrilled that someone has taken him seriously for once, Jacian concedes and retreats for the time being, but not before he and Taiana declare each other to be rivals (with like 75% of the main group just being so done with both of them and wanting to leave). They have a few more encounters after this, with taiana always insisting that they take up his challenge fairly rather than just like have everyone defeat his forces because she feels he's not a bad guy and actually at this point considers him a friend, and after a while Jacian begins to think that he might be developing feelings for Taiana, which he really doesnt know how to feel about so he consults his second in command, Anton (short for Anthony; this man is just a side character but he is like the best side character ever and im 100% giving him a unique design bc he's just like the most supportive dude ever-). i plan on making a short comic based off the conversation they have but basically Jacian has his suspicions confirmed, and goes full panic attack and sad mode bc oops literal forbidden love this is so sad : pensive : . There are like 2 more encounters between the main group and Jacian's group, both of which Jacian is just like being very obvious on accident but taiana has no idea what a social cue is so she just doesnt pick up on any of it, and then major plot shit happens and we're onto part 2.

in part 2, things get kinda angsty and really can split off in 2 different directions, with one being significantly less angsty than the other. basically, shit goes down, and all 3 of the main kingdoms are all just kinda in conflict now. Taiana ends up becoming the queen of her kingdom (called Serenia) and, despite her appearingly newfound confidence and leadership skills, she is internally in turmoil due to previous plot events (and this only gets worse with future ones) and is beginning to fall into a state of self doubt due to the pressure she puts on herself to protect everyone coupled with the fact that she cant, and failed to protect her own father and brother. After a bit of rebuilding and strategizing, Taiana decides to lead a counterattack against the neighboring kingdom of Grysia who's king, Natalio, has basically backstabbed every other kingdom and had invaded Serenia while the main group was out doing other stuff (his son is also part of the main group, and some real shit happens there but thats another tale for another ramble-). It turns out that Jacian serves him, and is having one hell of a moral struggle right now. His knights honor forbids him from betraying his lord, but he's unsure if he's truely doing the right thing as he's been complacent to so many inhumane atrocities that Natalio has preformed. But in the end he decides that he must stick to his duty to the very end, no matter what (and let me just say, once natalio shows his true colors he does some bad shit, like really damn bad. but again, another disscussion for another day). Eventually, the main group is pretty much on the castle's doorstep, and so Natalio makes the decision to send Jacian to put a stop to them. More specifically, to their leader, who at this point is Taiana. Jacian of course, really doesnt want to (but as he later figures out, Natalio knows of his crush and plans on having the two destroy each other, with the result of one being killed and the other being emotionally destroyed. as I said, natalio is a very bad man), but his duty commands that he must, and so he tells Anton to make sure his troops escape the conflict together, and heads off to his final duel, where he intends to head to his grave and take his secret with him. When he confronts the main group, he is much more solemn than he normally is, and he challenges Taiana to one final duel. and despite every other duel they had resulting in a draw, this one results in a loss from Jacian. As a final wish, Jacian begs Taiana to take his life, as he'd rather die at her hands than at Natalios.

now, since im thinking about the plot in terms of it being a game, there actually is a branch in the plot based on a choice made at this point (mainly bc the angsty one is more interesting character development wise but the not angsty one makes me happy and i want to see these 2 be happy together-). so the two choices are basically to take Jacian's life, or to spare him. ill go over what each choice leads to in order.

choose to take his life: Taiana tries to take Jacian's life, but she just can't bring herself to. She already internally feels as if she's lost or come close to losing many of the peopleshe holds dear, and she could never bring herself to kill someone she considers a friend. Seeing this, Jacian smiles before apologizing to her for everything, and thanking her for the joy she's brought him, before telling her he loves her and taking his own life via stabbing his sword through his chest. His intent is to save her the pain of taking his life by ding it for him, but this ends up pushing her over the edge, as she blames herself and sees it as yet another failure to protect someone she cared about. The main group ends up defeating natalio and liberating Grysia, but Taiana is left with menatl and emotional wounds that would leave her unstable for much of the remaining plot. it doesnt help that she eventually realizes that she loved him too. His former troops, which had deserted the war just as he asked, end up joining the Serenian military, with Anton becoming the captain of the knights. This mainly leads to alot of character development for taiana, and how she learns to cope with and accept the fact that she cant protect everyone, no matter how much she wants to. (there also is another really angsty part later bc main villian has some bs powers but uhh we've had enough sad i thinkand this is getting really long-)

choose to spare him: Taiana refuses to take Jacian's life, to which Jacian retorts that she had to if she wanted to get past. Of course, she once again refuses as she wont harm someone she cares about, especially when she's already lost people she cares about and is really close to just losing it. She then states that if one of them had to die, the he should take he life, much to his dismay. She stands firm on this, and he attempts, but his feelings finally overpower his sense of duty, and he just cant. but at the same time, his honor won't let him betray his lord, and if he goes back he will just be killed. He and taiana argue a bit, with taiana trying to convince him to join her before finally breaking down and just letting out everything she's had pent up inside since the the end of part 1 of the plot (different story for a different day) Jacian lets out some emotional baggage of his own, including confessing his feelings for taiana,which she is completely surprised about. They talk and mildly argue for a bit more, with Jacian eventually surrendering to his feelings, and vowing to right the wrongs made by his complacency before thanking Taiana for helping him to remember why he became a knight in the first place, and abandoning his old sense of honor to take up arms with the main group and find a new sense of honor, fighting for the people as taiana does rather than just for one corrupt man. Natalio really isnt suprised by this, and simply says that he'll send them both to the grave by his own hands, before being defeated by the main group with the help of Jacian's troops because yknow, theyre loyal to Jacaian before theyre loyal to the king. During the 6-year skip between part 2 and 3, Taiana and Jacian end up getting married, and similarly to the other option Anton is appointed captaianof the Serentian Knights, and remains a close friend to Jacian (along with the rest of his troops, theyre his bois). This mainly leads to more development of Jacian and how he interacts with the other charcaters in the main group, as well as him helping taiana to cope with many of her insecurities and issues, and offering support in a way that none of the other characters in the main group can (i meant to not this earlier as well, she may be very close to other characters as well, such as xayvion, but they just dont understand certain aspects of her personality deep down as well as Jacian does. The two are just a pair of overly excessive goofy knights, and though they may be slightly different they understand each other in a way no one else does).

and uhh thats basically it, this was way more than i meant to write and i really need to go to sleep now so uh yeet- anyways i love these 2, thank you for coming to my ted talk-

#OC shiz #shook rambles #Taiana (OC)#Jacian (OC)#this took an hour and a half please take it #also its probbaly non-comprehensive gibberish im sorry #im just very tired and brain is going brr and aaaaaaa i love these 2 #the angst makes me sad but like it makes for good character development #i have become what i swore to destroy noooo #time to make aus for my own oc stuff y e e t

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mobscene-london · 5 years

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BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Rachael Montgomery. AGE: 46. PLACE OF BIRTH: San Francisco, United States. AFFILIATION: Neutral. The Rutherford Family (former) OCCUPATION: Owner of ‘Yours Truly’ escort service. FACE CLAIM: Jessica Chastain. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

Moving to Porto Velho had always been a part of her plan. Rachael had headed there with the desire to attend college, whilst her best friend, Constance, followed with the aspiration of becoming a model. Neither of their dreams unravelled entirely as they expected.

Whilst on a night out at a club with Connie and some of her other college friends, Rachael was scouted by one of downtown’s many escort agencies. The whole idea made her so uncomfortable it almost triggered a snap rejection…until she was told how much money could be made. With Connie struggling to find work, and Rachael having to hold up both sides of their rent, it wasn’t as though she could turn down an income, regardless of how degrading she felt it might be. It was during this time that she first met Andrew Rutherford.

Clearly, he was using the relatively unknown escort service to keep his personal affairs under the radar. Unlike most of her clients who just wanted no-strings-attached sex, however, he immediately proved himself to be an exception to the depressing rule. It turned out that he really did just want innocent companionship. It was also clear to Rachael that he had morals. As soon as he’d laid eyes on her, the guilt at how young she’d been (barely twenty-two at the time) settled in hard. She knew she had to make him stay, though. If she lost a client like this—someone whose business could make or break things for the tiny company—she and Connie would be out on their asses. Thankfully, and much to her gratitude, the businessman stayed.

Their meets continued regularly for a few months. The man seemed sad. Lonely, perhaps. Definitely guarded. But he was incredibly intelligent and kind-hearted, and whilst things had originally felt awkward between them, their dinner dates quickly became the highlight of her otherwise dismal existence. They grew close; enough so that when he finally cut his ties with the agency and withdrew himself as a client, he made sure to leave her a way to contact him if she should ever need help with anything.

Unfortunately, when Connie realized her friend was too nervous to do anything with his number, she took it upon herself to contact him.

The last thing Rachael had expected was her friend somehow managing to sink her claws into the man. Whatever connection she’d imagined between herself and Andrew was soon overshadowed by her best friend’s obsession with bagging herself a handsome, rich businessman to help her further her career. Connie always got whatever or whomever she wanted, after all.

When Connie and Andrew solidified their relationship with a marriage that she could still hardly believe was real, Rachael met the man that would eventually become her own husband: Andrew’s best man, Johnathan Parsons. Connie was the one who pushed for the two of them to get to know each other, and truth be told, Rachael didn’t take much convincing. The Brit was handsome, charismatic, and in stark contrast to his best friend, rugged and dangerous. If she’d only dated him to avoid feeling lonely in the wake of losing her best friend to a marital status, it hadn’t ended up that way. She genuinely did fall in love.

When Rachael married Johnathan, she gave up her life as an escort, but she did not abandon the business all together. After the questionable way in which she had been treated whilst working, she was intent on making sure she could provide a safe and comfortable space for women to earn money. Rachael did so by creating her own agency. Andrew had been the one to help her fund the venture (albeit discretely) when she’d explained what she wanted to do. He had always been so confident in her.

“Yours Truly” as named by Connie, soon turned out to be a raving success. Secrecy was a must, so they never advertised publicly, but after Andrew began to recommend the agency to some of his business associates, the high-paying clients started to roll in. These weren’t the kind of men that wanted a quick meet in a motel room—though she didn’t doubt that some of them tried it on. They needed bright, intelligent, beautiful women to accompany them to fancy events, or to be seen with them on the red carpet. There were huge reputations at stake, and Rachael worked hard to maintain the trust of both the clients, and the girls who worked for her.

Starting a business had decimated her free time, though. It took an understandable toll on their marriage. She hadn’t expected it to push him into the arms of another woman, though; least of all, those of her best friend.

The betrayal of her husband had broken her heart, but the fact that the affair had been with Constance ensured that the damage was irreparable. She spoke of it to no one—least of all, Andrew. They assured her that their tryst was over, and even though she accepted their word, she knew she’d never be able to fully trust either of them again. Johnathan seemed to work a lot harder at things after that—especially when she fell pregnant a little while later—but a baby couldn’t fix things, no matter how hard he tried. After six years Rachael still didn’t divorce him because she loved him. Because she wanted to believe that he would change. Because she was embarrassed.

That all changed when she found Johnathan and Connie together again.

The moment Rachael caught them, everything changed. Rachael felt that she would not be able to keep the second affair from Andrew, and her intuition on the matter proved correct. Rachael felt as if she owed it to Andrew, as a close friend, to bring the situation to light as it was now the second hit against them. Shortly after the affair, a heartbroken Rachael filed for and signed the divorce papers. She felt betrayed by two of the people that mattered most to her, and so she found solace in the only good friend she had left.

Andrew and Rachael grew closer following her split. So close that they ended up having their own relationship. Whilst it only lasted a few months, it was long enough for Rachael to get pregnant. Andrew was not enthused with the news of his new progeny and broke things off with Rachael before returning to Connie. Devastated and with nothing left in Porto Velho, Rachael decided to move to London, with the hopes that neither Johnathan nor Andrew would follow. No such luck.

Since moving to London, Rachael developed a branch of Yours Truly and has been accumulating a rather impressive list of clientele. Shortly after the move, Rachael also gave birth to Andrew’s child, Lochlan. Despite her undying love for her children, they serve as important reminders as her failure and while she spends ample time doting on them, she has become more involved with her work now, more than ever. Her work is the one thing that allows her to flaunt her accomplishments and take her mind off of the tumultuous memories of her past.

Now, as Johnathan returns to his hometown, Rachael is finding it more difficult to cope with the ghosts from her past. However, Rachael does still have some tricks up here sleeve yet…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. Johnathan Parsons (ex-husband), Andrew Rutherford (ex) FAMILY: Sarah Parsons (daughter, unplayable), Lochlan Montgomery (son, unplayable) CONNECTIONS:

Silas Agreste: Friend with benefits. The two met at a charity event where they seemed to hit it off pretty well. Rachael knows that she shouldn’t be sleeping with the married man, but have you seen that ass? For the brief moments in which they’re together, Rachael isn’t reminded of the mistakes that she has made in the past.

Amir Dawar: Friend. Amir and Rachael met some time after she had been married to Johnathan, and had become more aware of the Rutherford ties. While the two were little more than friendly acquaintances for some time, they become closer as they were both cast away by the Rutherfords they had trusted the most. This bond strengthened them both in their times of turmoil, and only continued when the moved to London in hopes of leaving those same people that have hurt them behind.

Revati Sharma: Good Friend. Much like her relationship with Amir, Revati’s friendship stemmed from their connections with the Rutherford family. The two relied on each other when they moved to London and away from the chaos left in Porto Velho. Revati has been a dear friend to Rachael and always seems to make Rachael laugh when she needs it the most.

#neutral #rachaelmontgomery #jessica chastain #taken #takenf

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Text

Thank you, @bonnie-wee-swordsman, for the outrageously perfect song suggestion!

Read the other chapters here.

Our Story

At some point, they start ignoring time.

Claire, whose career so closely monitors the rhythms of human life, stops wearing a watch at home. The digital clock, which rests on a bedside table, is turned away like a spurned guest. A 45-degree angle now arrowing through the black, its numbers an indecipherable mist of light on the wall.

And for his part, Jamie skirts the church on his morning walks. The chimes, echoing from the stone bell tower, are a reminder of something there will never be enough of.

They recognize this for what it is: denial, out of fear. They are afraid of what they’ll see when they wear the watch, pass the church, if they allow the digital clock to stand guard over their dreams: the digits changing, the minutes out-pacing their steps. And they are afraid—perhaps even more so—of what they will not see: an immobile hand, a blank screen. Time stopped, time run out.

If this is truly denial, they tell themselves, then so be it.

It’s the small things that go first. The plot of a favorite film distorts, then takes the shapes of plots from other, less favored films. The frozen aisle moves with every grocery shop, its location found not by memory, but by the increasing chill in the air—goosebumps down skin, the body shaken. And a childhood pet, though long dead, lives and dies in the span of a single day. The joy and grief of it all, so fresh, that Jamie reaches for a shovel, upends the earth to bury a ghost. (Adso sits at his feet, though it’s a different loss he mourns.)

Eventually, the disease consumes other things. Dates: Is Geordie’s birthday on the 20th or the 21st? Directions: Is their new house on Jefferson Street or on Bond? The inertia of Jamie’s life slows with the disappearance of such landmarks, everyday values made so identical that he does not know where to put his faith, his love.

On an afternoon in July, Jamie volunteers to pick up one of Claire’s prescriptions. It is 2PM when he arrives at the pharmacy, approaches the counter with a tied and twisted tongue. Something about the pharmacist—so self-assured in his pristine lab coat—unnerves him into forgetfulness.

“A Dhia. One second,” Jamie says, fumbling through his pockets. He pulls out the receipt he’s put there and reads the reminder note on its blank side. (He cannot attribute the uniformly written letters or the passionately-crossed ts. His, or someone else’s?)

“Fraser,” he finally says. “I’m picking up a prescription for Claire Fraser.”

This is the first time Jamie has forgotten her—she, who is his world, and who is also half of himself. Suddenly, he is desperate to hide his embarrassment, for an enclosed space in which he can trap his wife’s name to prevent it from flying away. The white paper bag, passed to him and labelled just for her, feels wrong in his hands, now dirtied by the betrayal he has just committed.

Jamie does not return the way he came, but drives. By sunset, he does not know where he is, or how he has come to be along this stretch of foreign homes. Here, there is only the lingering sense of his shame—the very thing that has propelled him forwards, keeping his foot pressed adamantly to the gas pedal.

In a moment of panic, he wonders if one of these homes is his. If that driveway, curtained by the beds of purple petunias, should look familiar. But no, this land is flat—and he has the image of a hill, there should be a hill, he lives on a hill, he is sure of it. (He is, in fact, approximately two miles away from that hill.)

Jamie pulls over and shuts his eyes. Says, Focus. Says, Breathe. These are the recommended mantras, but while they have soothed him before, they are failing him now. The path to the phantom hill does not emerge from his mind, revealing itself, but remains at the end of a dark and winding tunnel. No focusing, no breathing to coax it out of hiding.

To call for someone would be to acknowledge the child he is slowly becoming, and by this fact alone, the action becomes unthinkable. Reprehensible. Instead, he repeats Claire’s name to the silver dollar in the sky because that, at least, has returned to him and stayed.

As if summoned, she appears out of the darkness: her blue Ford now behind him, and she behind its wheel. And this—this car, he knows. Remembers well. The scratch on its left side, from a fallen pine bough. The car seat for a grandchild whose photographs are attached to the visor: a mouth covered in icing, a head grazing a penciled notch on a doorframe.

She approaches, slow-footed, and leans through his open window. It is her smell that reaches him first. Then her voice. Then her face—now floating in front of his—dissipates the remains of his confusion. Finally, Jamie breathes.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling weakly.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

There is, he notices, so much tenderness in her—despite the circumstances, despite him. Him: a grown man who cannot remember his own address, but who can see, so clearly, the Coke stain on the Ford’s floor mat. And her—a grown woman wearing only her robe and slippers, but out in the middle of the night, to look for him.

“Now I may be mistaken,” she says, “but I believe you’re supposed to inform the seeker when you intend to hide. Otherwise that’s an unfair advantage.”

“I’m just trying to keep ye on yer toes, Sassenach,” he says softly, looking at his lap. (The phrase “remotely interesting” appears from nowhere, but—why?)

“Thank you for finding me, Sassenach,” he says instead, and Claire puts her hand on his arm. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, I did consider letting your other wife come get you. Oddly enough, I can’t seem to reach her. Must be cavorting with one of my other five husbands.”

They both stifle their laughs, chastised by the quiet and the precariousness of their situation; all that it implies. When Jamie sees Claire’s crooked incisor after she lowers her hand, Jamie feels overwhelmed. By his love, by his gratitude. By his luck that she has found him again and again and again.

“So,” she says, gesturing towards her car, “Finder’s keepers?”

When the Ford pulls ahead, Jamie follows. He keeps his eyes on the silhouette in the driver’s seat—the messy curls, the hand that adjusts the rearview mirror (to see him better)—as his wife, Claire Fraser, leads him home.

Claire familiarizes herself with the facts. They are as follows:

In 1901, a man named Karl Deter admitted his wife to a mental institution. Throughout the previous decade, he told the doctors, her condition had worsened, and he feared he could no longer provide adequate care. The woman’s name was Auguste Deter, and she would die five years later at the age of 56. Auguste’s symptoms— memory loss, mood swings, delusions, and insomnia—would become the hallmarks of a then-unknown disease. It would be discovered by her doctor, Alois Alzheimer, shortly after her death.

During her examinations, Dr. Alzheimer would test Deter’s recall. When prompted to repeat his questions—and her subsequent answers—hours later, Ms. Deiter could rarely remember their conversation. One day, upon forgetting her own name, she had simply stated: “Ich hab mich verloren.” I have lost myself.

In the United States, an estimated 5.5 million people currently live with Auguste’s disease. Of these, only 200,000 are, as she was, diagnosed before they turn 65—the age bracket which delineates the standard cases from the “early onset.” Though advancements have been made in the past century, Alzheimer’s is still incurable. The fatality rate is discouragingly high.

When Claire thinks of Auguste and these statistics, it is hard not to feel betrayed. To not demand, fist raised, for remorse or an admission of error. We’ve made a mistake.

And when Jamie loses his professorship, or searches fruitlessly for the misplaced items of his imagination, it is hard to believe that this is where their story has gone. That he, her husband, should be among the 5-percenters and she, his wife, must stand idly by.

And when Jamie—driven by a rage he cannot place—smashes a plate against the counter, it is hard to not to want a piece of that nameless fury. To not take some of it for herself and direct it at their fate, the unluckiest of the unlucky, when there is nothing left.

And it is hard, of course, not to feel hateful when he stumbles over her name.

But then, of course—she loves him.

(Oh, how she loves him.)

While Claire sleeps, Jamie goes to his desk and falls into his chair, eager. This chair, a ratty and thrifted thing, has outlived all the other ratty and thrifted things they had purchased after the big house fire. Its cushioned back, as textured and as worn as his own, never hurts his scars when he leans into it, gazing out the window to the Blue Ridge mountains.

He is here to write and to remember.

But the sentences, which had roused him with such insistence, do not come now that he is waiting, ready for them. They have withdrawn in the advent of his intention, sunken in the murky bog of his disease.

Slow, so very slow, to resurface.

While Jamie sleeps, Claire goes to the balcony. A notebook in her lap, a pen that fills the pages. She works her hand into an aching cramp, and it throbs, throughout it all, like a heartbeat.

This has become her usual routine: Jamie wakes, goes to his desk, returns frustrated, then sleeps. Claire listens for his slowed and measured breaths, then rises. That notebook, that pen. That heart, needing more room than her chest can ever give it, forcing itself into her wrist, into her hand.

Not everything on these pages is hers to claim—eggs fried on steaming asphalt, a baby fist pressed to a horse’s mane—but she claims them anyways. An imposition, she knows, Jamie would not mind. And so she takes his stubborn sentences, feeling the pull of her responsibility, and gives them life. Knowing, without having to ask, what needs to be said.

Claire dreads coming home tonight. This night, which is no different from all the others, save for the extra weight she’s given it. Her footfalls, made heavier. The wind, more oppressive. Her awful certainty, like a stone in a pocket underwater.

This night, their anniversary.

It is not the date itself, or Jamie, that she dreads returning to. Even the absence of him, that slow but increasing degeneration, is not what keeps her inside the car, so reluctant to climb the hill.

Rather: it is the absence of herself, in him. Her disappearance somehow made complete in the hours she’s been away, at work.

What if, she thinks, Jamie has forgotten? What if she walks into the house and he looks up from his chair, bewildered? As if to say, “Who are you?” As if to say, “Do you belong here?” As if she had not been the one to discover that chair among the third-hand junk—that very chair from which he is looking up, so bewildered?

These thoughts are always on her mind, but they are more pressing now. The 27 years of their second marriage demand remembrance, enraged at the possibility of her nonexistence. More so than ever, she could not bear his forgetting—no, not on this night. Their anniversary.

As Claire walks towards the house, she sees her. Before the porch—a girl, face shadowed by twilight and raised to the sky. By the looks of her dress and unscuffed Mary Janes, she has come here with a purpose, but that purpose has been abandoned for the fireflies around her head. Her small hands reach out to cup the air, willing the constellating lights into the valley of her palms. Two golden flickers descend, then are sheltered. She moves closer, peeking at the light between the black crack of her thumbs, which she widens and narrows, widens and narrows. Awe, and a command: Stay, stay.

“Mandy,” Claire finally calls out, and her granddaughter looks up. That original purpose slides across her face, though her hands—curved in a prayer-like steeple—still hold the light. (She is five years old and beautiful.)

“Grama!”

“What have you got there, baby?”

Mandy whispers, “Firebugs.”

Her eyes are those of a mother looking at her child. Like Claire’s own, right now, as she looks at her granddaughter. All this wonder in the evidence of something good.

“You’re not s’posed to go inside,” Mandy says eventually, not lifting her gaze. “I’m s’posed to tell you that. Grampa isn’t ready just yet, but Mom will say when it’s okay.”

“That right? And what exactly is he doing in there?”

Mandy giggles, “Secret.” And quiet again, she says, “Do you wanna hold them?”

“I’d love to hold them.”

“You have to be very, very gentle.”

“I will.”

“You can’t squash them.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t let them go until I say so.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay,” Mandy says. “Okay, okay. Ready?”

“Ready.”

And when the bugs have been safely transferred into her care, Mandy hovering at her waist, Claire feels: Wings like timid kisses against her skin. The cloud of her dread, receding slowly. The promise of—what, exactly? (Hope, she thinks.)

“Is that grandma out there with you, Amanda?” Bree calls from the porch. “You two can come in now!”

Mandy ignores her mother, asking, “Do you think they’re married?” then, “They seem to be very, very married to me.” And because her desire is so plain in her eyes, fixed wholly on these things she has come to love and is so unwilling to lose—stay, stay—Claire keeps her hands closed.

“I think you might be right,” she replies, and they remain there, silent on the path. The bulbs illuminate each other’s faces and the night.

(Hope: Even in the oncoming darkness, there are these lights worth cupping in the palm of one’s hand.)

He is waiting for her in the doorway, smiling.

He has not forgotten.

They move together, swaying and colliding and fumbling. Jamie’s steps are too clumsy, Claire’s overcorrections too extreme—their own bodily melody, so out of sync with the music. They laugh more than they dance, holding each other up as they shuffle around the room.

“Yer terrible at this, Sassenach.”

“You’re the one with two left feet.”

“Two left feet, my arse! Ye canna take a step without missing my toes.”

“Such wonderful toes. How’s a woman to resist?”

Having fulfilled their duties as supervisor and watchman, Bree and Mandy have returned home to Roger. In their wake is an assortment of dirtied dishes (the meals prepared by Jamie), low-burning candles (purchased and lit by Bree), and scattered confetti on the floor (courtesy of Mandy’s decorative genius). James Taylor sings quietly from speakers which, like the rest of the living room furniture, have been pushed into the corner to avoid unwanted damages. On the mantle, a new blue vase sits flanked by a 25th anniversary card—though the five has been crossed out and replaced by an effusive, bright red seven. Apparently, Jamie had told Claire, “the fools at Hallmark dinna celebrate 27th anniversaries.” That’s why, Claire had told Jamie, she “used her artistic gifts to make something homemade.” (Her masterpiece: Two stick figures holding one heart.)

There’s something in the way she moves

Or looks my way, or calls my name

“Did you know,” Jamie says now, still swaying, “that this is the song I listened to after our first night? I put on ‘James Taylor’ after you left, and I couldna stop thinking about you in that hideous sweater wi’ the—penguins, was it? And the wee sparklies?”

“Is that what you’re thinking of right now? Me wearing an ugly jumper in 1989?”

“Aye, but can ye blame me? It’s a hard thing for a man to forget. Verra impressionable. Perhaps offensive.”

“As I recall yours had a Father Christmas with some vomit—”

“It was beer. And maybe a bit of fondue cheese.”

“As I was saying: vomit in his cloth beard. I’ve had nightmares ever since, and they’re all on your conscience.”

“Well, that was my intention, Sassenach. I wanted you thinking of me while you were in bed.”

Claire laughs, kissing the bottom of his chin before he rests it atop her skull.

“I stand by that jumper,” she grumbles into his shoulder. “A bloody good find.”

And I feel fine anytime she’s around me now

She’s around me now

Almost all the time

They continue dancing until she asks, “So what else are you thinking about?” and Jamie sighs.

“A few things,” he says. “One, that I’d like to see ye in that jumper again. Two, that I’d also like to see you in nothing at all.”

“Sadly, the jumper met its tragic end in the big house fire. May it rest peace.”

“Aye. Gone too soon.”

“But the second thing—well. I think that could be arranged.”

Jamie smirks, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“Mostly though, Sassenach, I’m thinking that I’m thankful.”

“Oh?”

“For you. For the fact that there are things I dinna remember, and others that will be lost, too…But that one, the moment I first saw you—I dinna think that will ever go away.”

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning

And I find myself careening

In places where I should not let me go

Jamie begins to sing along, off-pitch but endearing all the same. Claire hums with him, pressed close.

She has the power to go where no else can find me

Halfway through the third refrain, the lyrics—once confident—tumble out of his mouth, muddled. He has forgotten some of the initial sound of her: Claire, drinking coffee on that morning-after. Three Sweet n’ Lows ripped open in one swift tear. I only use two and a half—do you want the rest? And then Claire, beside him, a week later. The winter-bleached Royal Mile and the squelch of her boots as they passed through Carfax Close. Stay with me tonight?

In the silence, Claire feels something come apart inside her, and so she holds Jamie tighter, finishing the lyrics that he cannot.

If I’m well you can tell she’s been with me now

She’s been with me now quite a long, long time

Yes and I feel fine

(Before he takes her to bed, she will ask him: “What if we went back?”)

He finds the notebook five days before they leave for Scotland. One sentence, and already he understands. Claire has placed him here without his knowing, while he sleeps. Joy, anger, sorrow, relief—all of him and all of her, mingling in the space between two lines.

Over 50 pages filled by now, but there are things he feels he ought to add, like: A hand clasping a bare throat, snow all around, and—singing. An invitation directed at his lips, Do you want to come in?, and gold pooled on the floor. Ghosts, too, watching from a church balcony; the acknowledging tilt of his wife’s chin.

With these thoughts in his mind, Jamie takes up his pen, inserts his own truths and imaginings in the spaces Claire has left behind. He tucks each one inside a pair of parentheses, like secrets shared between two people.

(Like gifts wrapped up in so much history.)

#our story au #;mod liv #uno mas!!! uno mas!!!!!#sorry jem but you don't exist in this universe #and for those wondering no i have no idea what my timeline is and the alzheimer's stats are from 2016 #but shh

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dexer-von-dexer · 7 years

Text

Murder, Romance, and Revolution (Steven Universe Theory)

Figured since Wanted came out, and The Trial started fanning the theory fire, my gears got turning and I thought I’d make another theory post. This time about The Big One, the case to end all cases, the grand whodunit, the biggest mystery of the show: what actually happened to Pink Diamond?

But instead of rushing into this throwing around speculation and conjecture from the get-go, I wanted to start by listing what we know, what the show has given us to work with, then deduce a theory from that. So here’s a list of what we know so far:

1) Something happened to Pink Diamond. That much is a given.

2) Everyone thinks Rose Quartz shattered Pink Diamond. Again, that much is a given.

3) Garnet spoke of Pink Diamond’s shattering as something that “had to happen” in Back to the Moon, and Pearl had a very visceral reaction too. This means that the Crystal Gems probably aren’t completely blameless in whatever happened.

4) Eyeball witnessed what she claims to be Rose Quartz shattering Pink Diamond. Stated in Back to the Moon, reiterated in The Trial. Further questions: Is that accurate? Secondly, are there any other witnesses?

5) Rose Quartz was a soldier, a low-ranking gem. Not part of Pink Diamond’s court. She would have had a hard time getting close enough to kill, and an even harder time getting out again. Confirmed by Zircon during The Trial.

6) Zircon implies that only another Diamond would have the authority to get close enough to shatter Pink. However, this is still conjecture. Blue Diamond is not suspect, unless her thousands of years of mourning were all for show. Yellow Diamond snaps, but outrage is not necessarily guilt. Curiously, the third Diamond (presumed White Diamond) is still absent, and isn’t even named, despite her imagery appearing prominently over the skyline.

7) Pink Diamond had a Pearl, who was seemingly ignored in all previous accounts of Pink Diamond’s murder. Confirmed by Zircon during The Trial. Further questions: Is Pink Pearl our Pearl, or is she another Pearl? If not, where is Pink Pearl now?

8) Eyeball claims to have witnessed Rose Quartz shatter Pink Diamond with a sword, the sword, the one that Steven inherited and gave to Connie. Specifically Rose Quartz, not a fusion. Not the giant sword wielded by the Temple fusion. Specifically Rose, specifically her sword. Stated first in Bubbled and reiterated in The Trial.

9) Rose’s sword is specifically designed not to be able to shatter gems, as stated by Bismuth in her titular episode. That was the reason she created the Breaking Point, which Steven referenced in The Trial. Given this, an attack from Rose’s sword would not have shattered Pink Diamond.

10) The rebellion continued long after Pink Diamond’s apparent shattering. Jasper, despite being created to serve Pink Diamond, emerged after her demise, and fought “from the moment she broke free” because of it. Since Jasper went on to become a war hero, a good portion of the war must have occurred after Pink Diamond’s apparent shattering. Further questions: Is Pink Diamond’s demise what started the rebellion in the first place? Or was it a turning point in an already ongoing war?

Given these facts, we can come up with a series of intriguing conclusions, which lead to a potentially solid account of what may have happened, and my own wild theory as to the deeper story behind it all (below the cut):

Eyeball could be lying. This is unfortunately a possibility. Unfortunate because everything we know comes from Eyeball’s testimony: Rose Quartz, her sword, everything. If she’s lying, then everything’s up for grabs. Pink Diamond could have been shattered by Lion for all we know. or Onion wielding a time travel device. Eyeball’s testimony is the keystone holding all of this together, and without it everything falls apart.

If Eyeball isn’t lying, Pink Diamond was attacked by someone who appeared to be Rose Quartz. This is the crux of the issue. Zircon argues that a Diamond could have shattered Pink Diamond, but that contradicts Eyeball’s testimony. According to Eyeball, someone with Rose Quartz’s appearance seemed to shatter Pink Diamond using Rose Quartz’s sword. But:

If Rose’s sword was used, Pink Diamond is not dead. If she truly was attacked by Rose’s sword, she should not have been shattered. Her shattering must have been a fake. Who knows where she is now, but she may be alive. But the question remains: why would her shattering be faked? And why keep her true fate hidden all this time?

Someone close to Pink Diamond must have betrayed her. Zircon’s argument that Rose didn’t have the authority to get close is strong. However, the implication that it must have been one of the other Diamonds is a bit shakier, and again would contradict Eyeball’s testimony. It could be a member of her own court who shapeshifted to look like Rose Quartz, but then why shapeshift? Why pin the blame on her? A false-flag operation to turn public sentiment against the growing rebellion, perhaps? But Garnet spoke of Pink Diamond’s shattering as something that had to happen; if Rose Quartz was a scapegoat, then wouldn’t Garnet do everything in her power to deny her involvement? It just wouldn’t make sense. Therefore:

Rose Quartz probably was the one who attacked Pink Diamond. She could have disguised herself as one of her retinue, and revealed herself at the last moment to strike. But then the question still remains how she was able to get so close. She certainly couldn’t have done it on her own, because then she’d run into the same issue as if the attacker were a member of the court: she’d be struck down before she could do anything. And even if she did get close, she’d be struck down before she could escape. Therefore:

Rose Quartz must have been aided and abetted by a member of Pink Diamond’s court. Only someone familiar with Pink Diamond could have the authority to get close enough to kill her. Even if that hypothetical someone isn’t the perpetrator, they still could have snuck Rose into the court until she was close enough to strike. Escape would be more complicated, but if the insider was seen as important enough, they could be used as an effective hostage. But barring another Diamond, the only one close enough to Pink Diamond for that to work is:

Pearl. Diamonds’ Pearls are interesting, hierarchically. They are servants, but they seem to accompany their masters at all times. Given this, they are both close enough to the Diamonds to be important, yet ignored enough to be practically invisible to suspicion. A Pearl would be the perfect inside gem for this crime. And Rose Quartz just so happens to know one Pearl in particular. Whether you believe our Pearl is Pink Diamond’s or White’s or anyone else’s doesn’t really matter: even if she wasn’t Pink Pearl, she could have masqueraded as her. Given how little the Diamonds seem to pay attention to their Pearls, it probably would have been very easy.

Therefore, we can deduce the following possibility:

Pearl was Rose’s inside gem in Pink Diamond’s court. She either was Pink Pearl, or she replaced her for the incident. Rose Quartz, aided by Pearl, snuck into Pink Diamond’s court and launched a surprise attack against Pink Diamond, wherein she faked Pink Diamond’s shattering using her sword to destroy her physical form, bubbled her, and possibly swapped her with some fake shattered remains to complete the illusion for Eyeball and other witnesses. Rose then used Pearl as a false hostage to safely escape from Pink Diamond’s shocked bodyguards. Pink Diamond herself is still alive, potentially still bubbled and hidden away somewhere, forgotten to time.

There are still deeper mysteries here to unravel, but given the information we have thus far, this seems to be the most likely version of events. But the question still remains:

Why?

It’s still a complete unknown why this incident had to occur. It’s important to note that this ploy did not end the war. In fact, it may have begun it. If it was intended as a tactical move to turn the tide in favor of the rebellion, it wasn’t a very good one. We still don’t know what the original intent was, and perhaps, most tantalizingly, we don’t even know for certain whether it was Rose Quartz who came up with the idea in the first place.

Going into complete speculation territory now…:

I believe Rose was not the mastermind behind all this. I believe it was Pearl. I believe Pearl was indeed Pink Diamond’s Pearl, who grew unhappy with her life of servitude. And Rose Quartz, a soldier tasked with the relocation of the human population, represented what Pearl wanted most: freedom. She was a good speaker, a capable fighter and strategist, and acted with a certain amount of autonomy. Maybe she refused to harm the humans she was tasked with expunging, and that’s what caught Pearl’s attention. Maybe they just caught each other at the right time, and started to talk to each other. In any case, they became close, and Pearl fell in love.

Pearl and Rose grew closer, perhaps sneaking to talk to each other behind Pink Diamond’s back, and as their interactions evolved Pearl’s longing for freedom and Rose’s willingness to skirt authority developed into idle thoughts of rebellion. Maybe Rose even thought she herself was the one who came up with the idea. As their relationship developed, so did their dream, and eventually they (specifically Rose, as Pearl was still in Pink Diamond’s close servitude) recruited other gems into their little half-baked rebellion, including Bismuth.

Pearl, however, wanted her own freedom more than anything, and she wanted to be by Rose’s side. So along with Rose, and along with Bismuth, she concocted a plan to free herself from Pink Diamond’s grasp. Rose would play the part of the dashing rogue, swooping in out of nowhere, striking at the heart of the Diamond Authority in the ultimate act of rebellion. And Pearl would play the part of the hapless victim, kidnapped from her Diamond’s court during the commotion and brainwashed by the rebels into becoming a “terrifying renegade.” Then they’d laugh and sing and fall in love, and everything would be beautiful, or so Pearl thought.

Rose, of course, was squeamish about actually assassinating Pink Diamond. Despite her and Pearl’s playful dreams of rebellion, she still felt like murder went too far. So instead they agreed that it would all be a ruse, that Pink Diamond would simply be poofed and swapped with a decoy. Rose tasked Bismuth with creating a weapon specifically for the job. Maybe they even believed they would release Pink Diamond after everything had settled down again and went back to normal.

And so they executed their plan, and it happened flawlessly. Rose “shattered” Pink Diamond, and carried Pearl away. Only it didn’t stop there. Pink Diamond’s forces were out for blood. The other Diamonds reacted with shock and rage at their youngest’s murder. Pink Diamond’s subjects still incubating in their Kindergartens emerged to learn that the one they were created to serve was dead. Violence broke out. Factions split apart. And suddenly Rose’s and Pearl’s fantasy of rebellion was very, very real.

Eventually, everyone forgot. Rose became the leader figure Pearl wanted her to be, fighting for the humans she adored. Bismuth became more and more enthralled with the rebellion until she decided to shatter the Authority, for real this time. And Pearl was forgotten. Just Rose’s number two. She went from servitude to servitude, invisibility to invisibility, from serving someone she hated to serving someone she loved. But Rose, now burdened with her own duty as leader of the rebellion, lost sight of her, and Pearl became nothing more than a footnote, her love forever unrequited. And as the armies clashed and war raged and the Corruption lit up the sky, the whole reason behind it all–that the incident that started everything was a passionate romantic gesture gone awry–was lost to time.

That’s what I believe may have happened. An indulgent act of romance that sparked a war to end all wars. An unrequited love that launched a thousand ships. An intimate conversation between two seemingly unimportant people that signaled the beginning of the end of an era. The big mystery they’ve been building up for the past four seasons just may have been a bittersweet love story the whole time. Wouldn’t that be the most Steven Universe thing.

#su #steven universe #theory #su spoilers #su wanted #pearl #rose quartz #pink diamond #long post #i post #i'm kind of proud of this one #i hope i'm right #it's been a while since i've made one of these so i wanted to make it extra special #this may or may not be the last one i do #we'll see #i personally think this is my favorite of the ones i've done #even if it's not true i still like the idea #much like all my other theories

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