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chelsfic · 4 years

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I Fell into Fantasy - Nandor x Guillermo One-Shot

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo admits to a secret desire. Nandor tries to fulfill it without compromising his aloofness.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song called “Days of the Phoenix” by AFI. I was inspired to write this fic by the scene in the movie where Viago talks about how he likes to make things “nice” for his victims during their final moments.

Warnings: Blood drinking, a bit of smut, frottage, pining, angst

---

Guillermo really should know better.

How many nights has he spent digging up the garden to dispose of the mangled corpses left behind after the vampires’ feasting? How many bruised, torn throats has he seen? Cracked collar bones and broken limbs? Lifeless, staring eyes?

He knows the victims are in pain before they die. He knows the vampires sometimes like to play with their food, chasing tearful virgins through the house, giving them a taste of escape before tucking into their meal. He knows it hurts. He knows it isn’t sexy.

Really. He knows.

He’s still jealous. He’s jealous when he shows up to yet another sad familiar mixer to find that nearly every other human in attendance has faded puncture wounds and he has to hide his smooth, pristine throat with a turtleneck sweater. He’s jealous when he’s forced to stand in the corner and listen to his master’s obscene, tantalizing moans as he drinks from some random human who isn’t him. He’s jealous when Nandor remarks on how tasty a victim is, licking his lips before discarding their lifeless forms like so much garbage.

He knows it’s wrong. But he gave up caring about right and wrong a long time ago, around the time he dug his first clandestine grave.

He’s wanted to be bitten ever since he was 13-years-old and he first watched Lestat turn Louis on the 18-inch TV in his bedroom. He’d paused the movie, rewinding and frantically beating off as the blood poured onto Brad Pitt’s lips. He wants to know what his master’s lips would feel like on the tender hollow of his throat. He wants to feel the scratch of his beard as he closes his mouth over Guillermo’s sensitive skin. He wants Nandor to hold him close. He wants to feel those sensual moans rumble through the vampire’s chest as he takes his fill.

He wants so much.

Whenever he feels jealousy, lust, longing... he reminds himself that he should feel grateful, proud even, that Nandor has never fed from him. Nandor sees him as more than a meal. He’s a trusty companion, a person, a...friend? This is what Guillermo tells himself. He knows it’s not a matter of taste. How many times has Nandor scolded him for looking too tempting when he blushes? Or warned him to be careful with his sword collection because he didn’t want him bleeding all over the place and testing his self-control?

Whatever his reasoning--respect, boundaries, taboo--Nandor doesn’t feed on his familiar. But Guillermo often wonders if things would be different if his master knew how badly he wanted it.

---

“Guillermo, you’re very serious tonight. Are you having to take a human shit? I can wait until after for you to do the tucking in…”

Nandor stands by his open coffin with an uncomfortable smile on his face that’s akin to a grimace. Guillermo has already helped him remove his outer layers and brushed out his flowing, dark hair. All that remains is for the familiar to hold his hand while he steps up into his coffin.

“No, master, I--I don’t have to take a shit. I’m fine,” Guillermo murmurs with sadness practically oozing out of his pores.

Nandor bristles, his eyes darting all over the room as he wars with himself over whether to press further or simply to ignore Guillermo’s stupid human moods and hope they go away.

The vampire sighs dramatically, “I think you better tell me what is the matter, Guillermo. I don’t want this affecting your work performance. You do a very poor job dusting the paintings and the window dresses when you’re sad. Now what is it? Laszlo and Nadja? Are they giving the guff to you?”

Guillermo is quiet for a long moment, looking up into his master’s fathomless brown eyes as he decides how to respond. Nandor’s whole body is tense as if he’s awaiting the guillotine blade. Maybe he should just get it out of his system and finally admit--well, certainly not everything he feels for his beloved master, but at least about his deep desire to be bitten.

He blushes, lowering his gaze as he finally answers, “I guess...I’m just a little jealous. Of...of the people you feed from.”

Nandor’s face drops into blank befuddlement before his dark brows lift upward and his lips curl in a poorly concealed smile.

“You’re jealous of my victims? I kill those people! You want me to murder you? Is this some kind of death wish thing? Because I find that really annoying!” Nandor sputters, half amused and half serious.

Guillermo’s face is burning with humiliation now and he rushes to clarify, “No! No, I don’t want to die, master. It’s just...I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire...”

His voice fades to nothingness but Nandor clearly understands him and his face grows pensive as he contemplates his words.

“Are you bullshitting me?” Nandor questions and his tone is just close enough to irritation to cause Guillermo to shrink in on himself as he answers.

“No, master.”

“Well…” Nandor sighs and affects a look of disinterest. “It’s alright to say that sort of thing to me, Guillermo, because you’re my familiar. But you want to be careful out there with the other vampires. You could get eaten up! And then where would I be? Having to make another ad on the Greg’s List!”

“...Craigslist…”

“As I said!” Nandor snaps, holding out his hand expectantly as he moves to get into his coffin. “Now, that’s enough of this crazy talking. Alright?”

“Alright, master,” Guillermo murmurs subserviently, reaching up to release the lid and slowly lowering it, sealing his master inside.

“Goodnight, Guillermo!” Nandor’s muffled voice calls as the familiar moves around the room, blowing out candles.

“Night, master!”

Sealed in the claustrophobic darkness of his coffin, Nandor’s mind races as he tries to process this new information about his familiar. Guillermo--his little Guillermo!--would let him bite him and drink his delicious blood? No, he wants him to do it. Yearns for it. He is jealous of the people he kills just because they get to feel the sting of his fangs and the touch of his lips. Nandor palms himself through his trousers. He’s harder than he’s been in a century just thinking of it.

---

He tries, he really does. Guillermo tries to forget about his shameful admission and go back to normal. Nandor certainly seems unmoved, doing nothing to even hint that he remembers having the conversation. So, Guillermo goes through the motions, dutifully completing his chores, searching for fresh sources of virgin blood, and standing by while Nandor sates his bloodlust with perfect strangers. But now that he’s revealed his secret--part of his secret, let’s be honest--and faced his master’s outright rejection, he just can’t seem to let go of the hollow ache in his chest.

He feels inadequate, pathetic, unattractive. And sad. Mostly sad.

Guillermo might think that Nandor has forgotten all about their little chat, but the vampire dwells on it just as much as the human does in the days that follow. And it’s impossible to ignore the scent of “sad human” that’s begun to permeate the household. Nandor spends several days battling with himself over what to do. He considers killing Guillermo and starting over with a new familiar… Guillermo gets his wish, Nandor doesn’t have to confront his shameful attraction to his servant… everybody wins! But the thought of Guillermo’s sweet little face gone still and lifeless sends a foreign stab of emotion into his chest that is really unpleasant.

He could ignore the situation and hope for it to go away on its own. But now that he knows his familiar is secretly lusting after his bite, he can’t get it out of his mind. He’d avoided feeding from Guillermo for years. At first it was a matter of preserving a valuable asset. Guillermo is a good familiar, why risk slipping up and accidentally draining him? After a while, when Nandor started to fixate on his familiar’s adorable smiles, fantasizing about how his soft, little body would feel against his...then it became a matter of self-control and rejecting his disgusting, unnatural feelings for a... servant!

So, that leaves him with one option. He must feed from Guillermo...carefully. So, so carefully so as not to be overcome and either kill or ravish the poor fellow. And if he is going to bite his Guillermo, then he must make it a pleasant experience for his familiar. He can’t stomach the idea of simply ripping into his human and hearing him scream and cry with the pain of it. No, it has to be...special.

---

Guillermo is barely in the door, laden down with shopping bags, when his master’s voice calls to him.

“Guillermo! Is that you?”

“Yes, master! I’m back from the store. I got you some more of those bath bombs you like,” Guillermo answers, wrestling with the bags as he edges towards his room. “Is there something--?”

Nandor appears at his side and interrupts, “The one with the lavender? Very good, Guillermo. Ehm--why don’t you put down those satchels and come with me to my room for a moment. I have a surprise for you.”

Guillermo’s face lights up with a warm smile and he drops the bags on the floor by his closet-room, “A surprise? For me, master?”

“Just for you, Guillermo! Come!” Nandor practically skips at his side as they walk back to his room, his eyes lit with anticipation.

Nandor closes and locks the door behind them, watching his familiar take in the arrangements he’s made. He borrowed Laszlo’s gramophone and set it up in the corner. It’s playing a soft, quiet melody that floats gently on the incense-infused air. A vase of vivid red roses sits on an end table next to his fancy couch, which he’s covered in a layer of bath towels.

“What...what is all this, master?” Guillermo breathes, walking up to the flowers and burying his nose in the fragrant blooms with a smile on his lips.

“Do you like it, Guillermo? I wanted it to be--” he pulls a face but manages to get the word out “--nice for you.”

“But, why?”

Nandor steps up beside his familiar, towering over the smaller man. “I’m going to feed from you. If... if that is still something you are wanting.”

“Oh,” the word comes out on a shaky exhale and Guillermo feels his knees go weak. “I--yes, I still want...that. Thank you, master.”

Nandor smiles, baring his fangs and crinkling his eyes. Guillermo feels his heart do a flip in his chest and wonders, distractedly, if Nandor can hear his heartbeat. They’re standing so close. Guillermo could lean forward just a bit and they’d be touching. He looks up into Nandor’s eyes and finds them melted with warmth. His master has never gone through such an effort for him before. Guillermo feels like his heart could burst.

“You want to take a seat?” Nandor gestures to the towel covered couch and Guillermo snaps out of his daze.

He sinks down onto the cushions, running his hands appreciatively over the terry cloth, “This was clever, master.”

Nandor takes a seat beside him, close enough that their thighs brush together and Guillermo gulps. He’s brushed his master’s hair, helped him dress, helped him bathe for goodness sake, but he’s never felt as close to him as he does now.

“Are you comfort-a-ble, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, staring at his face with a hungry intensity.

Guillermo locks eyes with him and he sees his master’s pupils dilate, his lips part to bare elongated fangs. He gasps out a quivering breath as he fights the waves of exhilaration, lust and fear in order to answer.

“Yes, it’s...very comfy, master. Very nice, thank you.”

“Good,” Nandor responds, his eyes flicking down to Guillermo’s collar. “Why don’t you remove your woolen garment and open your collar. I don’t want to spoil your nice clothes.”

Guillermo feels like he’s in a dream. Nandor is never this...considerate. His mind flashes back to every time he’s watched his master strike out at a victim unannounced, with fierce aggression and even cruelty. It’s pathetic that his standards are so low, but the fact that Nandor isn’t treating him like just another victim to be used and discarded sends a rush of affection and hope flowing through him. He hastily grabs the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Next, he reaches for the collar of his shirt, but Nandor is there first. His long, thick fingers pluck at the buttons, releasing each one until Guillermo’s chest is visible. He pulls the collar aside, revealing the smooth, unblemished curve of Guillermo’s neck and shoulder.

“Are you ready?” Nandor asks with a hiss as he eyes his familiar’s naked skin. He’s never seen so much of the man before and he feels his cock stir with interest inside his trousers.

“Yes,” Guillermo breathes needily, tilting his head to bare his neck even further.

Nandor brings his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head, letting his fingers sink into his soft curls and cupping his warm cheek in his palm. The pulse point at Guillermo’s throat is practically visible, his heart is beating so fast. Nandor feels his mouth flood with saliva as the rushing flow of Guillermo’s blood reaches his ears.

He wraps his other arm around his familiar, drawing him onto his lap and finally leaning in to bury his face into the warm, inviting crook of his neck. Nandor breathes in the intoxicating aroma that even the human-things-for-smelling and his incense cannot obscure. He moans loudly. He might be embarrassed if he were less overcome with the sensory feast of his familiar’s soft body in his arms and the promise of his warm, thick blood.

Guillermo mewls at the touch of his master’s mouth on his bare throat. His beard is scratchy and rough but his lips are impossibly soft and gentle. It’s like a kiss, he thinks, his heart rushing with affection and joy. Nandor’s arm around him is firm and strong. He knows that he could never hope to escape if Nandor truly wished to restrain him and drink him dry. Putting this level of trust in his master makes him feel like a tiny, frail rabbit in the jaws of a hungry wolf. A delicious shiver runs down his spine at the image. And then Nandor’s lips pull back and he feels the sharp points of his fangs graze over tender skin.

“Oh!” Guillermo cries out.

Nandor growls low in his throat but pulls back just slightly to check, “Is this still alright?”

Guillermo nods quickly, bringing up his hands to run them through Nandor’s soft hair reassuringly, “Yes! Yes! Please, master!”

He feels Nandor’s chest rumble with suppressed laughter and then there’s just the blinding, burning flash of pain that blooms as Nandor finally strikes, burying his fangs into his familiar’s soft, warm throat. Guillermo’s mouth falls open and his hands fist in Nandor’s hair as the first wave takes him.

“Shhh,” Nandor murmurs wetly against his neck, lapping the spilled blood with long strokes of his tongue. “Shhh, you’re safe.”

“Nnghh!” a pleasured groan strangles from the familiar’s throat at the touch of his master’s tongue. Guillermo squirms, his cock filling even as blood drains away from his body.

Nandor tightens his arms around his little Guillermo, pulling him flush against his broad chest and biting down once more as he begins to drink in earnest. He moans wantonly as the sweet blood fills his mouth. He’s as hard as he’s ever been and he rolls his hips against his familiar’s generous backside. He drinks and he drinks.

The pain ebbs enough for Guillermo to lose himself in the delicious feeling of connection with his master. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth are all on him, inside of him, part of him. Nandor’s touch unlocks a secret room inside of Guillermo where he keeps his most tender feelings. For once he allows himself to truly feel the devotion, the affection... the love that he has for his master. It’s wonderful and dizzying. Tears slip from his eyes as he reaches his arms around Nandor’s broad shoulders, hugging him closer for as long as he’ll allow.

Too soon he feels his head start to spin and his grip on Nandor’s shoulders loosens. The vampire senses it immediately and draws back with a feral growl. Guillermo is limp and breathless in his master’s arms. He looks up with heavy-lidded eyes and watches Nandor lick blood from his lurid, stained lips.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo whispers, snuggling into Nandor’s chest with a contented sigh. His arousal is flagging and he hopes that his master hasn’t noticed. He’d felt Nandor’s rigid erection grinding against him while the vampire drank his blood, but he has no way of knowing if that’s just something that happens every time he feeds. Whatever the case, he’s far too weak and drunk with happiness to do anything but drift along and hope that Nandor keeps holding him.

Nandor’s dead heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of his sleepy familiar burrowing his face into his chest. His plan seems to have failed. He’d wanted to give Guillermo his fantasy while remaining aloof, but instead he’s feeling an annoying rush of warm affection. Worse, he’s shamed himself by...rutting against the human like a street dog. He should push him away, or give him an order to remind him of the boundaries that are still in place. But as he looks down at the sweet smile on his familiar’s lips he can’t find it in him to spoil the moment for him so soon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night he’d remind Guillermo of how things still stand between them.

“Will you keep holding me, master?” Guillermo mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. The human has read his thoughts!

“Yes,” Nandor replies, leaning down and tracing a barely there kiss onto Guillermo’s forehead. “For a little while.”

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #wwdits

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richmond-rex · 4 years

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What do you think Henry VII remembers, if anything, of his other uncle Henry VI?

This is such an interesting question and something that I myself have been wondering, so thank you for providing me with the opportunity to expand my thoughts on here 🌹

We know that Henry VII only ever saw his uncle King Henry VI once during his life, when he was 13 years old. However, I’d argue King Henry must have caused quite a great impression on him, and considering Henry Tudor was old enough at that time, also a profoundly lasting one. So far young Henry Earl of Richmond had been living as a ward of his uncle Jasper’s enemies, the Herberts. By 1470 his old guardian, William Herbert, had been executed, and then, as the Earl of Warwick changed sides and brought about Henry VI’s readeption, Henry Tudor was returned to his uncle Jasper who took him to London to meet King Henry VI. That Jasper felt like acquainting his nephew with his brother denotes a special degree of closeness and advocates for his idea of family, in my opinion.

According to André, Henry VII’s court poet and self-styled regius historiographus, on 27 October 1470 Henry VI held ‘a splendid feast with the nobles and best men of the kingdom’ to commemorate his return to the throne. As the king was washing his hands, young Richmond was brought to his presence, and according to André, ‘the king prophesied that someday the boy would undertake the governance of the kingdom and would have all things under his own power.’ Polydore Vergil, a historian that began his service under Henry VII in 1506, wrote in his Three Books that in that 1470 meeting ‘the king... is reported to have said:’

“This truly, this is he unto whom both we and our adversaries must yield and give over the dominion.”

It seems not even Vergil lends much credence to this tale as expressed by his choice of words: reported to have said. As expected, this myth has largely been viewed as Tudor propaganda and indeed the episode has been immortalised in Shakespeare’s Henry VI part III. In the play, King Henry VI meets a toddler Henry Richmond (then escorted by Somerset), calls him ‘England’s hope’, and says Richmond was ‘Likely in time to bless a regal throne’. Given that King Henry VI had his own son Prince Edward as his heir at the time, it seems unlikely he would ever have said such a thing. However, if anything remotely close to that happened, then I agree with Leanda de Lisle in saying that it must have been King Henry VI taking Henry Tudor to be his own son Edward, who thanks to his imprisonment in the Tower he had not seen for five years (and would not ever see again). It’s absurdly sad to think King Henry VI would confound his nephew with his son but arguably also not out of the realm of possibility. We don’t know if Henry Tudor saw his uncle King Henry again, but it’s also not unlikely that he, his mother and uncle Jasper stayed at court for the feast of All Hallows’ (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November).

If King Henry VI ever made such prophecy, wittingly or not, then it must have greatly impacted on Henry Tudor. Henry VII believed to have been chosen by God to, against all odds, become king of England. He once wrote about ‘the crown which it has pleased God to give us with the victory over our enemy at our first field’. Henry Tudor was reported to be very pious—he made pilgrimages to the shrine of St Thomas Becket at Canterbury every Easter, as well as frequent pilgrimages to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham and donations to the shrine of St Vincent Ferrer in Brittany. He also founded the cult of the Breton saint St Armel in England and boosted the teachings of St Francis by his patronage of the Franciscan order. He especially favoured the Observants (the Franciscans, also known as the Greyfriars), granting them annuities for the establishment of monasteries in England and abroad. It seems he also favoured staying at religious houses when travelling or going on progress around the kingdom.

Most importantly, Henry VII held a singular devotion to the Virgin Mary and his adoption of the red rose as his personal symbol—aside from dynastic reasons—had everything to do with the religious connotations of that flower. Henry VII could have associated himself with his uncle Henry VI by adopting his antelope badge, for example, but instead, he chose the five-petal flower associated with the Virgin Mary and the Passion of Christ. The Franciscans were noted for their devotion to the Passion, and Henry VII had come in contact with the Observants during his exile in Brittany. The rose had five petals like the five wounds of Christ—St Bernard of Clairvaux once stated: “As many wounds as there are on the Saviour’s body, so many roses are there! Look at His feet and His hands; do you not see roses?”

Forgive me for still going on a tangent about it, but Henry VII’s personal devotion to the Virgin Mary and the doctrine of her Immaculate Conception is exemplified in his Book of Hours, where a miniature shows a figure representing the king kneeling at a prayer desk before a vision of the Virgin as a baby held by her mother, St Anne (or, alternatively, The Virgin and the Child Jesus). His devotion to the Virgin was also highlighted in his rebuilding of the Lady Chapel (now Henry VII’s Chapel) at Westminster Abbey which I will return to in a moment.

I’m not sure but I think it was Vergil who reported Henry VII as having said that religion was his ‘continual refuge’ during exile. His piety has been largely attributed to the influence of his mother Margaret Beaufort, herself also a very pious woman. But given how many years—and formative years those were—they spent apart, I imagine that Henry must have looked up to someone closer to him at the time, namely his uncle Jasper Tudor. We know that after the death of Catherine of Valois Jasper and his brother Edmund were raised by nuns at Barking Abbey, and that then at some point they joined King Henry VI’s court. According to John Blacman, Henry VI’s biographer and chaplain writing in 1485:

[…] and like pains did [Henry VI] apply in the case of his half-brothers, the Lords Jasper and Edmund, in their boyhood and youth; providing for them most strict and safe guardianship, putting them under the care of virtuous and worthy priests, both for teaching and for right living and conversation, lest the untamed practices of youth should grow rank if they lacked any to prune them.

Blacman also claimed that the king personally protected his half-brothers from sexual temptation by keeping ‘careful watch through hidden windows of his chamber’ (yes, I know). Like his uncle King Henry VI, Henry VII would also set a court that ‘maintained the highest standards of sexual behaviour’. Indeed, Retha Warnicke made an extensive compilation of scandals during the first two Tudor reigns and not a single case of sexual misconduct was found to have taken place during Henry VII’s time, marking his court as a decidedly different one than Edward IV’s had been.

Going back to Henry VI’s supposed prophecy, his words surely must have acquired a great weight in Henry Tudor’s mind by 1483 when he made his bid to the English throne. By that time King Henry VI had become a popular saint in England and even though Edward IV had tried to have him modestly—and somewhat obscurely—buried in Chertsey Abbey, Surrey, people had started to flock to his grave. A peasant claimed that Henry VI helped him when he had a bean trapped in his ear, which only popped out after he prayed to the king. Painted images of King Henry VI began showing up in churches around the country, like this one at Barton in Norfolk:

One of King Henry VI’s most ardent devotees was Henry Tudor’s mother Margaret Beaufort (Jasper’s feelings towards the cult are unknown) who had met her kinsman when she was about nine years old. When King Henry VI allegedly offered her the option of remaining married to Suffolk’s son or be remarried to his brother Edmund, Margaret says St Nicholas came to her in a dream dressed as a bishop, telling her to choose Edmund. Again, if this story is true or not, we may never know, but Margaret told that to her confessor John (bishop, then saint) Fisher—why would a famously pious woman such as Margaret Beaufort lie to her own confessor, thus committing a sin? It might be that the events took a mystical turn in Margaret’s imagination as a young girl, but that she associated divine intervention to hers and her son’s fate, and likewise to King Henry VI’s proposal, is clear.

It seems Richard III tried to control King Henry VI’s ever-growing cult by moving Henry VI’s body from Chertsey Abbey to St George’s Chapel at Windsor, a place where visitors wouldn’t have easy access to the king. Nevertheless, when Henry VII came to the throne he wholeheartedly encouraged pilgrimages to the place. Henry VII launched an official campaign to have his uncle canonised, with several petitions to popes Innocent VIII, Alexander VI and Julius II. Henry also ordered the compilation of a book of miracles worked by his uncle, and a biography of Henry VI was published in 1500 claiming that Henry VI had been ever pious and chaste during his life, towards his queen never behaving ‘unseemly ... but with all conjugal honesty and gravity’. Henry VII planned to have the body of King Henry VI re-interred at the heart of the new Lady Chapel he was planning at Westminster Abbey.

However much Henry VII enjoyed good relations with the papacy, especially Pope Innocent VIII, his campaign to have his uncle King Henry VI canonised never came into fruition. Henry VII decided for him and his wife to be buried at his new Lady Chapel instead, next to the tomb of his grandmother Queen Catherine of Valois. In his will, he stated his wish for his body to be buried:

“in the Chapell where our said graunt Dame laye buried, the which Chapell we have begoune to buylde of newe, in the honour of our blessed Lady.”

That doesn’t mean Henry VII set aside the memory of his uncle King Henry VI. He employed the same man that was overseeing the construction of the Lady Chapel at Westminster, Reginald Bray, to continue the rebuilding of St George’s Chapel at Windsor set in motion by his predecessor Edward IV (it came to be informally known as the Bray Chapel). The modest thirteenth-century chapel of Edward the Confessor was expanded into a vast cathedral-like chapel where, importantly, Henry VI’s body was placed alongside a famous relic, the fragment of the True Cross (a reliquary known as the Cross of Gneth) and the bones of John Schorne (revered for curing gout and toothache).

We may argue that Henry VII’s campaign to have King Henry VI’s canonised was fundamentally political (much like Richard II’s campaign for Edward II) as many historians have done. King Henry VI as a saint, combined with his supposed prophecy, would successfully contribute to the image of Henry VII’s reign as one chosen by God. When we put Henry VII’s religious devotion into perspective, though, his efforts to have ‘the glorious King Henry’ canonised take another dimension—in fact, there’s no doubt that in Henry VII’s eyes God had intervened in his favour. Henry VII’s will also stated his wish for an image of himself to be placed in St Edward’s chapel at Westminster, depicting him returning to God and the Virgin Mary the circlet with which he had been crowned at the Battle of Bosworth.

This is me purely speculating, but I think that even though Henry VII only came in contact with King Henry VI once in his life, his half-uncle might have exercised a great influence on him through his uncle Jasper. Jasper seemed to have been genuinely attached to his brother Henry on a personal level as well as devoted to his political cause. If Henry VI’s saintly qualities had been enough to impress Margaret Beaufort, it is very likely that they might have impressed young Henry of Richmond as well.

#ask #nuingiliath #henry vii #henry vi #sorry for going on a tangent

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gemstoneslesbian · 4 years

Text

Souta Sarushiro Playlist

cw: high intensity songs and some parts that are a bit jarring? which is honestly the mood for him, mental health struggles, implied abuse, a couple sexual references at one point, some minor flashing and potentially disturbing imagery in a few of the youtube videos (but visuals are entirely unnecessary)

Bleed (I Must be Dreaming) – Evanescence

Truth Hurts – Lizzo

Think I’m Sick – Icon for Hire

Sick of it All – 4th Point

How to Be a Heartbreaker – Marina and the Diamonds

Poker Face – Lady Gaga

Infra-Red – Placebo

Sick Like Me – In This Moment

Sympathy – Too Close to Touch

Scars – Hannah Fury

Lies – Evanescence

Weight of the World – Evanescence

Whisper – Evanescence 🤡

Stuff is Way – They Might be Giants

Big Bad Wolf – In This Moment

I Really Want You to Hate Me – Meg Myers

Lifeline – Thousand Foot Krutch

Get Out While You Can – Get Scared

Blood – In This Moment

Sweet Sacrifice – Evanescence

I’m So Sick – Flyleaf

The Hunter and the Prey – Halocene

Choke – I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

The Necklace of Marie Antoinette – Hannah Fury

Bury a Friend – Creature Feature

Left Behind – DAGames

Bad Guy – Billie Eilish

The Wicked Side of Me – Cold Driven

Interlude IV (Showtime) – Zach Callison and Grace Rolek

Blood // Water – Grandson

Painted Smile – Madame Macabre

Jane Doe – Within Temptation

Look What You Made Me Do – Caleb Hyles

Lion’s Roar – The Hush Sound

Clowns (Can You See Me Now?) – t.A.T.u.

I’m the Bad Guy – Caleb Hyles Cover

Kill the Lights – Set it Off

Chara – MandoPony

Broken Lullabies – for KING & COUNTRY

Did You Miss Me – The Veronicas

Coming Out of the Rain – Greek Fire

Boys Boys Boys – Lady Gaga

So What – P!nk 🤡

The Bird and the Worm – The Used

Everytime – Britney Spears

Happy Hurts – Icon for Hire

Bam Bam Pop – Icon for Hire

Conversations with my 13 Year Old Self – P!nk

How You Remind Me – Nickleback

Just Dance – Lady Gaga

Heart Heart Head – Meg Myers

Breathe Me – Sia

Dark Side – Kelly Clarkson

spotify playlist

youtube playlist

🎪 lyric samples under the cut 🎪

Bleed (I Must be Dreaming) 🙈 you heard me breathe, and i froze inside myself

Truth Hurts 🙉 i put the sing in single

Think I’m Sick 🙊 eyes shut tightly, i shut down

Sick of it All 🙈 the sickness in my heart, the sickness in my soul

How to Be a Heartbreaker 🙉 wear your heart on your cheek, but never on your sleeve

Poker Face 🙊 and after he's been hooked, i'll play the one that's on his heart

Infra-Red 🙈 there’s going to be an accident

Sick Like Me 🙉 am i beautiful as i tear you to pieces?

Sympathy 🙊 in the night i lie awake, why rebuild a heart that breaks?

Scars 🙈 twist it and turn it around, kick dust upon it 'til it eats the ground. love is something to break down... make it scream 'til you get sick of the sound.

Lies 🙉 you will not rise above

Weight of the World 🙊 i won't be held down by who i used to be

Whisper 🙈 no one's here, and i fall into myself

Stuff is Way 🙉 yeah

Big Bad Wolf 🙊 i have come to realize that both of them have become a necessity

I Really Want You to Hate Me 🙈 i’m an animal inside

Lifeline 🙉 when i get angry, i feel weak, and hear these voices in my head telling me to fall beneath, ‘cause they'll make everything okay

Get Out While You Can 🙊 i know i'll find a way to pull myself from the grave

Blood 🙈 i hate you for the way you smile when you look at me

Sweet Sacrifice 🙉 one sweet day, you're gonna drown in my lost pain

I’m So Sick 🙊 let me live without this empty bliss, selfishness

The Hunter and the Prey 🙈 no more playing nice, it’s over

Choke 🙉 if i could burn this town, i wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die

The Necklace of Marie Antoinette 🙊 i'll make the strychnine taste like raspberry tea

Bury a Friend 🙈 bury the hatchet or bury a friend right now

Left Behind 🙉 fear’s about to commence the final ritual: one body is all we need for this to be complete.

Bad Guy 🙊 my soul? so cynical

The Wicked Side of Me 🙈 follow the hollow when you feel like you're all alone

Interlude IV (Showtime) 🙉 we’re finally free you choked him out of his own goddamn mind, promised the world to him, a goddamn lie

Blood // Water 🙊 you poisoned me just for another dollar in your pocket, now I am the violence, i am the sickness

Painted Smile 🙈 tragic faces stationed at my bedside, warm embraces, hollow on the inside

Jane Doe 🙉 she had to go, or they would know all you tried to hide

Look What You Made Me Do 🙊 i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time

Lion’s Roar 🙈 delicate dame, her fragile face was scared away without a trace. out in the cold, where did she go?

Clowns (Can You See Me Now?) 🙉 all this black and cruel despair, this is an emergency

I’m the Bad Guy 🙊 i'm not a little bird who needs your help to fly

Kill the Lights 🙈 stop there and peer inside of me: you'll find a man once lost at sea, but all the while, i would think to myself, “it's not the end, it's not the end at all”

Chara 🙉 he was alone, and now so am i, left with the memory of a boy afraid to die

Broken Lullabies 🙊 you'll find a place where love remains, where there are no more broken lullabies

Did You Miss Me 🙈 looks like hell? just got back.

Coming Out of the Rain 🙉 i can live, i can feel, i can love, and it's real

Boys Boys Boys 🙊 you taste just like glitter mixed with rock and roll

So What 🙈 i got a brand new attitude, and i'm gonna wear it tonight

The Bird and the Worm 🙉 all he knows, if he can’t relieve it, it grows, and so it goes, he crawls like a worm

Everytime 🙊 my weakness caused you pain

Happy Hurts 🙈 can the two coexist? the beauty next to the mess? because i swear i have them both already beating in my chest

Bam Bam Pop 🙉 :D

Conversations with my 13 Year Old Self 🙊 you're angry, i know this, the world couldn't care less

How You Remind Me 🙈 are we having fun yet?

Just Dance 🙉 just dance, gonna be okay, da da doo-doo-mmm

Heart Heart Head 🙊 i can barely speak, black and white bed sheets, i feel the air retreat, i know you're here with me.

Breathe Me 🐒 i am small and needy

Dark Side 💖 there's a place that i know... it's not pretty there, and few have ever gone. if i show it to you now, will it make you run away, or will you stay?

#Souta Sarushiro #Simon Keyes #ace attorney playlist #the vibe of this playlist just feels like. him having a breakdown and then laughing maniacally and then screaming and #then falling quiet and crying softly and curling up against someone #Souta #I don't recommend trying to listen to this all at once TBH there are so many high intensity parts and jarring transitions #there are more songs I have associated with him but this is already like over 50 songs long FJSKLGH #I care him so much #edit: I forgot to add this earlier but-- bleed (i must be dreaming); lies; and broken lullabies are missing from the spotify playlist

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incorrecttwoset · 4 years

Text

Lesson time with Dani:

youtube

The lesson here is that even if you start your dnd session at 8, you'll still end up stopping at 12. That's just- thats just a fact man. (I wonder what their classes and alignments are in dnd...)

And also, fam I don't even play the violin and MY self-esteem was CRUSHED. Fuck, there was a 7 year old there winning the fUCKING MENUHIN COMPETITION. AND WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING?! DISAPPOINTING MY ASIAN PARENTS. (All the four instruments in my house feel like they're glaring at me or something)

But fuck, i still gotta make five paragraphs for each (embodiment of ling ling) child. Lets get our confidence and self-esteem fucking WRECKED shall we?

So, Wieniawski Etude Caprice no.5. Fam, even with one deaf ear (dont worry about it ill probably be fine... probably) i can still hear how fucking clean and crisp it is. Brett and Eddy are me in the first seconds of this recording, but with less understanding. I can only imagine how fucking cRUNCHY it would sound if i fucking tried that eUGH. Eddy might be closer with his answer, but Brett got hit closer in the heart. And i know that even though this kid wasnt playing on like, a full size violin, i cOULDNT FUCKING TELL MAN. (Probably because i cant hear shit through my right ear) thats- tHATS HOW PRODIGY THIS KID WAS WTF

Okay, round 2. Ernst Last Rose of Summer. Dude, the second i heard the first few notes, my mind IMMEDIATELY went "did they find a better recording of Vengerov?" Because dUDE. DUUUUUUUDE. They would be proud of this actual literal fetus. I know i would be. Oh gOD, i can only imagine the hand cramps and the crunchiness and the skidding AHSJSBWKDYSNDJAK I am Brett. My reaction is Brett. I only knew the concepts of playing an instrument when I was 12 and this literal kid just- okay, ill go dig my grave nowwwwww. FUCK even Brett and Eddy were making their asian parents proud, wHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING. Ugh, its fine, i have a slight talent in writing and acting and the arts, its fine, i dont have to play an instrument its FIIIIIIIINE.

Paganini Caprice no.13. Seven years old. FUCKING SEVEN YEARS OLD. I HAVENT EVEN LISTENED TO ALL THE PAG CAPRICES AND IF YOU PLAYED THIS TO ME WITHOUT TELLING ME IT WAS A SEVEN YEAR OLD, I WOULD PROBABLY THINK THAT IT WAS A REALLY GOOD STUDIO RECORDING OR SOMETHING WHAT THE HELL. (if you cant tell by the all caps, i am currently loosing my mind. AND what little self-esteem i still have in me) I agree with Eddy. That accompanist is me. The page turner is me. Brett and Eddy staring at these children and their recordings is ME.

4th recording, Ysaye Sonata no.3 Ballade. Dude, when I saw the title and heard the music, my brain immediately went like "hilary, is that you?" Then they showed the kid and I was like "...this motherfucker doesnt even LOOK LIKE A KID." He looks fucking 20 and i- I-...Brett's lofi is just echoing through my brain right now.

5th and final recording, Hubay Carmen Fantasy. I can tell with their lack of commentary that their self-esteems have truly been decimated. Honestly, same. I just wanted to vibe to the music, man. This kid made these notes sing and I could just close my eyes and cry from the beauty of it. I just- kudos to you man. Kudos to these kids, they're all wonderful and great and we all look up to them as gods. Sigh. I want a sandwich after that kid fucking serenaded me with the music.

And finally, Bretts punishment. Sight reading the last piece, aka Hubay's Carmen Fantasy. For a first time sight reading, this is pretty good. I could probably point out all the mistakes and stuff he did wrong, (intonation problems, tempo, wHATEVER) i dont think i need to. Because our self-esteem has just evaporated. Like, pOOF. I'm just gonna enjoy and take solace in the fact that he tried.

Also, editor-san's little end card animation is just- it affected my heart in a good way. If ling ling potion heals your heart and Olaf heals your violin, then editor-san heals your heart. WE LOVE YOU EDITOR-SANNNNNNNN

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broomballkraken · 3 years

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Title: An Unrivaled Love

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing(s): Sylvain/Lorenz

Word count: 1685

Warnings: N/A

Summary: 50 sentences of Sylvain and Lorenz

#01: Air

It was an amazing thing, Lorenz mused, that something as insignificant as Sylvain showing him a genuine smile was enough to knock the air from his lungs like he had been punched right in the gut.

#02: Apples

Sylvain tossed the half-eaten apple at Lorenz as he turned around, and Lorenz took a bite, secretly hoping to get a lingering taste of Sylvain among the sweetness of the fruit.

#03: Beginning

From the moment they met, Lorenz had a feeling that Sylvain would become a thorn in his side, but he of all people should have known that thorns can be accompanied by something quite beautiful.

#04: Bugs

“Get back here Sylvain!” Lorenz screeched, and Sylvain only barely managed to dodge the huge cockroach that was thrown at his head as he ran for his life.

#05: Coffee

“Coffee? Ugh, what an awful, bitter drink!” Sylvain agreed with Lorenz on something for once, but he would never actually admit it.

#06: Dark

“C’mon babe, it’s still dark outside…” Lorenz hesitated a moment, but he quickly decided that his morning routine could be delayed a bit, and he sunk back into his lover’s warm embrace.

#07: Despair

As Sylvain finally recognized the enemy dark knight - by his hair, colored a unique shade of purple that he had only seen once in his life - a feeling of despair that Sylvain had never felt before settled deep in his gut as he gripped his lance with a ghost-white hand.

#08: Doors

“Are you coming, darling?” Sylvain smiled and nodded as he placed his hand in Lorenz’s, letting his husband pull him through the door of their new home.

#09: Drink

After making the mistake of letting Sylvain out of his sight for far too long at the tavern, Lorenz struggled to support him on the way home as Sylvain blabbered on in a drunken stupor about how much he loved him.

#10: Duty

Lorenz knew that it was part of his duty to find a noble woman to marry, but as Sylvain shifted against his chest while he slept, Lorenz was highly considering telling his father to fuck off.

#11: End

With the final blow stuck, the war had finally come to an end, but Sylvain and Lorenz knew that this was only the beginning for them as they ran across the battlefield into each other’s embrace.

#12: Fall

“You’re supposed to stay on the horse, you know-” Lorenz rolled his eyes and cut Sylvain off by grabbing his arm and yanking him to the ground with him.

#13: Fear

Sylvain had never known a fear so terrifying as what he felt when he saw Lorenz fall from his horse, his shoulder and gut pierced by one arrow each.

#14: Fire

Sylvain hated the fact that Lorenz was better at magic than him, but what he hated even more was how beautiful the reflection of the flames looked mingled with the amethyst color of his eyes.

#15: Flexible

After making the horrible mistake of claiming to be more flexible than Lorenz, Sylvain was begrudgingly grateful that his rival at least had the decency to help him get to the infirmary.

#16: Flying

Lorenz was supportive of Sylvain trying out wyvern riding, but as he clung to his lover’s back for dear life while their giant draconic mount soared through the sky, he was greatly reconsidering this particular method of support.

#17: Food

“Hm, Fish and Bean Soup? As much as I loath to say it, you have impeccable taste, Sylvain.”

#18: Foot

Sylvain winced as Lorenz gently tended to his wounded foot, and even as he was being scolded for moving too much, Sylvain couldn’t help but crack a smile when he noticed the look of worry in Lorenz’s eyes.

#19: Gift

Sylvain’s initial shock when Lorenz got down on one knee in front of him with a ring quickly melted away and was replaced with amusement as he followed suit.

#20: Grave

Every time Sylvain left a rose at the weather-worn grave, he also left a piece of his completely shattered heart with it.

#21: Head

“Gods, I must have been dropped on my head as a child if I’m falling for you of all people.”

#22: Hollow

As he gazed out the window of the Gloucester Estate, Lorenz couldn’t help but wonder if these five years of war had left Sylvain feeling as hollow as he did.

#23: Honor

‘An honorable noble would not leave someone to face their despair alone,’ Lorenz told himself as he knocked on the door to Sylvain’s room.

#24: Hope

“When I look at you, my darling, and see how much love you harbor for me in your eyes, it gives me hope that we will both make it through this war, together.”

#25: Light

“You’ve always been a light in my life, Sylvain. Yes, even when we used to fight all the time, because those encounters allowed me to get close to you, and to fall completely and utterly in love with you.”

#26: Lost

Sylvain had felt lost when he returned to Garrag Mach to reunite with his class, but when he met Lorenz atop the Goddess Tower to exchange apologies, complements, and a few passionate, inexplicable kisses, Sylvain felt like he was finally being steered in the right direction.

#27: Metal

The jarring sound of metal striking metal rang throughout the training grounds, and as Sylvain’s eyes locked with those of his heated rival, a much different kind of heat sparked to life deep within his chest.

#28: New

This parenting thing was new, and a cause of slight anxiety, for the both of them, but when they saw the looks of pure joy on their adopted daughter and son’s faces when they brought them home, Sylvain and Lorenz knew that this would be the best decision that they would make together.

#29: Old

After 40 long years together, even though their hair had grayed and skin wrinkled, Sylvain and Lorenz still thought of each other as the most beautiful person they had ever known, and will ever know.

#30: Peace

Every time Lorenz stared deep and lovingly into his eyes before kissing him tenderly, Sylvain was overwhelmed with a sense of peace that he would never get anywhere else.

#31: Pretty

"Your eyes, they're just...gods damn it, you have the prettiest fucking eyes that I've ever seen, Lorenz!"

#32: Pride

“This is my life, Father, and I will not let you dictate how I live it any longer!” As Count Gloucester’s face contorted with unbridled rage, Sylvain had never felt more proud of his fiancé.

#33: Rain

Lorenz used to hate getting caught in the rain, but after a sudden downpour forced him and Sylvain to take shelter and gave them a rare moment of respite, he decided that he actually didn’t mind it as much after all.

#34: Regret

“My greatest regret...is that I never got to tell you how I feel about you, Sylvain,” Lorenz said as he raised his lance, and the blood drained from Sylvain’s face.

#35: Roses

They say that every rose has its thorn, but for Lorenz, Sylvain would take the risk of being pricked.

#36: Secret

“You really thought it was a secret? Oh please, just taking one look at you two together told us all we needed to know.” Hilda just laughed as Lorenz buried his beet-red face in his hands.

#37: Sickness

Lorenz was insufferable to be around when sick, but when a shaky, clammy hand slipped into Sylvain’s as he dabbed the sweat from his husband’s forehead, any annoyance he might have been feeling melted away to be replaced with an incredible fondness.

#38: Smile

“I love you!” Sylvain’s bold declaration came out in a desperate shout, and his eyes welled up with tears when Lorenz’s first reaction was to smile.

#39: Snow

Sylvain couldn’t tell if Lorenz’s face was so red because of the cold or embarrassment, but he didn’t have much time to think about it as he dodged the snowball thrown his way in retaliation.

#40: Soft

Lorenz was just as much of a battle-hardened warrior as Sylvain was, and yet, as they lay tangled in bed together, Sylvain had never felt such a soft feeling as when Lorenz skin was pressed against his own.

#41: Solid

When confronted by their fathers' opposition to their relationship, Sylvain and Lorenz realized that they had a pretty solid foundation built when they both simultaneously told them to fuck off.

#42: Spring

Spring was the season of love, something Sylvain was normally a self-proclaimed ‘expert’ at, but he didn’t really know what to make of these newfound feelings for his longtime rival.

#43: Stable

“Remember that one time, in the stables? Man, if Ferdinand would have caught us, we would have never heard the end of it!”

#44: Strange

Claude glanced up briefly from the maps that he was studying as Lorenz and Sylvain passed by, and he swore that he would never get used to the strange sight of those two holding hands.

#45: Summer

Summer was becoming one of Sylvain’s favorite seasons, because almost every morning he would find a beautiful bouquet of flowers left for him, carefully picked from his husband’s own garden.

#46: War

On mornings when Sylvain was lucky enough to wake up wrapped in Lorenz’s arms, the war seemed like it was a million miles away.

#47: Water

“Next time, maybe you should snag a smaller fish,” Sylvain said, laughing as he brushed Lorenz’s soaking-wet hair out of his pouting face.

#48: Whisper

Slender, practiced fingers traced over Sylvain’s overheated skin as Lorenz whispered his name, and that alone was enough to undo Sylvain completely.

#49: Wind

The soft breeze blowing passed the Goddess Tower gently tousled Lorenz’s hair, and Sylvain did not - could not - tear his eyes away from the beautiful sight.

#50: Winter

Sylvain was accustomed to the chill of winter, but Lorenz was not, and Sylvain took advantage of this fact to spend each and every cold morning basking in the warmth of their entwined bodies.

#fire emblem three houses #lorenz hellman gloucester #sylvain jose gautier #sylorenz #50 sentences #fanfiction #jade writes fanfiction

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talesofpanem · 5 years

Text

A Wasteland No More

Title: A Wasteland No More.

By @mega-aulover

(Please note lines from Mockingjay were paraphrased.)

PROMPT: Wilderness means an uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region; neglected or abandoned area of a garden or town; or a position of disfavor, especially in a political context. In religious context, a wilderness experience refers to a period of pain, struggle, discomfort, and trials.

Rating: M Mature subject as this deals with Katniss’ captivity in Mockingjay after she shot Coin, and her wanting to die. Trigger Warning - This goes right into the Epilogue. Canon Compliant.

A/N: Not the usual fluff I write, this is a little darker but the prompt spoke to me on many levels. I’d written about Katniss being Willie Loman in Death of a Salesman and this stuck with me. Both were used, dried up shells and were being abandoned by the very same system that created and fostered them. Un-beta’d all mistakes are mine.

She was the phoenix who burned herself at the altar. A sacrifice to rid Panem of another mutt. Unbeknownst to those gathered to see President Snow executed, there were plans to have another Hunger Game to continue the massacre of innocent children. In Katniss’s private opinion there’d been enough innocent lives killed, including that of her 13-year-old sister by the hands of that mutt.

Shooting the arrow straight at Coin was the only solution Katniss could come up with. In that moment Katniss self-imploded. Like, a Phoenix whose flame had been extinguished, all she wanted to do was die. Instead, she found herself locked up in a room, a cage of sorts, forgotten.

Her voice raw and cracked filled the air. “You are my Sunshine my only sunshine-”

She was a discarded scrap of human flesh, trapped in a wasteland of thoughts. Time stopped. There was no day or night, only the cosmic vacuum where nothing existed except for her voice. Her voice was raw and pink like the grafts on her skin. It filled the room, today, flickering like a small candle in the midst of darkness.

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

And I hung my head and I cried…” Katniss sang to an invisible boy.

Oh, how she missed those arms that comforted her in the dead of night. She lamented and cried over the steadiness they offered. “Peeta,” She half sang half wept, “She’s gone, my sister, my Prim.“

Like a Jabberjay her voiced mocked back. "PRIM, is gone. You couldn’t save her. You’re an evil mutt. The mutt. Mutt.”

The word mutt reverberated in the room, in her ears,and in her soul.

Shaking her head, Katniss began to sing again. “You are my sunshine…”

Katniss rocked back and forth on the floor recalling the moment she’d killed Coin. She’d tried to kill herself by taking the nightlock pill, but Peeta stopped her taking the pill away. Katniss bit his hand accidentally. The taste of his blood still lingered in her mouth as she foamed at the lips, like a feral beast. His desperate look was seared in her brain. The recollection of their last moments together like one of Peeta’s vivid paintings.

“Let me go!” she snarled at him, trying to get free from his grasp.

“No.“ He shook his head violently his eyes clouded. "I can’t,” he said, right before the guards grabbed Katniss and threw her here in this cage.

"Peeta,” She cried. Tears fell from her face. Laying down on the floor she held herself but her spindly arms were not the ones she craved.

‘PEETA’, her mind the logical, stoic part of her being cried out to her soul. Her heart the part that was concerned with her emotions, was far too damaged and whispered back.‘He’s dead, the Capitol killed him.’

The sweet gentle boy she’d known died at the hands of the Capitol. Everything died in the Capitol, Coin, Peeta, Prim, and soon her, for assassinating Coin. Katniss wondered why they were taking so long for her to be executed. Why not kill her quickly? Unless this was the plan. Abandon her to die. Exhaustion gripped her like a vice, forcing her to sleep as she waited for the end. Katniss became a willing participant believing she needed to die.

Time flowed forward like a river determined to reach the shore. To her great shock Katniss was set free from her prison and sent back to District 12. She settled in the Victors Village a different type of prison, a self-imposed one.

In a near comatose state, Katniss gazes out from her grey orbs into the world. Unable to speak or move. She does not dare close her eyes for what comes next are visions a senseless death and blood and burned children.

A dead useless Phoenix, whose beautiful feathers have been plucked or singed by the fire. Her gilded cage was her scared burned shell. A taxidermied mutt. Lifeless she’s stuffed daily with enough food to keep her from dying too quickly. She watches from her perch, hungrily waiting for something. No one has what she needs to shed the scarred chrysalis she’s formed around her beaten and battered soul.

Katniss watches Greasy Sae, who shuffles about the kitchen humming an endless tune. Katniss recognizes the tune, her sunshine song. ‘You are my sunshine,’ mocks her ears. Her sunshine, dandelion is gone, and she’s at the tree hanging waiting to be set free.

A slight movement to her left causes her eyes to shift. Greasy’s grandchild stands before Katniss. The child gawks like a visitor at a museum. Peering at an odd collectable item. Katniss stares as well until the girl leaves with her grandmother..

In the silence she watches the way a speck of dust floats in the air dancing about in the sunlight and settles on the floor once the light is gone. Night descends, and shadows invade her space.

In the darkness the struggle begins to stay awake and keep the nightly terrors away. Once more, she craves for those strong arms. She is in an unspoken agony knowing those arms will never find her again. Peeta is gone, her heart, mind, and soul tells her spirit. Her spirit once more tastes the sweet soft flesh of his hand as he denied her a swift end. He’s still alive her spirit whispers. But this is quickly shoved to the side, in favor of death. This path she’s chosen is longer but her end is near. And she waits for the void to consume her.

Katniss is nearing that point in the fabric of space. Time, like the river is nearing its final destination when the scraping sound of metal and dirt wakes her from her terror. The sound spills forth from her dream into her reality. In her dream she was being buried, dirt filled her mouth, and was clogging her throat. In her reality it’s the very air she breathes mingled with her screams that have clogged her throat. Her her eyes looked about the room. She expected to see a grave surrounding her not a couch and certainly not a cracked ceiling.

As she lays there something happens to the cage she so skillfully built. Katniss can see the cracks and the door swung open. She ran through the door. Katniss found herself standing outside. Staring at a wasteland until her eyes find him.

Peeta’s face is red from digging. An orange wagon has five small bushes.

“You’re back,” Katniss whispered incredulous. She thought perhaps she was hallucinating. But the light was blinding and she could feel something happening, stirring deep within her.

“Dr. Aurelius didn’t let me go until yesterday,” Peeta said. “By the way, he mentioned he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you anymore. You need to pick up the phone.”

Peeta looked thin and had burn scars like Katniss. However, his eyes no longer look tortured.

He was frowning at her, as though being able to detect she was morphing from the inside out. It didn’t matter if her hair was matted into clumps or that she was dirty. Her heart pumped with the smoldering embers of liquid fire. Katniss opened her mouth, to try to explain to him but her eyes fell on the wagon. “What are you doing?”

“I went to the woods when I arrived and dug these up. For her,” he said. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.“

At first she thought they were the odious roses people used for funerals. The very same roses Snow preferred. She’s about to spew righteous fire at him when she takes a close look at the bushes. They aren’t the dreaded rose, but evening primrose. The flower her father used to name her sister. Peeta has given Katniss back her sister.

The image of the burning girl is now replaced are the delicate flowers growing other side the house.

Running back inside she found the source of her discontent. A single perfect rose. With liquid fire running through her veins she tosses the hated bloom into the fire. Katniss feels her body change, her wings stretch from her shoulders and she once more begins to morph into the fiery phoenix. Snow nor Coin could not dampen her fire.

On that day Katniss rose from the ashes and soot. It was a long hard won path but slowly she and her boy with the bread are transformed into a glorious state. Katniss recognizes she is a tamer Phoenix, gentled by sunshine of love. The void is gone and where silence reigned now laughter and giggles fill the air.

Time brought Katniss not to a vast ocean but to a gentle lake. Where she set roots and grew. Today years after Peeta returned, Katniss watched her precious fledglings, as they leap and dance. One day they were take to the air, but for now she will hold them close to her bosom. Katniss hums once more as strong arms surround her.

"You are my sunshine…”

#tales of panem #talesofpanem #week 5 #wilderness #mega-aulover #submission

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tragedybunny · 4 years

Text

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 13

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

He’s already gone when I awake, of course, the sun indicating that it’s already near mid-day. How do I still feel tired? I roll over and stare at the canopy above me, reliving the feeling of him undressing me last night and pulling me into his arms before sleep overtook me. It’s maddening. No, I’ll continue in my resolve to see nothing in it, to not give meaning where there is none. I suppress the memory and pull myself from bed, heading to my room to dress for the day. A note waits for me on my dressing table, written in his measured script, exacting and precise, as would be expected from him.

“I trust tonight the Guild will be meeting and you will take control of it with little resistance. Once you have that firmly in hand I require a task of you. Augustus Montrose must be eliminated tonight, he’s begun to realize the alliance between his sister and myself. As always, take care of yourself. - J”

“PS. I was informed that you were almost out of that violet perfume you always wear.”

I finally notice the ornate glass bottle to the left of where the note was, full of the aforementioned scent. My reward for being a good little pet. I wonder what Augustus’s death will earn me. That poor little idiot, he tried so desperately to be important and powerful, he’s earned a death sentence instead. I’d almost feel bad for him, but getting in that deep with any faction in Noxian politics is basically asking to be struck down at any moment.

After I’m dressed I ring for Gwen and she appears in short order, always eager to be of use. “Yes Madame.” She has a sober look to her face, as if she already has sensed why she’s here.

I sit at the dressing table and examine the wide bruise that has bloomed on the right side of my face. “I’ll need your kitchen boy to come through, I need to know where Montrose intends to be tonight.”

In the mirror, I see her expression change to one of smug self-satisfaction. “As it turns out, I took the initiative to inquire after him this morning. He complained that tonight another elaborate dinner party has been planned, even after all the Solstice revels. Montrose is celebrating some new, powerful friends he’s made.”

I stop and turn towards her. “Did he mention a woman at all, unusually pale?” How deep is he in, what are we about to stir up?

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “No, just some of the usual nobility who rankle at the loss of privilege they’ve experienced. He’ll stay in the kitchens after dinner and the other servants have been dismissed. Knock if you see no movement inside.”

Well, we won’t be taking a piece off the board that she’ll desperately miss. “Perfect, thank you, Gwen, that will be all.” I dismiss her with a gesture and turn my attention to readying myself for the Guild tonight. Augustus will be easy to find when I’m ready for him.

Weapons sharpened and muscles stretched in case of confrontation, Inara, Lark, and I gather early in the Guild’s headquarters, finding it empty thanks to a generous bribe I supplied via Lark. The unassuming building sits amidst a group of others housing various government functions. While most of High Command still functions from within the Immortal Bastion itself, bureaucracy has spread like a fungus to the area around it. It’s a reflection of the temple district in that way, both of them evolving over the years with Noxus itself, Old Town pressing up against them both and the Bastion as the nobility grappled for power. In times past, the Grand General dwelt in the Immortal Bastion, making it the ultimate seat of power. Jericho is different, preferring the control he has over his own family home to the mysteries and hidden spaces where a plot could come to fruition at any time. Of course, he still has unfettered access to it anytime he wishes. The Guild’s place here would shock outsiders who don’t understand it’s place within Noxus. Assassination has never been a method that our government or military has considered off-limits. The position in Intelligence of a Guild Officer enables the government to make use of its services at will, effectively making the it an unofficial branch of High Command.

I spent countless hours here as a child before our move to Shurima, and many more once we returned. I know all its twists and turns and nooks and crannies as well as that of my own family’s home. I even pass a small alcove I remember as a favorite of mine for spying, shrinking into the shadows as a child to listen to the adults around me. We clear the rambling structure room by room, including any hidden ones and secret passages that I know of, ensuring no one is lying in wait. Next, all secondary exits are secured, leaving only the main door as the way in or out. When I’m satisfied that everything is in place, Inara and I retreat to a side room off the main hall, to await or moment.

They trickle in through the next couple of hours, Inara and I taking shifts pressed up against the door to listen, some voices we recognize, some are unknown. Someone opens a stored cask of ale, they drink and converse, some begin to openly mourn the fallen. There’s a rising tide among them, confirmed dead members, Marius among them, who is targeting them? For what reason? Suspicions are aimed everywhere, including the Grand General. When the time is right, Lark raps on the wall next our hiding space, three sharp knocks, it’s time.

We emerge and push through the crowd to the very center, gasps and whispers following in our wake as recognition dawns on them. Time seems slow, this is it, the moment there’s no going back from. Now that I’ve come to it though, I know that every step I’ve taken has lead me here. Perhaps there is such a thing as destiny, and this is mine. Destiny or not, I am no longer General Du Couteau’s shamed daughter, and no longer the Grand General’s pet, I am Commander of the Assasin’s Guild, a force and entity in my own right.

“Brothers and sisters, your leaders are dead. They were weak and have paid the price for that. I stand before you now to take my rightful place in their stead, as your Commander.” Raucous noise breaks out among them, the three we recruited before this passionately on my side in the debate.

The din reaches its crescendo and a woman steps to the forefront. “You would deliver us into the hands of the Usurper, to be used as his weapon.”

I snort, someone was bound to put this forth. “The Grand General is the rightful ruler of Noxus, along with the others of the Trifarix. The Guild will support High Command as it always has, nothing more, nothing less.”

“So says the Grand Whore. Do you believe you can deceive…” She’s cut off by the dagger that flies from my hand and buries in her chest. I’m weary of the same nonsense being spewed over and over again.

No other moves to challenge me, they’re undecided, for the moment. “As I was saying.” Inara covers the fallen in a cloak and moves her discreetly out of the crowd. “Our numbers have dwindled, our coffers are depleted, and those arrogant bastard ‘guilds’ take our potential recruits. Let us rectify this, and find our strength once again. We’ll scour the lessor guilds from Noxus, once and for all, and become the power we were meant to be.”

Father made a grave error in his leadership, he finally succumbed to the Black Rose. His single-minded pursuit of their objectives took a toll on the Guild. I can see it in their faces, they hunger for a return to glory. The murmuring returns, this time it begins to swing in my favor. She took down Marius, we would have the Grand General’s support, she’s here and Marcus is not. Lark joins in, adding to the momentum, a vote is called for. I take note and the slim few who still dissent, they’ll have to be watched. When it finally ends, I’m officially Guild Commander Katarina Du Couteau, with Lark and Inara acting as seneschals.

My first order of business is just as I promised, both the Guild and Jericho, I assign a few of our members to begin tracking our competition. My second act is far less exciting, Inara and I head to the archives to understand the degree of disorder things have fallen to, leaving Lark to monitor for any fresh discord. I have some time before it will be clear to go after Augustus. I had briefly considered assigning someone else to the task, but I’m familiar with the Montrose estate. I suppose it’s fitting, he once said I stole his heart, now I’ll steal his life.

The Guild records are a shambles that reflect the last few years of leadership. I thumb through the latest records, noting the brazen embezzlement, and stare longingly at the fire. Inara laughs at me from behind a stack of loose papers belonging to gods know where. “Didn’t think this would be the hard part?”

I lay my head down on the desk. “How did it get this bad? Is this a Guild of idiots?”

“This is what happens when we rely on anyone who volunteers to do this. We only get thieves and idiots.” She sighs as she tosses the stack back down in front of her.

“Nevermind, I resign my position.” That gets a small laugh from her and her eyes brighten a bit. I stand and stretch, time to get the blood flowing back into my limbs. “I’m done, I’ve got some other business to handle.”

“Happy hunting, Commander.” For all that we have a mess ahead of us to deal with, there’s satisfaction about her. It makes me even more proud of what we’ve accomplished here tonight.

The city is quiet, still wrapped in a snowy mantle from the other night. I move through the streets in welcome solitude, reaching the Montrose estate with ease. With my cloak tucked around me, I watch the kitchen from the garden, someone has left a lamp burning so I can see the vague shapes within. When I’m finally satisfied that no unwanted company is around, I approach, keeping my cloak tight, and tap lightly. It only takes a second before a scrawny young man with dirty blonde hair cracks the door, the corners of his mouth up turning into a vicious smile the second he sees me. “He’s saying a drunken farewell to his guests, a girl awaits him in the blue parlor upstairs.” With that he vanishes up the servant stairs, leaving me with free reign.

With the other servants all withdrawn to their quarters the halls of the manor are as silent as the grave. I cautiously stalk through them, not making a sound, nearing the blue parlor. My plan is to take the girl first and wait for him. Quick and clean, he won’t even know what happened. Then I hear it, from a room back near the main staircase, that ancient snarling voice. “Augustus, you spoiled little hedonist, where are you?”

“Coming Grandmother!” His impatient reply comes from the bottom of the stairs. Life is good sometimes.

The old woman is ensconced in an over-decorated bedroom that’s rotten with faded glory. I slip in and silently shut the door behind me. She scrambles to prop herself up in bed, she knows I’m not her grandson. Her eyes have begun to fail though, so that’s all she can make out. “Wh-who’s there?” She summons some power to her voice, she’s so used to being obeyed. She and many others are relics of old Noxus, a time when the nobility were parasites, feeding off the strength of the Empire. They are a vain, petty, self-absorbed, lot whose time has passed.

I steal to her side and she makes a quiet gasp as her eyes finally reveal me. “Death Lady Montrose, death is among you tonight.” She makes to cry out but my hand slams down over her mouth. “This will be the fate of all who refuse to bend to the Empire’s new order.” I slide my blade between her ribs and down into her heart, a task made easy since she has no strength to struggle against me with. She slumps forward, her lifeblood draining into her fine bed covers.

There are footsteps in the hall, Augustus finally decided to answer his grandmother’s summons, and I slip behind the door to await him. It's only a moment before he throws it open snarling. “What do you want, you old bat?”

Three steps in and he finally takes in the scene before him, coming to a dead stop. I softly shut the door once again. He sucks in a breath as if he wants to scream and then I’m right behind him, breathing down his neck quite literally. He laughs, a mirthless sound. “Two nights. I was allowed to live two nights after getting too close to you. He’s certainly possessive.”

“Don’t be dramatic. This is about something entirely beyond you and me.” He’s unnervingly pliant as I put the dagger to his throat. Poor, weak Augustus, he doesn’t even know how to resist me. He sniffles when he feels it against his skin, all his bravado evaporated. He’s not the first I’ve seen to shed tears at their end and I’m not inclined to be moved by it.

“I would’ve done great things, you could have joined me at my side, Kat.” The words are marred by a strangled sobbing that he fights to keep from overtaking him. Back firm, but shoulders quaking, he struggles to meet his end with dignity.

“I’m already doing great things.” I dig the edge of the blade into his flesh and a whimper escapes him. His knees buckle immediately and I step back from him as his life flows into the plush carpet. It’s not long before a shudder marks his last breath.

Surveying the carnage around me I realize I may have gone a bit far with the old woman’s death. If Coraline faces repercussions from it Jericho will be furious. But then again, I smile to myself, it had been deeply satisfying putting an end to that bulwark of old Noxus. Either way, it is done and can’t be changed. I’ll need to slip out before that girl gets impatient and comes looking for Augustus.

I find the kitchen door left slightly ajar after heading back down the servant stairs. I shut it fast behind me and return to the waiting darkness of the night. It’s been a long night and I feel it in the stitched wound in my leg and the aching bruise on my face, and it feels wondrous. Tonight I am triumphant. I finally have what my father once promised to me. I took it with strength and cunning, as a Noxian should. Would father be proud? Perhaps I should go ask mother, a cruel, petty voice inside whispers. No, forget it. I’m beyond her, she’s nothing, a ghost haunting the ruin of her own life. The rage I have toward her will not be so easily extinguished though.

I focus myself back on the Guild, that thundering sensation as the crowd declared for me. I feel pride welling up in me, my confidence soaring. I’m damned self-satisfied and achingly confident as I approach the house. I wonder if Jericho is awake. He shouldn’t be but he rarely sleeps as much as he ought to. If he is, we should celebrate tonight’s success. The thought of him whispering in my ear about how pleased he is with me sends a shiver through me.

I’m broken out of my reverie by the sight of Dras shutting the gate. Odd that it’s open at this hour. He looks up at me and quickly looks away, but movement on the stairs has already drawn my attention. Jericho, he stops at the door when he hears me on the walk behind him. Breathing becomes difficult as I ascend the stairs to where he’s paused. I’ve always known I wasn’t the only one, I’ve just never had to viscerally confront it until this moment.

“Kat.” He already sounds like he’s going to attempt some insincere apology. I brush past him, an ache spreading through my chest. Then it hits me, the cloying smell of decaying roses, the scent that always marks her presence. Her, why her? Of course, it’s all another little power game to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder.

I shake it off with a violent shrug. “Don’t touch me.” I need to get away from him. I feel my eyes start to sting. No, I can’t do this in front of him.

He cuts in front of me, blocking my way to the stairs. “Don’t be like this.” He’s so irritatingly calm compared to the storm exploding inside me.

I put my hand up to ward him off. “It’s fine.” My voice somehow remains steady. “Exclusivity wasn’t part of our arrangement. I just want to be alone.”

He steps forward, stubbornly ignoring everything I said, and reaches out to put his hand on my cheek. Gods, that normally has the power to melt me. “If it is fine, why are you being dramatic?” How typical of him.

“Fuck you.” I shove his hand away from me. “You always have to have the last word. You could’ve just let me walk away.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a second, as though I’m the one who’s offended him. “Fine go. I’d rather not put up with a childish tantrum.”

Childish, it stings in ways I can’t define. The pain of it all twists and transforms, becoming fury. I close the distance between us, tilting my head to glare up at him. “Maybe you’d prefer to not put up with me at all? I can arrange that.”

“Try it. What have you ever accomplished in your life without me.” He snaps back at me.

Black washes over my vision, my thoughts vanishing into rage, and I lash out, striking him across the face. He catches my wrist with his left hand as I pull back. That roiling anger too quickly vanishes, replaced by a sudden dread as his eyes begin to smolder an unnatural crimson. I’ve never born witness to the demon truly unleashed. An aura of terrible power blazes around him, filling the hall with a haunting flickering red light. I quake slightly as I feel those unliving fingers dig into my wrist. “You ungrateful little bitch.” Another voice speaks along with his. Is it him or the demon in control now?

Instead of the unnatural warmth of his touch that I know so well, a burning begins to singe my skin. “Let go!” I try to pull away and I flashback to that night that started all of this, a similar altercation between us, how frighteningly strong he actually was. “Jericho, you’re hurting me.” In fear and desperation, I step forward and slam my shoulder into his chest.

He inhales sharply, backing up, and let’s go. His eyes close and that terrible power dissipates, coiling itself back inside him. I turn and flee, scared, humiliated, heartbroken. “Kat wait. I’m so sorry.” He calls after me, but I can’t even turn to face him.

I slam the door to my room behind me and collapse into the window seat. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I try and steady my rapidly beating heart and panting breath. I should leave, just forget whatever this absurd arrangement has become and go. I look down at my wrist, a scarlet, irritated handprint wraps around it. I shift and a sheath digs into my back, causing me to recoil as though someone was behind me. “Godsdamn it.” I pull out the dagger and send it across the room to embed in the wall. “Damn it all.” I rip the other blade from my back and toss it to the ground with a snarl before pulling my legs back up to my chest. Why can’t I find it in me to leave?

I stare apathetically out at the dark city until there’s a soft knock at the door. I’ll have to face him sooner or later anyway. “You wouldn’t go away if I told you to, so you might as well come in.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes as he enters, genuine guilt for once written on his features. “I wanted to apologize. You told me that I should not wait to do so. So I am here. Peace offering?” He holds out a bottle of wine, Shuriman, dark and bitter, very fitting.

Perhaps I am mad, but now that he’s here I don’t want him to leave me alone. I take the bottle and gesture to the seat next to me. As he sits I take a long pull from it. “Well, I’m listening.”

He fixes his gaze on the floor. “That was...not entirely me. However, losing control, that was my fault. And I do beg your forgiveness. I will understand if you do not wish to give it.”

After everything tonight I’ve grown numb and his words leave me oddly empty. But that lack of feeling brings some clarity, he’s not the only one who bears responsibility for what happened. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry about that.” I take another pull off the bottle. “Interesting choice for an apology, what should I make of it?”

He shrugs. “I was sure you would be gone. I actually planned to drink myself to sleep.”

I hand him back the bottle. “Would you really allow that?”

At last, he turns to look up at me, our eyes locking. “I would not stop you if that is what you really wanted.” He passes the bottle back to me.

I take another long pull. “And where would I go? What would I do?” Our fingers touch as he takes the bottle back from my hand and he brushes his thumb along mine.

“You would work something out. You don’t really need me. That’s the truth, despite what I said earlier. ” Is it? I stretch my legs out into his lap and hiss as pain shoots through my leg. He looks at the floor again. “I forgot about your leg.” He sets the bottle to the side and takes my hand, looking pointedly at my wrist. “Should I go? Am I only making things worse?”

I don’t think I could bear it if he did. “No, it’s fine, stay.” I leave my hand in his. He squeezes it ever so slightly as if he’s worried I’ll make him let go.

Suddenly he leans over, arms around my waist and leaning his head against my chest. “I would prefer it if you didn’t leave though. I would miss you.”

Why is it that the only mercy that exists in my soul is for him? I wrap my arms around his shoulders and return his embrace. “I’m not going to leave.”

“Swear it?” he asks softly.

“I swear I’m not leaving.” I kiss the top of his head and lean my cheek against it.

He sighs as though he’s been relieved of a great burden. “And I swear to take more care from now on.” He pulls himself even tighter against me. “My Kitten.” Does he really not know that oath or not, I can be nowhere but by his side?

#swain #Katarina #swain x katarina #League of Legends #league of legends fanfction #tw domestic violence #jericho swain #katarina du couteau #swain league of legends #katarina league of legends #the blade's edge #my fanfiction #my writing

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onwardintolight · 5 years

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Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

Soundtrack

~~~

Author’s note 10/2019: My take on the first “I love you.”

Warnings for Chapter 13: reference to suicide/suicidal ideation

~~~

Leia stared at her datapad, and it stared right back. The blankness of the new journal entry she’d opened called to her—or taunted her; she wasn’t quite sure which. She twirled a finger in one of the tendrils of her hair that had escaped from its braid.

It had been two weeks since they’d left Hoth. Two weeks since that crazy, horrible, wonderful day—wonderful, eventually, thanks to Han’s return, her decision to leave with him, their conversations, the kisses they’d finally shared. Horrible, because before that, the Empire had found their base… and she’d finally given in to despair. The past two weeks had been a welcome distraction, a healing balm for her soul. She hadn’t spent much time looking back. But as she sat curled up on her (their) bunk in the crew quarters, alone, datapad in hand, she sensed that she needed to confront what had happened that day, now that there was some time and distance.

Writing it out would help, she knew. Sometimes, that was the only way she could bring any sort of sense or order to the tangled thicket of feelings inside. She’d kept a journal for years; first it had been reluctantly, as a child following her mother’s strong suggestion, but as the years went on she had clung more and more to the release that came from setting free the jumble of words caged in her mind.

She had left behind the datapad she normally used as a journal. At the time, she had assumed she’d never need it again. It wasn’t gone forever, thankfully—dear old Threepio had seen to that—but for now, she’d have to make do with the single datapad she had on hand.

It would help if she could figure out where to start. Twenty minutes ago she’d dated the top of her new entry; since then, she’d begun a sentence only to delete it again multiple times. The more she thought about that day, the more jumbled up she felt.

Well, perhaps not all that jumbled—one feeling rose to the top of the writhing heap, threatening to overpower everything else, including her will to write.

Shame.

A sick feeling rose in her stomach. Absentmindedly, she drew out the amulet her mother had given her from the pocket she’d been keeping it in. Turning it end on end, she ran her thumb over the smooth silver metal, the rough, sea-toned jewels, the delicate chain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

There was a knock at the door, and Han came in. She closed her fist around the necklace.

“Hey sweetheart," he said cheerily. "Just going to use the ‘fresher.” A minute later he emerged. He paused on his way to the door, taking her in. “You okay?”

Leia sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on, it’s never nothin’.” He crossed over to the bunk and sat down across from her. “Now look, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but—”

“No, I’ll talk,” she said, though she didn’t offer up anything else in the pause that followed. As it was with her journal, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

Han broke the silence. “So, uh, what’s that?” He gave a pointed glance at the bit of chain hanging out of her closed fist. She opened to let him see.

“My mother gave it to me,” she said. “It’s… it’s one of the few things I didn’t leave behind.”

Han cradled her hand with his own, leaning over to get a good look at the amulet. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. He looked back up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Bringin’ up memories?”

“Always.” She smiled wistfully. “But it’s more than that.” She looked down at the amulet, her smile fading. “I… I was just thinking about what happened on Hoth. How I let them down.”

“Your parents?”

“My parents, my planet, everyone. I let them all down.” She shook her head. “I abdicated my duty.”

Han frowned. “What do you mean, sweetheart? We were just tryin’ to escape—we didn’t know we’d end up floatin’ out here all by ourselves, crawlin’ towards the nearest friendly system. That’s not your fault.”

“Oh, that’s not—that’s fine—I mean, it’s not fine, but that’s the way it is. No, the problem is what happened before that. I gave up, Han. I… I was going to let myself die.” She paused, then caught his eyes, trying to steady herself in them. “I wanted to die.”

Pain flickered in Han’s eyes as they held her own. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then he changed his mind and began stroking the side of her palm instead. Leia was vaguely relieved; she already felt ashamed enough without him piling on the worry and pity.

“Do you know what my father’s last words to me were?” she continued. “He told me he trusted me, more than anyone. He said there wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with. At the time, he was sending me on a mission, charging me with taking the Death Star plans to Obi-Wan. But ever since… ever since, I’ve felt like his words were a charge for life. He trusted me to be the person I needed to be for my people, for the Rebellion, for the galaxy. He trusted me to not give up. On Hoth, I failed that trust. I proved him wrong.”

She swallowed down the lump that was rising in her throat. “I justified it by telling myself I wasn’t going to run away anymore. That I was facing my guilt, facing my fear. But really I was just giving into those things. Surrendering to my despair. Abandoning my duty. Letting Va—the Empire—win.” Her voice broke, and she stared down at the blankets, fighting back angry tears.

“Leia.” Han spoke her name softly, searching her face until her eyes rose to meet his. “Sweetheart.” He shook his head, his thumb continuing to outline small circles on her palm. “You’re actin’ like you wanted to die out of selfishness, like you went off and abandoned the galaxy on purpose. That’s not the truth and you know it. You said it yourself; you thought you were confrontin’ things you needed to.”

“Honestly, I thought I deserved to die,” Leia muttered. “That I should. That the galaxy would be better off without me.”

“See? I’m right. Sometimes, y’know, we all get lopsided and start thinkin’ things are one way when they’re really the other. And with what you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if you didn’t get a little lopsided sometimes. Look, I know you haven’t talked about it, but I’ve heard: the suicide rate among Alderaanian survivors is somethin’ else. Losing your whole planet… kriff, Leia, that kind of thing gets to your head, even if you aren’t a princess. You know what I think?” He caught her eyes again, and flashed a disarming grin. “I think you’re really strong for holding on for so long.”

Leia huffed, looking away. The sentiment was nice, but it rung hollow. “Strong or not, I had a duty, and I failed.” She blinked back tears. “Sometimes I wonder if my parents see everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become, and regret adopting me. If being the cause of their deaths and the death of our planet wasn’t enough for them to despise me from beyond the grave, then this ought to be.”

Han rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “Okay, so you briefly tried to get yourself killed. You were lopsided and felt like you were doin’ the galaxy a favor. You know how much that changes how I feel about you? Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothin’ like that could ever change the fact that I love you. And nothin’ like that could ever make your parents quit lovin’ you, either, not from what I know about ‘em.”

Leia’s breath caught. Her mouth hung open, speechless. Had he really just said those three words?

Han went on as if nothing monumental had happened. “You carry so much guilt, Leia, and you don’t have to. You’ve always done the best you could. You’ve fought through hell like nobody I’ve ever seen, and helped a million people while you’re at it. Believe me, Princess, you’re one of the best damn things to happen to the galaxy. Your parents would be kriffin’ proud.”

Leia sat frozen. Her arguments were being eclipsed, one by one. Finally she found her voice, quiet and shaky, but clear:

“You love me?”

In answer, Han gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Yes, your worshipfulness,” he murmured in her ear, chuckling. “I’ve been doin’ a terrible job of it, but I’ve been tryin’ to tell you that for years.” Tears sprung fresh to Leia’s eyes as he lowered her down on the bunk. With every ounce of passion and strength she possessed, she did her best to respond without words, and all she knew for a long time was the feeling of his lips on hers.

~~~

They rolled onto their sides, and Han kissed a line down the side of her neck, his fingers wound tight in her hair. Leia’s breath hitched at the sensation, and she pulled him closer, running her fingers down his spine, catching his lips again. When they came up for air Han murmured it again: “I love you.”

He looked so vulnerable, lying there beside her, saying those words over and over as if making up for lost time. She could sense his longing to hear her say them back, and she wished desperately that she could.

Because she did love him. She knew it in every fiber of her being: a love so immense it seemed like it would explode from her in a neverending fountain of light and color. A passion so deep she could fall into it forever and never return.

And that, precisely, was the danger.

Han’s face, betraying a flicker of hurt, relaxed at her expression of consternation. “Sshhh,” he whispered, and he kissed her again, more gentle this time. Tears welling once more, she leaned into him harder, trying to pour into him everything she couldn’t say, everything she hoped he’d understand. But he pulled back and searched her eyes, fingers brushing loose hair from her face. Then, tenderly, deliberately, he planted one last kiss on her forehead and rolled out of bed. It felt cold and empty without him. “Only as far as you’re ready for, sweetheart,” he murmured. He turned and left the room.

Leia wasn’t sure how it was possible for her to feel all at once so happy and so very wretched.

~~~

Han seemed glum the rest of afternoon; Leia was certain she wasn’t imagining it, despite the fact that he always flashed her a grin whenever she was near. She ached knowing that she was the source of his hurt and there was little she could do to make it better.

At first she had given him some space. She tried to write down a few words about everything on her datapad, but that was soon tossed, once again, to the side. She attempted to bury herself in another illegally-downloaded novel, but she couldn’t focus on it.

He doesn’t want space, she realized. He wants you.

Sighing, she wandered out of the crew quarters and down the corridor. The sound of welding beckoned her to the circuitry bay.

“Hey, Princess,” said Han all-too-cheerily, lifting up his goggles as he turned to greet her.

“Hey there, hot shot. Can I help?” She watched as several different emotions warred on his face, and she would have laughed if she weren’t so heart-stricken. He was never as good at hiding them as he thought he was. Affection—and the desire to have her as close as possible—soon triumphed.

“Uh, sure,” he said. “You can calibrate some of the sensors I just got back online.”

“All right.” She picked up the holo-probe from where it was lying on the floor. Han went back to his welding, sparks flying, and she went to work on the sensors.

The silence between them lay heavy. The memory of their first kiss, right here in this cramped space, made Leia ache for more despite herself.

She swallowed. Stop it, she told herself. That won’t help anything. For the first time, the thought occurred to her that she might end up being the one to break Han’s heart, rather than the other way around. He had laid his heart on the line, and if she never told him she loved him, if she were never willing to jump all the way in, if she just kept stringing him along…. I can’t tell him, she reminded herself. He’s going to leave. I can’t take another loss.

But… she didn’t want him to have to bear that pain, either. Her heart sunk.

Maybe she needed to back off. For his sake, as well as her own.

She tried to focus on her work. Too often, though, she found herself stealing sideways glances, studying him, committing each feature to memory: that mop of brown hair, as scruffy and enticing as always. His muscular arms, rippling beneath his shirt. His rough hands, so careful and precise as he set down the welder, peeled off his gloves, and sank wrist-deep into a tangle of wiring. His face, frowning in concentration, a thin mask guarding over the vulnerability that was as always hidden just beneath the surface.

Taking off his goggles with a toss of his head, Han reached up past her to activate the panel he had just finished working on. Leia closed her eyes, willing herself not to focus on the nearness of his chest.

“You havin’ trouble?”

“What?” She opened her eyes, focusing them back on her work.

“The holo-probe actin’ up?” He hadn’t moved away.

“I—”

Reluctantly, inevitably, her eyes flickered up to find his. Yes, there was the hurt she was dreading to see, and the fear, and the… fiery determination? Her lips parted in surprise. Without another word, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, pushing her back against the wall like he had done two weeks before. Leia sunk into it at first, desperate to close the gap between them, until she recovered her senses. She jerked her head to the side.

“Han, wait, I—”

He held a finger up to her lips. “Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”

“But I—”

“I knew when I said it that you wouldn’t—that you couldn’t say it back. Not yet. It’s okay, Leia.”

“No, it’s not. You’re—”

“Sure it is. We’re goin’ at your pace, remember, sweetheart?”

“Stop interrupting me!” Leia lashed out, frustrated. “Listen: you’ll be leaving soon. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if… if I never… but I can’t… Han, can’t you see we’re flying straight into our own graves? We’re going to lose each other. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t—”

“Leia, I’m gonna try and come back—”

“I’m sorry, Han, but maybe we should just… stop this.”

Han froze. Leia looked away, trembling. The future once more was winding down into bleakness; she’d just have to face it and find the strength to move on, somehow.

Then slowly, Han let out a breath. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, catching her eyes again, “there are worse things out there than havin’ something great and then losin’ it. One of those is never havin’ anything to begin with. That’s the whole damn reason we decided to try this out in the first place.”

She blinked, forcing back the edge of the familiar panic, focusing in on his words.

“Now, I’m not ready to back down yet, and I don’t think you are either—and no, you don’t have to say or do anything to prove it to me. I get it. You can’t. But as for me…” he brought his hand up to caress the side of her head, tracing his thumb along her hairline. He shook his head. “…Blast it, Leia, I love you. You’re worth it to me, no matter what happens. All of the consequences, all of the whatever afters—as far as I’m concerned, they can all go straight to hell.”

She looked up into his eyes, searching. Finally, she raised a tremulous eyebrow. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she whispered.

He nodded gravely.

She exhaled, feeling a mixture of sadness and relief. Reaching up her hand, she gently brushed the hair off his brow. “You always were a reckless one, flyboy,” she murmured.

“That’s why you like me.” He grinned roguishly, resting his arm back on the bulkhead above her and leaning in closer. “Now, where were we?”

The bleakness was dissipating, replaced by cautious hope; replaced by him. While a part of her heart still smoldered with fear, she clung to the truth of his words and the sincerity with which he had spoken them.

There are worse things than having something great and then losing it.

You’re worth it to me, no matter what happens.

Somehow, she felt as if a great weight were lifting off of her, slowly fading through the walls of the ship to disperse, free, in the aether.

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wickedsingularity · 5 years

Text

Until Next Time [Chapter 12]

Banner by PhoenixAlthor @ TDA

The hand on my heart clenched painfully. I stiffened and gritted my teeth. My eyes stung and I couldn't breathe. I was there. I had reached the point where it hurt so bad I didn't know how to live for one more second.

War. We do what we can to find comfort and hope.

Remus Lupin x OC Warnings: Blood magic including the use of knives, dark wounds, Dementors, depression, anxiety, rough lemon as a coping mechanism. This one is dark in so many ways. You have been warned. Words: 4168

Note: I'm not tagging this one (or any of my future Wizarding World stories) with my "permanent tags" anymore, as the audience for my Wizarding World fanfiction is barely existent here on tumblr. If you want to be tagged in this series, or anything Wizarding World, please let me know.

Chapter 11 | Masterlist | Chapter 13

Blood Ward

I’m sorry. I failed you.

After almost five months of planning and implementing new wards, we were finally ready for the last one, and this one had taken time. It was a blood ward, basically dark magic, tying all of us to that stone structure in the middle of the North Sea. We had been at it for nearly two weeks and today was the day we were going to implement it. It had been mentally and physically exhausting getting to this point, and it was no less exhausting draining our blood and doing the incantations.

At midnight every night since the last full moon, we had all put twelve drops of our blood into a vial. Twelve nights later, there were twelve full vials. And all twelve of us were out there out on the island, on a Saturday because of the timing. This was the strongest ward ever put on the prison, supposed to ward off dark and intrusive magic from within and outside. And it was like the Dementors knew, because all through these last weeks of preparation, they seemed to almost try to sabotage us in the way several of them were hovering near where we worked or floating after us through the prison. It was very unusual behaviour for them, and to be on the safe side, we called in a few Aurors and a couple of people from the Being Division to keep an eye on them during this ceremony. The strength it took to keep up the Patronus Shield was enormous on any ordinary day and we couldn't afford any slip-ups on this particular ward, it could kill us all.

At twelve carefully calculated points throughout the prison, we found ourselves. Each with their own vial of blood, their wand and a knife, facing the outer stone wall. At twelve past noon, it began, my vial hovering in front of me as I cast a spell, hearing the exact same words echoing around me. It seemed even the prisoners knew something was up, as they were all unusually quiet. The blood in the vial rose like a thin rope, divided itself in the middle and floated left and right until it connected with the next person's rope of blood, creating a red helix up through the prison. A new incantation echoed off the stone walls, wands drawing intricate patterns in the air. Our voices grew louder and louder with each repetition of the words, reaching a booming crescendo at the twelfth repetition.

I whipped my wand up towards the rope of blood, and it rose quickly through the levels, the helix melting into a whole circle at the top. It glowed an eerie red for a moment, and then it dropped like a waterfall, colouring the walls a deep red. Then I switched my wand for the knife, setting the sharp goblin-made-blade against the inside of my left hand. I glanced quickly at Walter, who stood at one of the three corners and saw he was ready. Then all as one, the twelve of us pulled the knives down. Pain shot through my hand, but before I let myself get distracted by it, I placed my bleeding palm on the wall in front of me. It was unnaturally warm to the touch and kind of soothing for the pain. The first incantation echoed around the prison now as we repeated it together. And as the last syllable ended, the red on the walls faded away and the stone cooled down.

It had taken three hours and the effort had drenched me in sweat. My hair was plastered to my head and my sweater clung to my back underneath my cloak. We had all managed to cast the spell and set the ward while keeping up our Patronus Shield. Everyone was just as exhausted as they packed up their things to go straight home. I had volunteered to file the paperwork on the wards at the Ministry and was gathering all the parchments when everyone left.

I was so exhausted, but I cast a spell to fit the rolls of parchments into my pocket. I could feel the Patronus Shield wavering a bit, so I focused harder on the happy memory and walked out the door to the brooms. Then I cast the usual charms to keep the wind and the rain away. But as the last spell took effect, I felt the Shield drop.

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept over me. It seeped into the very marrow of my bones, and fear clutched at my heart. I felt the Dementors gliding closer from every corner and level. They felt that my Shield was down, they knew I was finally an easy target for them to feed on.

I stood paralysed. I felt a literal block inside my mind at even thinking about casting a simple Lumos, there was no way I could erect the Patronus Shield again. There were spells in place to keep me from Apparating from here, not that I thought I could manage it. There were no means to call for help. Apart from the prisoners, I was the only human left there.

The rattling breaths came closer, I could hear it. Forcing through my petrified state, my arm reached out and took hold of my broom. Unable to throw my leg over it to mount, I just rolled onto it, trusting the magic in it would keep me from tumbling to the floor. If I could make it outside the wards where the Dementors couldn't affect me, maybe I could manage to Apparate to the Ministry.

They were getting close. A chance to get at one of those that had denied them any kind of feeling for so many years must be a great victory for them. I don't think anyone who had ever worked as an Azkaban Security Official had ever been a victim of the Dementors, accidental or otherwise.

The broom rose in the air and the motion nearly unseated me. I leaned forward and it accelerated, the Dementors picking up speed as well. Every inch forward felt like it took forever, and I leant as far as I could, urging the broom on but also because I didn't have the energy to sit upright. The edge of the wards was getting closer and the thought of it had adrenalin surging through me. Time sped up and I was close, closer...

A bony hand landed on my shoulder and I shrieked in panic. I whipped my head around and looked right into the face of a Dementor. The decayed, soulless face somehow triumphant. A lipless mouth open in a large hole, ready to get the thing it had always been denied.

This was it. I'm sorry, Albus, I thought. I failed you.

But then suddenly the hand disappeared, scratching through my cloak as I slipped away from it. The shock and pain made me and the broom drop several feet. Arms and legs clutching the stick of wood for dear life, I managed to balance it. I must have reached the end of the wards; they couldn't follow through it unless we let them.

An immense breath of relief left me and then everything was black.

"She's coming to," I heard a muffled voice say.

Gentle, but calloused hands began touching my face – feeling my forehead, checking my pulse, opening my eyelids. The short moment each eye was open, I saw Madam Pomfrey hovering over me. "She's not awake yet," the matron declared.

"But her eyes fluttered and she made a sound." Was that Tonks?

"Her vitals are good, but she isn't awake," Pomfrey repeated and I felt her retreat.

I was awake, I just couldn't open my eyes, they felt like they were glued together. I tried to speak. My mouth opened, but I couldn't get the words out, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth it was so dry.

"There! See!" Tonks cried out and I felt her presence come closer, the surface I was on shift.

Madam Pomfrey leaned over again and I felt something moist in my throat. I opened and closed my mouth a few times to get rid of the sandpaper feeling. "I'm awake," I managed to croak out. "I just..." I fought hard with myself to open my eyes, it was like trying to tear a stone in half with my bare hands, and what felt like minutes – but was probably just seconds – later, I finally managed.

I blinked a few times, and Tonks and Pomfrey came into focus, both right next to my bed, the first looking relieved, the latter apprehensive.

"How do you feel?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Like I've been trampled by trolls," I said and Tonks chuckled nervously. "What happened? Where am I?"

"We're at headquarters," Tonks explained. "You crashed your broom into the Apparition station outside Azkaban. You never showed up at the Ministry, so I went back, and you were unconscious. I brought you here and sent for Madam Pomfrey, not sure it was safe for St. Mungo's to get involved. What happened before you crashed?"

"Don't answer anything yet," Pomfrey ordered. "You need to get some strength back into you. You've had a concussion and quite a few bumps and bruises, a dislocated shoulder among them. Here." She held out a goblet with water. Tonks gently helped me to sit up, packing pillows behind my back. My head spun from the effort, but as soon as Pomfrey poured the cold drink past my lips, the world righted itself. A few potions were held out in front of me as well, and I was ordered to drink them all. Each one made me feel more and more like my old self, even though my limbs were a bit stiff and slow.

There was a knock on the door and Tonks opened it. Kingsley was there, worry etched across his face. "You're awake. A few of us are waiting in the kitchen when you're ready."

"For what?" I asked.

"The condition Tonks found you in was most grave. As soon as she delivered you here, she sent me a message and I went to Azkaban to check, and what I saw was quite... interesting. I think we both need to tell our stories of the day's events."

I nodded gravely. "I'm ready." As gracefully as I could, I got out of bed to Madam Pomfrey's huffs, but she helped support me as I followed Kingsley out and down two flights of stairs into the kitchen. Not many were there, thankfully. Albus, Remus, Sirius, Mundungus and Hestia. Tonks and Kingsley found seats, and Albus straightened up as Madam Pomfrey guided me to a seat.

My old headmaster looked at me with concern behind his half-moon spectacles. I gave him a weak smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore and weak. Like I've been trampled by trolls." The familiar feeling of someone's eyes on me burned on my skin, but I refused to look at anyone else. I felt like I couldn't keep it together if I looked at those eyes now, and I hated that.

Albus nodded and reached over to squeeze my hand quickly. "Madam Pomfrey will see to it that you recover quickly. But first, we need to hear. I've already informed everyone that you were found unconscious after crashing into the Apparition centre at Azkaban. But that is all I've been told. What happened?"

"I'm sure you're all aware that we were setting up the final ward today. It's a blood ward, and it's really complicated. All of the wards are, but this one is the most intricate I've seen my entire life. I... I think I overspent myself. The others left, and I was going to file the paperwork at the Ministry before I went home. And when I went to get my broom, I..." My voice faltered. I had looked at Albus during this entire time, but now I found my eyes wandering, and as they passed Remus' face, I nearly lost it. Grinding my teeth and collecting myself, I managed to continue. "My Shield fell." It felt like I had failed at life by saying it, but I had to tell the truth. "They came after me, but I didn't have the strength to cast it again. I took off on my broom and could barely stay on it. One of them almost got me. It... Mouth open... But I reached the edge of the wards and it fell back." Subconsciously I lifted my left shoulder and felt something sting slightly.

"The Dementor's fingers scratched through her cloak and clothes," Madam Pomfrey explained. "I can't heal a dark wound like that. You'll have the scars, dear."

I nodded, I could live with a few scars, as long as I still had my soul. "That's all I remember," I finished, looking down at my hands in my lap. "Until I woke up here."

"I found her," Tonks said. "She never showed up at the Ministry, so I went back to check. She had crashed through the window and headfirst into a table there. She can't have laid there for long, but she was drenched and ice-cold from the rain blowing through the broken window."

"I must have fainted the moment I passed the wards," I muttered. I hated this, being the centre of attention, and for something like this, something I failed at... The fear I had felt being chased by a band of Dementors... No, I forced it down.

"I brought her here immediately and sent for Albus and Kingsley, and Albus sent for Madam Pomfrey."

"Her magic was spent," Albus explained. "Having worked on the ward all day, while keeping up the Patronus Shield. The Shield alone takes a tremendous amount of strength. Imagine a Patronus Charm, ten times over, for hours every day."

The room held a quiet awe and it made me feel more uncomfortable.

Madam Pomfrey hadn't told me about the magic. The idea that I had spent it all, was terrifying. If it had happened only seconds later, I wouldn't have been here. I would have been Kissed and then fallen soulless off my broom and drowned in the North Sea. Ice-cold fear gripped at my heart, and I looked up to catch Remus' eyes, but he wasn't drilling his gaze through me anymore. He was looking intently at Albus, who was explaining about depleted magic before Kingsley told everyone what he had seen at Azkaban. I should have paid attention, but I couldn't concentrate anymore.

"The next meeting stand as is. Good night, everyone." Albus ended the impromptu meeting and swept out of the room with a quick squeeze on my uninjured shoulder before I even knew what had happened.

Everyone else began climbing the stairs too, Madam Pomfrey hovering behind me. Up in the hall, Hestia, Kingsley and Mundungus gave me a "feel better" and then left. I moved to walk up to the room I woke up in to gather my things, but Madam Pomfrey stopped me.

"I would have liked to take you back to the Hospital Wing, but that might lead to questions we don't want asked. I want you to stay here overnight, so they can keep an eye on you and alert me immediately if your condition changes. But I don't expect it will."

"Of course," Remus said immediately. Sirius nodded next to him.

"I'll check in on all of them in the morning," Tonks said. "Can't trust these wizards to be good nurses." She winked at me, and I smiled weakly.

"You also need to take a week off work," Madam Pomfrey continued. "I can't in good conscience send you back until I'm sure your magic is fully restored. I'll come back at lunchtime tomorrow, and I want to see you here for another check up on Tuesday."

I just nodded, starting to feel antsy and anxious, needing to get some time alone to let all this sink in.

Madam Pomfrey left, and I said goodnight to Sirius, Tonks and Remus, finally catching the latter's eye. I saw concern there and the need to get away grew. I didn't want concern – I didn't deserve concern. I hurried as fast as I could up the stairs to the room that was now my home for the night.

The door closed behind me with a faint click and I finally had the chance to take in the decor. It was just as dark and dreary as the rest of the house. Dark green, dirty curtains pulled shut over the windows. Dark, worn furniture and the typical large canopy bed with winding, sneaking snakes carved into the four pillars.

I sat down on the bed, glanced at the potions Madam Pomfrey left for me on a tray on one of the bedside tables. One had the label Pepper-Up Potion, one said Dreamless Sleep and the last read Sleeping Draught. Dreamless Sleep might be needed tonight.

I saw my wand next to the potions. My magic is depleted? "Lumos." A barely-there wisp of light blossomed at the tip of it but was gone in less than a second. Even as the Dementors chased me, it hadn't made me feel as defenceless as I did now. You-know-who could come bursting through the door and I didn't even have enough magic to cast the Tickling Charm on him.

With disgust, I threw the wand onto the bedside table so hard it slid right off and clattered against the wall, then I crawled further onto the bed, sitting against the headboard and staring blindly at the intricate snakelike circles that adorned the wallpaper. An Azkaban Security Official who had nearly been Kissed by Dementors. What a failure. What shame. It was the most useless I had felt in my entire life. What good was I anymore.

I don't know how long I sat there, but it must have been well past midnight when I suddenly jumped off the bed, arranged the covers to make it look like I was sleeping there and hurried up to the third floor as quietly as I could, knocking gently on the fourth door on the left.

It swung open to reveal Remus still fully dressed. "Hi," he said and stepped aside to let me in. The moment the door closed behind me the need filled me. I ran over to him and he opened his arms just in time for me to crash my lips upon his and start ripping off his clothes. He kissed back with earnest, but when I reached his pants, he grabbed my hands and held them still as a shield between us. "Do you really want this now?"

I nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You're well enough for this?"

"Yes, dammit."

He looked me in the eyes for what seemed like forever and my patience was growing thin. But then he let my arms go and began tearing at my clothes too. The ache between my legs grew to new heights as our skin made contact, and I groaned when Remus pressed himself against me. He was growing harder by the second and I wanted to taste and touch him, but something deep inside me needed to fuck first, drive the fear out, empty my mind of all about my failure.

Almost as if he could read my mind, Remus grabbed my thighs and lifted me up. One simple movement and he was inside. I forced myself down as far as I could go. He spun us around and we fell onto the bed, the impact of it pushing him so deep it hurt and the breath was knocked out of me. That's what I needed.

Before I could catch my breath, I urged him on by lightly kicking his butt with my feet, like urging on a horse. He started moving fast, the sound of smacking skin loud. But it wasn't enough for me.

"Harder! Faster!" I begged and tried to move my hips up with him. He quickened his pace, but it just wasn't enough, not this time. "Dammit! Make it hurt!" To emphasise my point, I buried my nails in his back and bucked my hips.

Remus looked down at me without losing his stride, as if checking if I was serious. In the back of my mind, I knew it was wrong, so, so very wrong. There were so many healthier ways to deal with my feelings, but I couldn't take any of them. I needed this pain as much as the pleasure, and the desperate hunger must have shown in my eyes because he stopped and pushed my thighs apart. Then he grabbed my hands and laid them on my knees. "Keep your legs outstretched," he said breathlessly. I had no idea where he was going with this, but I obeyed. And was greatly rewarded.

Remus laid his elbows near my waist and lifted his knees to get into a better position, still inside me. Then he pulled almost all the way out and slammed all the way in and there was barely room for him so my body had no choice but to yield for the incoming missile. He did it again, and it hurt, but in a good way. I mewled and he took it as a sign to keep going, faster and faster. I kept up a chorus of high-pitched moans. Somewhere in the back of my mind, behind the pain and the pleasure, I knew that Remus did this for my pleasure only and I was ever so grateful for it.

We stared into each other's eyes and it felt so intense, so all-consuming. It was almost too much. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, to his nose and landed on my neck. My climax was getting close.

It was violent, it was rough, the roughest I'd had in my life, driving all the demons out of me. And as I came around Remus – not able to separate the pain from the pleasure anymore – my demons left my soul for now. I became one with the mattress, arms and legs falling limply onto it, and barely noticed Remus take what he needed to reach his own end. When he groaned into my ear and filled me, satisfaction, peace and thankfulness replaced agitation, pain and failure in my mind.

Remus collapsed on top of me, the sweat from his body cooling mine. When he rolled off, I was finally coherent enough to remember how loud I had been. "Didn't silence the room."

"I did it before I opened the door."

"Good. Thanks."

"Had a feeling it might be needed, one way or the other."

We lay in silence for a while, getting our heart rhythms and breaths back to normal.

"Thank you," I mumbled finally, eyes on the ceiling.

"You're welcome." Silence filled the room again, but then Remus turned to his side and rose up on his elbow, looking down at me. I saw his eyes dart to the claw marks the Dementor had left on my shoulder and his arm twitched as if he wanted to touch it. But he looked up into my eyes instead. "I know you see this as an outlet for everything, but I can't take it that far again. I don't want to hurt you. The sex always good with you, but there are some things sex can't fix."

"I know," I mumbled. Remus was probably the only person who really knew how much fear I kept repressed all the time, and for that performance, he deserved the whole truth. But I wasn't sure I could give it to him. "I just felt... like a failure. I needed to feel something else."

"You needed me to punish you for failing."

I was struck dumb. He had summed up everything that had gone on in my brain since I gained consciousness. I wasn't sure how to reply, and he seemed to sense that too.

"As long as I don't have to do it again, I don't mind. I also hope you don't turn to anyone else for that kind of treatment. If you need to talk about it, if you need comfort, I'm here."

"Thank you." Something entirely different was about to bubble up inside me now, and I had to get out of there. I stood up and began gathering my clothes and holding them up for Remus so he could repair them before I put them on.

"You don't want to stay here tonight? You're already spending the night in the house, why not here with me?"

"Someone might come to check on me."

"Yeah, Tonks said she'd be back early in the morning. She seemed very worried. And reluctant to leave. I was worried too."

"I appreciate it." I didn't want to hear about him being worried, I had to get out of there. "See you in the morning, Remus."

"Until then."

Chapter 11 | Masterlist | Chapter 13

#until next time #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin x oc #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin smut #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff

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starstorm-parade-a · 5 years

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‘Entry Number 12, March 17:

Recently, as of today, it’s been a month since I was adopted by Mr. Chiburg. I have a small feeling as there is a reason to why Mr. Chiburg had adopted me after 3 days. As of today, after finishing my dinner, I strangely noticed from the corner from my eye that he had a glare at me. I am not sure why, but my personal opinion is on something that involves him and Silas. It also goes to the fact that I heard my previous father, my biological one, telling a story to Sage about his past job. I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly, but he only told a secret to them saying the reason he has a pistol is not for defense if there was a dangerous robbery.

Entry Number 13, March 17:

As said by Entry 12, Silas didn’t have a pistol just for self defense, but because it was ‘a regret he can’t take back.’ By my guess by past job and the regret he can’t take back, I assume that he was a hitman. I know how bizarre are unrealistic it sounds, but I feel like he was one before. Another thing was that often I can notice Mr. Chiburg eyeing a picture of a woman who looked a lot different from him. There can also be a speck of sadness when he looks at the picture, in which I guess would possibly be his fiancé. She’s never around, but at first I assumed that she went up and left Mr. Chiburg. But then I noticed that there was a very well hidden grave, embarked with the name of Charlotte Chiburg. Seeing this I would guess she was murdered.

Entry Number 14, March 18:

What I also read on the stone, would be the common, but I only skipped to her cause of death. It was apparently said that ‘Shot through the head by a hitman.’ Reading this and being only 13 years old, I would assume that my father may have shot her just for money. It may explain why he glared at me yesterday after dinner.

Entry Number 15, March 25:

It’s been plenty of days since I haven’t wrote in this journal, but I wanna write out a weird feeling in my head. Recently, I feel like as if envy and ambition is growing slowly but surely in my head. I may be developing this from Mr. Chiburg, in which his ambitions are all about technology and cybernetics. He has given me plenty of help about how to manage this, assistance or not. It feels somewhat better than writing, in which it’s possibly the reason I haven’t written in quite a while. The envy may come from back at my real home with Sage, Atticus, August, and Malachi. It feels like it’s eating me up. I must go. If any of my sibling’s children find this when I grow older and the ambition has successfully eaten me away to evil ambitions;

Entry Number 16, March 25:

Sage’s Child(ren), Wendy and/or Wallace, August’s Child(ren), Crystal and/or Daniel, Malachi’s child(ren), Asher and/or Alice. I am not aware if your Uncle Atticus has children. But I want you to know what was mentioned in the last entry is that I care for you. This is me as of me being 13 years old. If I grow, the ambition and envy will grow like the throned roses I picked as punishment by Silas. Look for his home. Ask every question about me. Weaken me until I can remember who I once was.

I’m counting on you.

#Doodles #oc shenanigans #OCs #Oswald von Emata #Oswald Chiburg #young Oswald #holy crops I wrote a lot

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emo-scene-fm · 6 years

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Artist Name: Snow White's Poison Bite

Genres: Post Hardcore, Horror Punk, Emocore, Pop Punk, Screamo, Punk Rock, Hardcore Punk, Metalcore, Alternative Rock

Similar Artists: Get Scared, Blitzkid, Aiden, Misfits, From First To Last, These Hearts, Famous Last Words, Farewell My Love, Alesana, Wednesday 13, Murderdolls, My Chemical Romance, Black Veil Brides, Modern Day Escape, A Smile From The Trenches, A Vain Attempt, Avion Roe, Mindless Self Indulgence, Creature Feature, AFI, Drop Dead Gorgeous

Bio: Just in time for Halloween! This isn't exactly and obscure artist but still a little bit unsung in the scemo/scenecore community in my humble opinion. Snow White's Poison Bite is the baby of Allan Jeremy Cotterill, known best by his stage name Jeremy 13th. Jeremy was born in the UK but moved to Finland when he was six years old. There he met Juuso Puhakka (screamed vocals), Tuomo Korander (lead guitar), and Teemu Leikas (drums) and formed the band all the way back in early 2006. In 2008 bassist Jarkko Penttinen joined. All lyrics were written by Jeremy 13th. Together they released their first demo in 2008, self titled featuring four songs of emotional intensity, beautiful fairytale-themed lyrics, passionate energy and cruel, chaotic riffs.

Snow White's Poison Bite signed a contract with a record label called Poko Records in early January 2009 and released their first EP, "Drama Through Your Stereo". The sound was a little more pop-punk friendly but still held all of the passion and emotive qualities of the previous release. It's a fantastic EP worth checking out if you find it online. Also in 2009 (May) opened for Alesana in Helsinki. Juuso left in late 2009 because of personal and musical disagreements. The band continued into 2010, signing with Sound Of Finland to put out a fun, catchy, campy album called "The Story of Kristy Killings. The Story of Kristy Killings sorta tells the story of a girl named Kristy. She kills people. This album is like a mix of the 2010s post hardcore/metalcore sound with Michale Graves era misfits infused in it's veins with some killer singles like Valentine's Doom, The End Of Prom Night, and of course Kristy Killings.

On May 5th, 2011 Tuomo, Jarkko, and Teemu left the band and forced the band to cancel their remaining tours. Jeremy 13th was the only remaining member. In 2013 the new lineup signs to Victory Records and puts out "Featuring: Dr. Gruesome And The Gruesome Gory Horror Show." The reviews for this album were favorable, still being a fantastic mix of post hardcore and pop punk with that horror-edge to it. This is probably the band at it's most campy and that's not necessarily a bad thing. The songs are all very catchy and fun to listen to, and a great soundtrack for an emo-punk kid's Halloween alongside AFI, Alkaline Trio, or Aiden. It's a charismatic release and worth a listen. The song Zombie Romance actually features Michale Graves from the 90s incarnation of the Misfits, which I personally find pretty freaking cool.

Unfortunately the band officially disbanded in 2018, but is being succeeded by a project of Allan Cotterill's called TH13TEENTH. Allan also had a solo project under his full name where he released a song called The End Of You And Me (Riley), which was also pretty good. If you're interested in what Allan's doing these days, go take a look at TH13TEENTH, but definitely DO NOT skip out on Snow White's Poison Bite. The efforts, hard work, and sacrifices of Allan, Tuomo, Jarkko, and Teemu bleed right through the stereo when you put any of these songs on. This is a solid recommendation from me to you, especially this time of year.

Discography:

Snow White's Poison Bite (YouTube)

Drama Through Your Stereo (iTunes)(Spotify)(YouTube)(Deezer)

The Story Of Kristy Killings (iTunes)(Spotify)(YouTube)(Deezer)(GooglePlay)

Featuring: Dr. Gruesome and the Gruesome Gory Horror Show (iTunes)(Spotify)(YouTube)(Deezer)(GooglePlay)

Favorite Lyrics: "You say love stories are just for fools because this story cursed roses with poisonous thorns. Dying to live, this life is dead for you. Fairytales can be so cruel. Oh darling, glass slippers can break." (So Cinderella)

Recommended Songs:

So Cinderella (x)

Kristy Killings (x)

She's A Trendy Designer On Her Wrists (x)

The End Of Prom Night (x)

Glitter And Sparkle (x)

The Nursery Rhyme (x)

#emo-scene-fm #scenecore #nu scene #scene revival #snow white's poison bite #scemo #emocore #horror punk #halloween #myspace #nostalgia #2000s music #2010s music

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pinkletterday · 5 years

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In which Hussie says to hell with it and talks about all her slash WiPs even though she has no idea when they will be posted.

I love Olivarry and Coldflash. But my problem with reading those fics are that I miss Iris like a limb if she's not also part of Barry.

I felt the same way before I ever shipped Westallen, and I didn't even ship them for the longest time. Nor was I particularly interested in Iris as a character until sometime mid-way S3.

(It was when she burst into frightened tears in 3x9. Something in me immediately went PROTECC and it hasn't turned off since.)

I think it was more the sheer intensity of Barry's love for her that fascinated me. Not that a man fixating on a woman and obsessively pinning all his happiness on her is new or healthy phenomenon, but it was also deeper than that, character-wise. His love for her is so tied up in his self-definition, and the myriad ways their childhood bond helped mould their adult selves.

(And the fact that no matter how this love can change in nature, he will never be immune to appreciating her beauty and sexuality as a woman, which is so important to me as a slash fan and WoC. Seeing women be desexualized unless they're active romantic interests makes me want to scream. You can find people attractive af without wanting to bang them! It doesnt make you any less close! Not all close m/f relationships have to be sibling-like! Aargh!)

Regardless of how it came about, I need Iris to have that importance in Barry's life no matter who (else?) he's in love with. Which is why I started writing slash myself. It's a relief to me to know that she's there in every story I write, like a personal touchstone if nothing else. There you are my darling, you aren't forgotten.

Coldflash vs Olivarry polyam AU - Barry's love for Iris and the pain of her rejection is the springboard of the series. His struggle to reconcile with her over the years drives his character trajectory as much his love for Len and Oliver does. And there is so much she sees and evolves and goes through herself that the stupid boy cannot see until the very end, caught up in his own pain as he is.

The Assistant Verse - Barry and Iris are queerplatonic partners in a poly sexual relationship. Iris is the one who dolls up her boy in lipstick and booty shorts and sends him into Len's path in Paint It Red. Many years later, in Every Kind of Love, she descends wrathfully on Oliver from half a world away for doing her darling wrong, bringing her own broken heart for Barry to nurse.

This is one of the most wholesome Westallen relationships I have ever written, even though I'm pretty sure it will generate the least interest.

For The Good of the Realm - in the first draft Iris was Barry's first love and heartbreak pulled apart by politics, but in the second revision they're again queerplatonic partners and childhood best friends who call each other "soulmates". They had hoped to be married to each other and be kept safe from political matches. But then Barry becomes betrothed to High King Oliver and must be sent to Starling Court as the reluctant new Prince Consort, while Iris sets out on her mission to emancipate the tribes of the Middle Kingdom. They gift each other two halves of a magical "heartstone", a conduit of emotional resonance that connects two people across leagues of distance. In the fear, alienation and intrigue of the Starling Court, its Iris's love and safety that Barry holds onto, even while he falls in love with his husband.

Call Me By Your Name - Barry and Iris go to Greece in the summer before college, each hoping it will lead to a resolution to the magnetic push and pull they've been feeling for years. But when Barry meets and falls in love with Oliver and realizes he's gay, he is devastated at both breaking Iris's heart and not being in love with her. Because he really wants to be; she's always been his home and the future he's envisioned - to lose that terrifies him. It's a story about Barry and Oliver's sexual and romantic awakening, but also about how Barry and Iris manage to break down their own expectations of what it means to love one another forever and build something much truer and real.

A Stitch in Time is solidly Queenwestallen now. I was going to have Iris evolve into an undefined queerplatonic partner for Barry and Oliver but that ship is long gone.

For Love Or Money - Barry and Iris were childhood sweethearts and married young, Barry's tech startup and her career both took off. By their mid-twenties they should be the couple that has it all.

Except for Iris finally realizing she's ace and sex-repulsed. This is a terrible shock to both of them and not a small blow to Barry's self-esteem because she's the only woman he's ever been with. But they decide they're too in love to divorce and Iris tentatively suggests that Barry takes the opportunity to explore his interest in men, leading him to engage Oliver's services as an escort. Iris has to discover for herself what it means to be an asexual woman but Barry falling in love with Oliver is an issue they both have to deal with as a couple. Meanwhile Oliver has to reconcile the fact that not only is he falling for a client but one who is very much in love with his wife.

Mercury Rising - my Earth-13 Coldflash mob boss AU and oh is Iris ever there! This is my most delicious iteration of her - not as Barry's support but as his combatant, his antagonist and the eternal thorn in his side. Her unwitting role in Barry's betrayal that drives him to criminality, her bull-headed faith in the goodness of his character even in the face of his escalating violence, calling him to account every step of the way till he does the one thing she cannot forgive. The resulting single-minded determination to take her former best friend down without compromising her own moral code even as the undeniable magnetism between the two of them wreak havoc with their lives, and final realization that even after everything she can never give up on Barry Allen. Hate is truly just love with its back turned and what makes them tear each other to pieces even as it brings out their noblest and most human instincts.

Queen of Starling - On Earth 42, Beatrice Allen is adopted by Harrison Wells when her parents are murdered and taken away to Starling City - but even distance can't make her less in love with the best friend she left behind.

Here's the kicker of this story - Iris dies. Her death bisects Beatrice's story in two - the halycon days of her girlhood and the shattered trauma of the next fifteen years where she has to collect the pieces of herself out of her lover's grave to rebuild herself into the mother her children need, the superhero the world needs and to let herself love again.

The Awakening - Curse specialist Iris West and alchemist/ lore master Barry Allen are part of the Men of Letters team that go into a old cursed and haunted mansion to retrieve the Book Of The Dead, last known to have been in the hands of disgraced former Man of Letters and necromancer Eobard Thawne. The team is led by their chapter's chairman Harrison Wells, but the expedition is funded by eccentric millionaire and hunter Oliver Queen.

The blue-collar hunters and elitist Men of Letters don't trust Oliver, being seen as a mere hobbyist or thrill-seeker in the absence of any real tragedy or family legacy to put him on his path. But Iris distrusts him because she's the only one who can see his clear attraction to her best friend and childhood sweetheart Barry. Iris has spent her life as Barry's protector, himself being something of a pariah in the community due to his rumoured supernatural parentage and open empathy for the spirits and monsters they hunt. It's Iris that sees the way the house draws in both Barry and Oliver and the patterns of the hauntings that occur around them, she's the one who is as terrified for Barry's safety as Oliver as the house sucks them deeper into the tragedy of its past and she's the one that finally deduces how the malevolence of the house works and what it wants.

From Dusk Till Dawn - I think this is the story that has Iris in it the least. Eobard kidnaps Barry at age fifteen and subjects him to an experiment that backfires badly, leaving him dead and Barry with only a fraction of powers he was destined to have and no connection to the Speed Force. ARGUS immediately finds him and forces him to manufacture a rift with the Wests so they can claim him without suspicion, mould him into one of their operatives and train him to hunt the other metahumans Eobard created.

This is an Olivarry story where Barry rediscovers hope and love through his secret protection of Oliver. But its the memory of Iris's love and the happiness of their childhood that keeps him tethered to his humanity through the next eight years, it is her that he goes to the night before what he believes will be his final sacrifice ("You have always been the best part of me. Keep that part of me inside your heart and I can never die. Keep me and don't let me go, Iris"), it is her, after everything, that leads him home, and it is her that seeks out Oliver and asks him to help Barry heal.

This is not including my Coldwestallen fics The Scarlet Rose (Snow Queen/ Beauty and the Beast fusion) and The Adventures of Snart The Cat (Bastet turns Len into a cat and charges him with protecting Barry and Iris's unborn child).

So yes, I absolutely started writing slash because I missed Iris West. It's not just her though. None of the ladies are relegated to ship support. In the Polyam AU Lisa Snart specifically rips into Barry for ignoring her emotional needs as a friend while on the outs with Len, Oliver's fixation with Barry in Stitch in Time and resulting neglect of his friendship with Laurel has serious repercussions, Caitlin couldn't give less of a damn about Barry's romantic exploits in her incarnations as Killer Frost. Even in For The Good of the Realm where he's her foster brother and charge, Caitlin is more wrapped up in manoeuvring him away from court intrigue, legitimizing her own presence at his side and being a ball of identity issues. And I absolutely love my dark!Felicity AUs where she is outright antagonistic and disapproving of Barry's love interests and sometimes of Barry himself. In the Olivarry stories where she is supportive and sympathetic, Felicity and Oliver themselves still acknowledge their own romantic potential. Which means Barry and Oliver falling in love creates tension between the three of them, and the men have to learn how not to hurt her or take her support for granted while they figure themselves out.

The relationships between men and women in every flavour and intensity makes stories so much richer and deeper and three dimensional. I am done being conditioned as a woman to erase ourselves when we inhabit the bodies and stories of m|m men.

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mybukz · 5 years

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Fiction: The Wedding—the Finale by Peter Soh

Image by Greyson Joralemon on Unsplash

Michelle was wide awake and she couldn’t find the best position to sleep. The wooden bed was so flat and hard, and the mattress was overly thin. This was her wedding chamber. Six months ago, it was draped in red curtains embroidered with birds and butterflies. The valance that was hung on the chamber was beaded with the motif of peonies and was decorated with colourful tassels made up of small European beads. The pillows were sewn with a pair of Mandarin ducks and the bed was scented with bunga rampay, a potpourri made of sliced pandan leaves, bunga melor and rose water. This red- and gold-lacquered boxy bed, heavily decorated with curtains and panels full of auspicious symbols in a hope to bless the newlywed with an abundance of offspring and a blissful marriage, was meaningless.

It was 12a.m. and Alex was not home yet. Compared to their first time sleeping soundly on this bed because of how exhausted it was to perform the various wedding rituals and to entertain relatives and guests whom Michelle met only for the first and the last time, she tossed and turned on the bed, wondering where her husband was this time. The bed looked bland without all the decorations, and the room was nothing more than just the couple’s suitcases.

“Why he never wants to touch me? Oh Lord, stop thinking about this. Maybe he is just not ready,” Michelle tried hard to suppress her unbidden thoughts. *

Father and Alex were silent. The air was filled with plain awkwardness, shame, and compunction. None of them expected this unwelcome surprise—to be soaked in a naked truth in front of each other. No one was prepared for this harsh moment, and in fact, this was meant to be a secret that they would like to bring to their own graves. But now, it was exposed under the disco light, leaving father and son in a quandary over their masked self.

“Pa, I didn’t know you are—”

Alex couldn’t bring himself to continue the conversation. It was not something that a father and a son would talk about. Alex’s father never even taught Alex anything about the body when his voice started changing at the age of 13. Alex learnt about himself and women mostly through dirty jokes shared by his peers, as well as health magazines from the local bookstore. But these were not enough to explain why he had always felt that he was different from the rest of his friends.

“But I know you are,” father said.

“You know?” asked Alex, surprised by his father’s reply. He had never felt so uneasy. He couldn’t stop fidgeting on the bar stool.

“Of course, I know it since you were little.”

“How did you know?”

“It is just a feeling. I know my son. Just like I know how much sambal you like to add on your nyonya laksa.” Father sounded as if it was a dime a dozen to pierce through Alex’s thoughts.

“But I did not reject Michelle when I knew that she likes me. I mean, if I am really a gay, I wouldn’t even think about her. But I did not reject her either.”

“Everyone loves to be adored. It’s flattering, and it makes us feel good and attractive. But that is not love.”

“But I like her too. She is always there for me and she went through the ups and downs of my doctorate study. I can always count on her and she always listens to me and entertains my silly ideas.”

“Yes, you like her. So why don’t you two have a baby and start forming a family?”

Alex went silent again. *

“Father was right. It was not love. It was probably a mixture of guilt, loneliness, and flattery from someone who fancies me.” Alex started rewinding his memories to University of Melbourne.

As a foreign student, Alex could never feel completely home in a land so far away from where he was born. It was the Student Association of Malaysia that made things bearable because everyone shared the same struggles, missed the same food, and enjoyed the idiosyncrasies that only Malaysians will know. And it was here that Alex got to know Michelle.

“Hey, Alex. How old are you?”

“25 years old.”

“I see. Pardon me if I am pretty forthright. Are you single?”

“Er, yes. I am still single.”

“Okay! Shall we date?”

That was the first time someone took interest in Alex. Despite knowing that he was gay, he did not reject Michelle’s proposal. He knew it was a great chance for him to avoid all the problems: confusion, loneliness, scare, guilt, and imperfections. He tried hard to be a normal and did what other men were doing. He brought her out for dates, he shared his history, he listened to her, he entertained her, and he was there for her, just like how Michelle was always there for him. And he thought he succeeded in this transition by walking down the aisle with her.

However, he realised he could never make everything right. There was one thing that he couldn’t perform at all—he shuddered at the thought of undressing Michelle. *

“It’s a bit silly to hate your sexuality,” father continued.

“But you and mother harangued me when I told you guys about this when I was 15! You told me it was just bromance and I was very confused about myself!”

“I am sorry, but I had to do that to protect you. Your mother can’t accept such thing and I had to be in her league to stop her from creating these endless dramas. I bet you remember she cried when she told me about this.”

“But you ruined me when you did that.” Alex’s tears started to well up. He just couldn’t do this anymore.

“I am so sorry,” father said. *

“Where did you two go last night? The smell of cigarettes is terrible. Can’t you two stop smoking? Like father like son. Good for nothing! Do you really think this house is a hotel? Simply come and go.” Alex’s mother glared.

Alex kept quiet, as usual.

“We were just having some father and son’s time,” Alex’s father replied.

“He better think properly for his future. Having a son or two is never a mistake. Someone can take care of you when you are old, and I can face your ancestors when I am not here one day too.” Alex’s mother continued to nag while chewing her sireh.

“Sudah lah. Let the young people do what they want. He knows what to do. He is an adult, not a baby anymore.”

“I am the one who give birth to si Alex. I know what’s the best for him. You don’t give those useless advice.” *

“Pa, how did you go through such a long marriage with nya? Nya is unreasonable all the time.”

The bar was flooded with more guys at 2a.m. The music was getting louder, and the air smelled of cigarettes, sweats, and lust. Everyone seemed to enjoy this moment where they could strip off their masks and clothes. The night exposed them while at the same time protected every one of them.

“I let her to run the house so that I can solely focus on my work.”

“I don’t understand.”

“By the time I come home, I just want to sleep. I skip my dinner and those nonsense.”

Alex fell into deep thought once again. He was dubious about this plan. It would create more doubts and questions if he told Michelle to be a housewife all of a sudden. What was she going to do? They already had two maids who took care everything in the house.

“I don’t think it’s going to work for us.”

“That’s because you are changing yourself to fit into a world that doesn’t even belong to you.”

“But you succeeded. You marry nya and you could do that thing. I just can’t.”

Alex’s father fell silent. It seemed like their conversation was slowly pushing him to tell even more things about himself. And there was no way back.

“That’s because… I like both man and woman.” *

Michelle came down to the living room with her and Alex’s suitcases. It was time to go back to Kuala Lumpur. Piles of work were waiting for them and every minute was precious.

“Neo, we have to go back now. We will come down when we have time again.” Michelle held onto her mother-in-law’s hands.

“Kesian menantu gua. Told you no need to work. Let si Alex earn the money. You should just stay at home and learn how to cook.” Alex’s mother was always repeating this, again and again.

“Nya is right. Why don’t you stay a little longer to keep nya company? You can learn how to cook my favourite nyonya laksa from her. She cooks the best laksa in the world. Don’t worry about work. I will ask my secretary to do it. Perhaps it is time for you to detach from work and be a housewife?”

Michelle looked puzzled. She had been waiting for this for so long. Maybe Alex finally wanted a kid and, of course, as a dutiful wife and possibly a mother soon, she had to learn everything about how to take care of her own household, especially Alex’s and their future kids’ stomachs! She couldn’t hide her happiness. It is time!

“Sure. I am more than happy to be here!”

“That’s my son. Know how to think for his wife now.” Alex’s mother looked rather proud and urged Michelle to put back the suitcase into her room.

“I will come back once every two weeks. Nya, I got to go now.” Alex took his suitcase from the living room and left the door without saying goodbye to Michelle.

As the car drove further away from the house, Alex texted Daryl: Are you home? *

Peter Soh is an ambitious Malaysian writer whose stories are about darkness, pain, struggles, identity searching and what makes us a human.

#Peter Soh #The Wedding Finale #short story #short fiction #fiction #Malaysian fiction #malaysian literature

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thefudge · 6 years

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weird theory i might have about rey’s parentage that won’t leave me the hell alone

yeah so bear with me

i do think it’s a compelling narrative if rey comes from “nothing” and her parents were just randoms who disposed of her. yes, it would make a great parallel with kylo’s super privileged origins.

but i also think there’s another side to it.

basically, i don’t think he was lying to her at all. her parents did “sell” her, but i don’t think it was for drinking money

so here comes my super tin-foil idea

we HAVE met someone in this movie who seems to fit the description of negligent parent who gave up rey for unknown benefits

and that character is none other than DJ. that’s right, benicio del toro’s drunk-on-his-ass weirdly-accented code breaker.

HEAR ME OUT

1. we know that he sells out rose and finn to the first order, hence we could say this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

2. he has this oddly soft moment with rose where he returns the necklace she thought he had taken from her for good. but he was only using it to get them into the order. now, that moment played out to show a different side to him, but it also gave me “father figure” vibes. here u have an older dude being kind to a young girl whose name starts with “r”. and we also see that his initial actions may be misleading.

3. his moment with finn, when he “learns him a lesson” about the order and the resistance. he basically tells him “don’t join” because both sides are obsessed with their own path. so he’s the middle “grey” guy who doesn’t fit anywhere. rey, too, doesn’t seem to fit either with the resistance or with the first order. it’s also telling that he doesn’t wanna join an organization and wants to be free.

4. scavenger connection. more than anything, DJ seems to share that aspect with his potential daughter. he seems to live his life from one day to the next, no plans for the future, just collecting parts wherever he goes.

5. he definitely seems like he’s seen some dark shit. he seems jaded in a way that...would make sense if he had to abandon his daughter. NOW my theory is that, he had to PRETEND to abandon her for money. he had to pretend like rey meant little to him in order to save her. BECAUSE he probably found out his kid was strong with the force. and i have a feeling someone came close to taking rey from him. so he drops her off on this nowhere planet and sells her “for money”. that’s his cover-story. so that ppl don’t come snooping.

6. the ezra bridger theory. lots of ppl have speculated on this, but DJ sports this VERY INTERESTING scar on his left cheek that is a faithful copy of ezra bridger’s scar. ezra, of ‘star wars rebels’ fame, was a jedi and a rebel during the galactic empire. it would fit the character, age-wise. something has happened to ezra in the last 20 years to bring him this low. i don’t necessarily think this theory is true,but if he IS force-sensitive, it would make sense that his daughter, rey, would be too. also, ezra has faced sith lords and been tempted by the dark side so he’d have an understanding of what rey is going through.

7. but honestly, i’d prefer it if he weren’t ezra bridger. even as a random shifty character, DJ makes for a compelling father-figure. it would be a cool twist imo, because it wouldn’t deny kylo’s words. it’s just that DJ managed to find a way to trick both sides. and u know how rey was so attached to han solo and saw a potential father in him? well, her father is a han-solo type, she just doesn’t know it.

8. it would make for a pretty conflicted, emotional reunion. i don’t think rey would forgive him, and i think it would be interesting if she didn’t. DJ might sacrifice himself for her in episode 9 or he might not. i would just be stoked to see a super complicated father/daughter relationship here.

9. the cave scene with the multiple reys would make sense too, within this theory. because the story of her abandonment isn’t straight-forward, it’s got layers. and if DJ is also force-sensitive, he might’ve put a mental block for her so she never finds out who he is.

10. the names. DJ stands for “don’t join”. and people speculated that “Rey” also stands for something. lol, i may be reaching here but i find it pretty interesting. and also, this could be a message for his daughter too. don’t join the dark or the light, choose balance.

11. kylo mentions her parents’ unmarked graves. so DJ probably faked his death too. we know his real name is not DJ, so his old self died. again, it doesn’t deny kylo’s assessment.

12. maz kanata’s words would also make sense. “her parents” are never coming back for her, because DJ doesn’t wanna blow his cover. her only way is forward - finding DJ on her own.

13. DJ seems to have no moral compass because he had to sell his daughter. i mean, imagine if u had to do that. would it matter anymore what u did after that?

14. ANYWAY. it should happen because it would be dope, imo. but if it doesn’t, i’ll be cool with it. i just wanna reiterate that it would be so rad if kylo’s words turn out to be both true and false.

(sidenote, rey’s talent for machinery // DJ’s talent for code breaking)

#rey #dj star wars #dj #tlj spoilers #tlj #rey parentage #my theories

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