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cybernaght · 3 years

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Guardian rewatch: episode 12

We start the episode in the Snake Tribe territory, which is supposedly still somewhere within the confines of the Dragon City. It is baffling that it took citizens of this place so long to figure out that there are mysterious beings and demi-humans living among them, it truly is.

While the scene is mostly centred around the conflict between Zhu Hong and her tribe, and the ominous warning of the war brewing, it also does a really lovely joy of showcasing, yet again, the fierce loyalty not only she, but Guo Changcheng have to the SID. This boy remains the most precious muffin of a human.

At the SID, Sang Zan is learning to write under a loving watchful eye Wang Zheng. The once fierce and ruthless warlord is now the softest archivist. On a separate note, I am not sure how good of an archivist he might be considering that he is evidently illiterate.

Anyway, it’s heart-warming to see those two happy together. I sure hope nothing terrible happens to them in the future.

Our actual power couple, on the other hand, have done a full reversal into the relationship they had in the beginning; only it’s somehow even worse now. Shen Wei, who properly messed his cover up during the last adventure, has his guard up as he is being questioned in relation to a case. Zhao Yunlan, who grew to see this man as a friend and partner, is no longer amused by secrets, nor intrigued by them. He is now furious at their existence, upset at what he must perceive as lack of trust on Shen Wei’s part.

Shen Wei serves Zhao Yunlan a cup of tea with a side order of avoidance, hoping that by ignoring the subject of himself it will go away.

When in the previous scenes together they were always across the desk from each other, or next to each other, leaning in closely, body language open, there is now a rift between them. It’s awkward; neither of the men want to be here, but their needs are the opposite to each other, and neither of them are willing to back down.

Shen Wei goes on explaining in great detail his connection to the case and to the victim, despite Zhao Yunlan’s attempt to change the subject with a very unsubtle, “your body surely recovered fast”. The latter then proceeds to stubbornly talk about Shen Wei’s archaic ways, which earns him an incredulous “Are you even listening to me?” from the professor. The incredulity is wonderfully misjudged, considering the circumstances.

“I only want to hear you tell the truth”

We rarely see Zhao Yunlan open and vulnerable. I can’t off the top of my head remember him ever being open and vulnerable with anyone who is not Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan operates on false bravado, aggressive charm, weaponised smiles. But with this man, he purposefully lowers his guard. I trust you, he seems to say, and I always have. Why can you not trust me?

Shen Wei gulps.

He then continues talking about the case, which is the last straw for Zhao Yunlan, who explodes, smacking his palm hard on the desk.

Shen Wei startles, looking hurt. I just… don’t understand what he was expecting. Once again, this is a man who, from Shen Wei’s perspective, has unmasked him on the first day they met. This is a man who has been poking and prodding him for weeks. And I get that it is hurtful when someone you care about does not respect your boundaries, I do, but truly honestly hoping that the same someone will just accept the relationship terms that have never even been discussed is a little bit unrealistic, especially when Shen Wei is not divulging anything.

Shen Wei is bad at communicating. Which is, I suppose, not news to anyone.

“It seems that Chief Zhao still hasn’t given up on suspecting me.”

“Not suspicion, but lack of understanding.”

Zhao Yunlan is trying very hard. He is trying to close the rift between them: by pulling the chair over next to Shen Wei’s and settling down on it, by reminding Shen Wei how much they have been through together, by telling the man that he is being perplexing. Shen Wei, on the other hand, has raised his barriers all the way back up, smoothly explaining that he is just a normal man who ends up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He has got a polite smile playing on his lips, his mask fully in place.

Zhao Yunlan does not even pretend to have believed Shen Wei, he gives up on the conversation with a dejected “Fine, forget it.”

He makes his excuses and pulls his phone out to make a call to Wang Zheng to check up on the rest of the team. Just as that happens, the SID gets attacked by the magical sound waves, and Zhao Yunlan sprints into action.

Shen Wei calls after him, and then asks to come with. Considering they have just spent some very awkward time together, more or less fighting about Shen Wei lying an awful lot, Zhao Yunlan would be well within his moral rights to reject help. He doesn’t, however. Even now, the trust he has in Shen Wei - in his good intentions, in his friendship - is unwavering.

At the SID offices, Tan Xiao is using his sound device to get past the two ghosts energy beings, and break through the safety measures protecting the Hallows. In other news, apart from being susceptible from curses or poisons slipped through the letter box, the SID HQ also does not have anything that might stop a human from breaking into it. How those people survived for this long is a mystery.

A point of complete diversion from me: I am currency watching a contemporary drama entitled To Dear Myself. It’s about young professionals in Shanghai who get their lives broken in about ten different ways; Zhu Yilong’s the leading man; there will definitely be a lengthy think-piece on it here. But the reason I’m bringing that up here is that it also has Chen Weidong, the actor who plays Tan Xiao, as a contextually neurodivergent rich boyfriend of one of the protagonists.

It’s kind of surreal seeing him here; there’s only been about two years between the filming of those two shows, but he looks so different. Oh, and, he is very good as well.

Back in the world of Guardian, we see Sang Zan shaking off the sound attack and attempting to stop Tan Xiao. He does not succeed as such, but manages to pull a string which activates the Indiana Jones-style set-up with loaded crossbows. It’s very silly; I kind of love it.

While evading the arrows, Sang Zan flings the Awl up in the air, Zhao Yunlan catches it. How close is the University to SID? He took about five minutes to get here! The chief gets a barrage of premonitions which include Zhu Hong knocked out in the future, as well as in the present, and a little sneak-peak into the Disaster Wedding incident.

He then proceeds to pass out into Shen Wei’s slow motion embrace.

There is nothing wrong with this. This is beautiful.

Shen Wei checks on Yunlan briefly, but Tan Xiao goes on the offensive, which deserves him: a) a shot of dark energy right into his chest, which flings him across the space, b) the meanest of Hei Pao Shi’s death glares. This is the moment Tan Xiao earns an uncharacteristically rough treatment he’s going to get at the end of this episode.

She Wei carefully places unconscious Zhao Yunlan next to the wall, calling out his name. We can only presume that the lab has a second exit, as Tan Xiao manages to get away despite the two men currently being more or less in the doorway.

An indeterminate amount of time passes, and Zhao Yunlan wakes on the sofa, Da Qing in human form miaowing at him, his team and Shen Wei nearby. The team goes into a full debrief mode: Wang Zheng reports that she is generally able to repel sound waves, but was taken by surprise; Da Qing and Lin Jin speculate about the shield being affected by the waves as well, since an apparent Undergrounder managed to get through it.

Zhao Yunlan notes that the sound waves ability seems to be doubled, and used for both attack and suggestion. He notes that the powers can be numerous, while grinning conspiratorially at Shen Wei.

Shen Wei quietly despairs. He probably genuinely thought that this conversation was truly over. He takes a few seconds to come to terms with Zhao Yunlan actually teasing him about him maybe being an Undergrounder, before composing himself and stating that compound abilities don’t actually exist.

Da Qing, who doesn’t necessarily pick up what this conversation really is about, but does note that *something* is up with those two, comes to his own conclusions, asking Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan to stop flirting.

Lin Jing comes up up with this.

“Comrades!”

Thank you, Viki subbers, for notifying the audience that the word “Comrade” is also a slang for “gay”.

Lin Jing springs to his feet, saying that he needs a sample test of a human consciousness - presumably to create that clever brain chip of him which would make one immune to the wound wave powers. Zhao Yunlan very theatrically feigns a big scary headache to see whether Shen Wei would volunteer to take the test in his stead to spare him the pain. It’s an underhand move, but it works nonetheless.

We briefly return to the Snake Tribe, or, more specifically to Zhu Hong’s Fourth Uncle asking whether she is still mad at him, while she is forcibly restrained and bound to a pillar. What is it with this show and binding people to pillars? In reality, the one bound to a pillar is actually Guo Changcheng, which the Fourth Uncle doesn’t pick up on even through Xiao Guo is not actually wearing the clothes Zhu Hong arrived in. Zhu Hong springs the trap, plies her uncle with the same wine, and then goes to regroup with the others, leaving Xiao Guo behind for the time being, because, I guess, it makes more sense for Zhu Hong to be alone when she gets hypnotised later in the episode.

Honestly, it’s easier to not think about too much about this scene, so let’s return to the main characters.

Lin Jing is just finishing the experiment on Shen Wei, who is lying on the lab bed in his undershirt, seemingly asleep. I would assume that Shen Wei has gone into some kind of a meditative trance to try and affect the way his own brain works and emulate the human activity. He does not stir when Zhao Yunlan walks over, and call him.

“Shen Wei? Professor Shen?”

Having received no response, Zhao Yunlan leans in to…

... Count this man’s eye lashes? Admire the effects of his skincare routine?

Oh, no, sorry. Here’s the excuse.

Thank you, Guardian, for this moment.

As Shen Wei wakes up and rises, he lets Zhao Yunlan know in no uncertain terms that he did see through his ruse.

“You don’t have a headache anymore?”

This snaps Yunlan out of gazing at Shen Wei with barely contained lust to pretend that his head indeed still hurts. Considering that Shen Wei does not look concerned, and knowing that Zhao Yunlan’s health and well-being is his number one priority in life, we can conclude that he did know that a headache was just an excuse to get Shen Wei out of his shirt check Shen Wei’s brain activity. Our professor collects his things and leaves with a brief goodbye.

Lin Jing is staring at the readings, checking that the computer has worked properly. Noticing that something is wrong, Zhao Yunlan asks, “Did you see live pornography in his head or something?” Not that I blame his for his mind being the gutter, but also, wow Zhao Yunlan’s mind is in the gutter.

Lin Jing dismisses the idea of mind reading as a whole, and shares his findings that Shen Wei’s consciousness was unwavering, like a dead man’s. Unfortunately for Shen Wei, whatever it was that he did to appear human has not worked well at all.

Zhao Yunlan smirks.

Outside of the SID building, Shen Wei is still frozen in place, contemplating his future actions as he is thumping the Pendant of Pining.

“Should I tell him after all?”

Yes, Shen Wei, you should.

“If I tell him, will that put him in danger?”

I am afraid the the good ship Zhao Yunlan Being In Danger sailed the day Zhao Yunlan became Lord Guardian and Chief of the SID.

(Am I again getting unreasonably frustrated with a fictional character of a show that aired several years ago? You bet I am.)

What follows in the episode is a brief interlude of Zhu Jiu being horrible to Tan Xiao, and making inappropriate comments about him and Zheng Yi. We also learn some of Tan Xiao’s backstory, which expands on his character and explains that the reasons he felt so protective of the little girl was because she reminded him of a sister he once had.

Back to SID offices.

Zhao Yunlan is doodling Shen Wei and the Envoy as he tries to reconcile the two in his mind.

It does sound like he still has doubts that the two are the same person, despite the overwhelming pile of evidence that made him draw to this conclusion in the first place. If anything, it is quite surprising that it took him this long to figure out that the enigmatic mysterious handsome professor and the enigmatic mysterious handsome Envoy are the same person. It is also curious that he seems to think the Envoy is much taller.

Da Qing watches his friend’s mental agony in absolute bewilderment.

Very shortly, they will get a ping for the sound wave energy from somewhere close to Zhu Hong’s home and rush to the scene to find that Zhu Hong has, indeed, been put under mind control, as she attacks Chu Shuzhi.

Here’s another piece of fight choreography for me to tear into.

Okay, good things first. I really like that the actors are doing their own fighting. Jiang Mingyang is generally looking good in combat, and his reactions continue to be on point. Gao Yuer is very flexible, and her kicks are great.

The fight itself however, is another example of the time/money constraints.

The opening punch is… fine. They do lock arms for a split second, which indicates that Zhu Hong properly swung that in rather than stopping the energy, but they are also out of distance, so safety-wise that’s okay-ish, and at full speed it looks alright . But the way Lao Chu is sticking his thumb out and then wraps that around Zhu Hong’s wrist just gave a full body shudder. This is how one gets they thumb dislocated (which I have never done myself, but I hear is very painful) and/or gives their partner a nasty bruise. For anyone out there who needs to hear this, if you ever perform a fight, please tuck your thumbs in line with your fingers and avoid hurting yourself and others. Doing otherwise adds nothing apart from a small but completely avoidable risk of injury.

Then there is this kick-punch-kick combination.

The three moves in isolation are good, but they don’t flow together, at all. I think, and this is pure speculation, that the sweeping punch in the middle was actually meant to follow the previous two moves, then the kick would come next, leading into Chu Shuzhi restraining Zhu Hong. That first kick (which is the same as the third kick, shot from a different angle) just does not belong there as a follow-up to the two punches. I can speculate that it was cut there because it looked cool - which it does - but it also sacrifices any hope this fight had for coherent storytelling.

Then there is a capture and a swivel, very similar to the finishing move used in Zhu Jiu/Sang Zan fight in episode 11. Zhu Hong gets pressed against the tree, and the team shows up to sedate her and bring her back to the headquarters.

Tan Xiao and Zheng Yi watch this scene unfold at a distance, as Zhao Yunlan appears behind them. The SID chief calmly lets Tan Xiao know that he’s been abandoned by Zhu Jiu, and the other man offers no resistance to being captured.

The narrative brings us to the boxing ring, introducing us to it as Zhu Jiu’s energy farm, and then briefly cuts to SID, where Chu Shuzhi realises that they have not retrieved Guo Changcheng. The puppet master springs into action, leaving Lin Jing to wonder since when his friend is so protective of the rookie. If he paid attention, he would have noticed that Chu Shuzhi was protective of the rookie since day one.

We then move to the interrogation of Tan Xiao, which is happening in the hospital set, with Zheng Yi tucked into the hospital bed, even through it was never established that she would need medical attention, and, considering that she would have no issues walking out of the hospital very shortly, she clearly does not. Here, we see some more flashbacks, detailing Tan Xiao and the girl’s backstory, the abuse she suffered, and the bond the two forged. The young man is admitting to all the crimes he had not committed to protect her, and Zhao Yunlan is honestly moved. He sounds almost regretful when he lets Tan Xiao know that he will still be persecuted for his crimes.

Right on cue, Hei Pao Shi portals in.

Zhao Yunlan greets him with a customary “long time no see”, but the most acknowledgement he receives from Shen Wei is a side-eye which does not even focus on his face.

In fact, the Envoy is doing as much as he can to avoid even turning to Zhao Yunlan. He simply announces his purpose to the room in general and teleports Tan Xiao away. It’s easy to see what he is doing. In Shen Wei’s mind, the less communication he has with Zhao Yunlan as Hei Pao Shi, the better are his chances to separate his two personalities in the eyes of the other man. That said, showing an abrupt and uncharacteristic change of behaviour is the opposite of suspicious.

Even Da Qing notices the change Hei Pao Shi.

“Lao Zhao, what did you do to upset him? You used to do small talk, not anymore?”

Zhao Yunlan smirks, replying that he knows the reason why. He then notices the little girl crying, and goes to comfort her the only way he knows how, with a lollipop. When that does not work, he gestures for Da Qing to leave with him, and returns with a familiar black cat and an adorable “ta-dah”. It’s so sweet it makes my teeth hurt.

As this is going on, Hei Pao Shi is being his glorious over the top avenging self. For one, he is actually floating above Tan Xiao, which I don’t think he ever seen him do before. He then proceeds to throttle the young man, lifting him in the air and throwing him back on the ground.

He does so in order to shake the sound wave equipment out of him, sure, but it is easy to assume that Tan Xiao also brought the Envoy’s wrath onto himself by his misguided attempt to hurt Zhao Yunlan earlier that day. It’s deliciously petty; we know that the best way to earn Shen Wei’s ire is by threatening his companion. And, to be fair, Shen Wei had a bad day: this is as good a way as any to get some of that ancient anger out of his system.

As Hei Pao Shi realises that the man he arrested is a simple human armed with some clever technology, and the real homicidal Undergrounder is the girl he is protecting, so does Zhao Yunlan. Even miles away, even when they are having arguments, their analytical brains still work in sync. And, as plot twists go, this one is neat, albeit not entirely unpredictable.

Unfortunately, realising that the girl is dangerous, brings along a realisation that Zhao Yunlan left his friend in her care. He rushes to the hospital to check on Da Qing, finding the ward empty. If this was Zhu Jiu’s plan all along, it’s a good one: having access to a brainwashed SID member would also spell easy access to the headquarters and the Hallows - which is exactly where Zheng Yi leads Da Qing, taking the Hallows and leaving the Yashou to go into a berserk mode as he imagines or remembers Zhao Yunlan/Kunlun saying “I will abandon you”

Next up, episode 13: The Disaster Wedding.

——

Notes.

Every time Shen Wei lies my brain supplies me with Why You Always Lying song. Every. Single. Time. Which means I sing it a lot around the flat, to my partner’s great chagrin.

Whoooo boy and I thought the Episode 10 recap was the crackiest one I’ve done.

#guardian #recap #rewatch #zhao yunlan #shen wei #now with gifs #sometimes my brain is like this #I'm not sorry

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with.

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from.

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened.

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you.

The real prize was Obi-Wan.

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless.

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits.

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life.

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare.

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride.

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought.

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens.

And, of course, you were there in the middle.

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth.

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it.

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged.

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother.

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently.

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable.

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however.

“What’re you looking at?” you mused.

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic.

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing.

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?”

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you.

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself.

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves.

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list.

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped.

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it.

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown.

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times?

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing.

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively.

Then you disappeared again.

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support.

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock.

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most.

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back.

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission.

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission.

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.”

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago.

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war.

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff.

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening.

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked.

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched.

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you.

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight.

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called.

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t.

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground.

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement.

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done.

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so.

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything.

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it.

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached.

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank.

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’.

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath.

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left.

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you.

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean.

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way.

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly.

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.”

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature.

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed.

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees.

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again.

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety.

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright.

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment.

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka.

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce.

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that.

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward.

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano.

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!”

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her.

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side.

And Obi-Wan knew that.

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward.

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that.

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over.

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it.

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you.

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders.

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear.

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan.

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days.

A choke escapes your throat.

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real.

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice.

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret.

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia.

✫*��･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @typicalfanlife

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things.

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

Text

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’ chapter 3

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4 and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns. It's been a while, hasn't it? I promise you it was worth it.Smut a'heckin'hoy! Two other things : This will be updating between MTFB and Hallow, as well as my CSMM ficlet. It also gained another chapter. Secondly, this chapter is MASSIVE. I tried to cut it down but it just didn't work right unless it was altogether. I promise you the smut fest was worth it.

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings!

Chapter 1/5 Chapter 2/5 Chapter 3/5

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The Soldier is feverish, when he falls upon the land of Carterhaugh. They have returned uneasily to the house, or the Lady has, her husband belongs to the forest more than she does. Her son teeters between both worlds, and with nothing to mother or care for, The Soldier becomes a welcomed friend. As he heals, and The Lady finds herself in his warm company, he becomes more. He learns how to tend to the Gardens with The Lady. She teaches him to talk to the birds, to sing to the plants, how to keep things green and blooming, and eventually how to touch them to illicit responses.

Eventually, he learns how to touch her, as well.

The Lady does not age, and as more war looms on the horizon, The Soldier finds he has only aged slightly. Where he should be gray, he has retained his youthful glow. When he asks, The Lady admits the truth about her family.

She tells The Soldier, about her son, about the Lord of the Wood, and about herself, The Lady of Carterhaugh. She begs him to come with her, to let another war rage on in the outside world, and to give himself to them. She asks him to join their dance, but not as a dancer, as a player with a role. She asks him to keep her tied to the earth, to the green that lives outside the darkness in the wood. To remind her of what she was leaving.

And The Soldier agrees. How can he refuse her?

It is his fault when she fades, no matter how much he tries. It is his fault that she is gone, and still remains.

His banishment is blessing and curse. Even still, when he hears the bells, he must answer the summons.

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Two weeks Earlier...

Killian has never liked the forest.

It's not for a lack of trying, and there is a level of bias involved, he will admit. A more honest statement is that Killian has never liked this forest, this particular forest down the hill from Carterhaugh. This accursed, twisted, blight on the land; sitting just close enough to the sea for it to have caught him in its gnarled fingers. For it to have caught them. For it to have changed Milah so much that imagining being a 'them' feels a lifetime ago.

Killian could remember her voice before it became cold and empty. He'd noticed their change, his ears pointing slightly the longer he stayed in her palace chambers, his canines becoming slightly sharper the more he ate of their food, his thoughts becoming colder and emotions numbing. The strange way time passed, and his promises to himself that he would contact Liam the next day, sending word once and then forgetting. It wasn’t him.

He tries to process these changes when a description of war to the Lordling makes Baelfire smile in wonder, an eerie and unsettling gleam there at the words of how many lay dead in trenches. It does not work then, or later. It's not as bad as the secret of their youth settling in his gut. Close, but not enough to end the longing for the taste of his beloved's neck.

There are more times than not he thanks the stars he is banished, even if banishment as an immortal is cursed and tedious work (or was), because what would he be now if he had stayed? The same sort of creature who lets mortals throw themselves at their feet for sacrifice?

Milah had reasoned with him that at least it was willingly, that at least Rumplestiltskin let them choose a life of bliss if they came, and it gave them a way out of the terrible situations they came from. Killian wasn't sure, the humans coming through looking too sick, starved, empty, or adrift to seem actively aware of their decision.

He'd accepted it numbly, even as his Milah had hurt him and others in affection. Her eyes had become sharp and cooled to a tawny color, hair flowing with invisible wind blown tentacles, cheekbones too sharp, skin too pale, nails too long, ears pointed and stretched. She no longer tasted like rum and lavender tarts, but of copper and earth. Her love making left him raw and scarred, and he'd tried to not drown in her tempestuous moods, clinging to his acceptance by her. Even when she had forced his want against his will, balking at his shame, he tried. When it became something she forced from him without mercy and in cruel humor, he retreated into himself.

Baelfire's disappearance and the note he left behind had been a mercy. When Killian’s head had cleared in the empty halls, Liam was long dead, and the Jones family long gone. He could return to Milah and beg for her forgiveness and her love, but without Baelfire that was never going to happen. He would instead be signed away with the house until Baelfire returned.

But Baelfire is not returning. Baelfire is never returning. Baelfire is lost, because if he isn't, Emma could not be there with the key in her hand.

Emma is there instead, and Killian will stop at nothing to keep her safe. He would never let her be lured to them, had taken great strides to consecrate the grounds, and had fiercely guarded her so many nights when he heard their songs call from down the hillside. It is the bells that he can't ignore, while everything else that had once been wondrously alluring now falls flat.

"You're in for it now," an amused voice calls from the wood as he steps past the threshold. The Green Fairy is there, her smiling face unlike her cousins that now dwell in what she claims was once her people's lands. No one knows what is true other than the King, and he surely isn't going to reveal anything of value. Thus, The Green Fairy torments who she calls the false denizens, wreaking havoc just for the fun of it. "She's in a mood today, the wind brought down strange tidings when it whistled through. She believes that you have let an imposter into her dominion, banished one."

Killian laughs at that, bitterly. "Are you sure it's me she's angry at?" He asks, pointing to her satchel, the huge blooms of crystalline flowers from the royal gardens barely hidden under the leather flap.

She smiles coyly, batting her eyelashes. "You didn't see me, and I didn't warn you?"

"Fair enough." He grunts, and she slips away with a wave.

She navigates the forest supernaturally, disappearing somewhere they cannot follow, in between trees, behind tall stones, more than once offering him escape with the caveat of being unable to return. At one point he had sought her for comfort, his despair at banishment leaving her pitying, even after she professed dislike of males in most species. She had given him her name, Tinkerbell, and he had tried not to laugh or offend her but failed miserably. Despite all of her kindness, she was quick to anger, and no longer ventured close to the house.

Twigs broke as another creature approached, this time someone unwelcome and familiar. He was close to the castle now, the trees and mossy floor moving around him, drawing him in as they shifted.

"Look who thinks he can come into our domain as he pleases!" a voice called, a Faery named Regina giggled, appearing by his side and slipping her elbow through his. Her long, deep red talons brushed against his sleeve.

"I have an announcement for the Queen that involves sensitive news."

Another giggling voice, this time like an ooze that made Killian feel uncomfortable and unclean. "Oh? Do you Dearie?" Rumplestiltskin drawled, a chair with him sprawled in it materializing in the gloom, the palace springing up around Killian. "What have you to tell my queen?"

Milah sat in the throne next to her scaled husband, her expression reading nothing but boredom.

Killian cleared his throat as the court appeared in different puffs of smoke, anxiety heavy on his shoulders. "Your Majesties, this may be a private matter -"

Rumplestiltskin laughed at that, and Milah stiffened in anger. "You dare tell us what our court is fit to hear -"

"Quiet yourself," Milah hissed, interrupting her husband's mocking. "Is this in regards to our son?"

Rumplestiltskin's face paled as Killian nodded once, Milah giving a thunderous clap of her hands. The palace moved around them again, Milah plucking silver flowers from trees to put in a basket.

"Tell us how he fares, and if he was well met! When will he return?" Milah exclaimed, and Killian let his heart ache for the woman she had once been. He steeled himself, Rumplestiltskin's demeanor ashy and nervous. Killian briefly wondered why this news would be alarming, but shook it off.

"The owner of Carterhaugh has returned, the woman who you saw before does indeed rightfully hold the key."

"That can't be right, she must have cheated or tricked him for his -"

Killian interrupted, shaking his head. "Queen Milah. She was married to a man named Neal. She has no idea who Baelfire is."

"Then we'll kill her and take the key, and when Baelfire returns -"

"I have come here to formally end our accord. I want to be with her and end my watch on the lands, as agreed, my Queen," Killian said calmly, trying not to betray his fear. Milah looked at him in shock, the silver of the room making her seem as if carved from marble, an angry goddess sent to smite errant worshippers. The force of her slap sent his head wrenching to the side, her eyes a deep black.

"You dare to spurn my gifts? You dare to ask for a reprieve from your post? And you dare to ask this of me for the foul creature who may be holding my Baelfire captive?" Milah seethed, her hand shooting out like a viper to grab his chin. "You are mine, and your punishment is befitting of how lucky you are to be mine. You should be grateful!" Killian pulled away from her as she tried to dip her tongue in his mouth, shaking her off. Her mouth tasted like cold, wet earth and sickenly sweet rosewater.

Killian felt bile rise in his throat, but swallowed it back to yell. "I want nothing from you, and will take nothing! Baelfire is -"

"Do not finish that sentence!" Milah screamed, and the world shook, dark fog again returning as trees formed from the mist. "Begone from my realm. I will call to you when I have made a decision, but for now your presence repulses me."

The fog lifted, depositing him at the beginning of the forest in the rotting clearing, his boots beginning to wet from the boggy groundwater. Taking a deep breath of air, he began the long trudge back up to Carterhaugh.

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Present day, post kiss

Sex had been a divisive and troubling prospect for Killian with the Fae court. Their psychological and physical abuse as they edged him for days, left him bleeding or bruised with no thought of soothing his skin or aftercare, and the degradation he begged not to consent to with disregard to any pleas he uttered had left him cold. In his exile, he rarely touched himself, and rarer still had any desire to do so.

The Fae world that originally poured vibrancy, milk, honey, and untold treasures had grown into something crooked that corroded and burnt any life. Even after his banishment, his exile did not return the colors they had taken, life left muted and gray.

Emma was an explosion, too bright at first for him to look at, and then a fire that he could not hope to seek refuge by. She would burn him, blind him, or he would snuff her out, let her smolder down to ash.

When she kissed him, neither happened and it was fireworks that did nothing but heat his body, light magnified. Emma was not a fire, but sunshine after too many long days of rain. She filled him with hope, illuminating the world again to push away the gray and reveal the hues he had lost.

When she fled, it was an all encompassing dread that filled him. He had realized that he was in love with her far before, but had been content for the cloudy summer days she brought him, peeking bits of color here or there to sustain him - her affection and attention like watering a withered flower.

Now it was alive, facing the sun happily, and it was like a sword through his chest when she took it away. She would leave, leave him in this house with its halls and secrets, leave him with the ghosts of the others that left. Killian texted her frantically, called her both through the door and over her cellular phone, tried to see her from his balcony, and had sat in the darkness staring at the lit screen of his own phone when no reply came. That was all the answer needed. The first bottle of wine was choked down in the kitchen, a bottle of cheap cabernet meant for cooking. He had asked Emma for it, had asked her for everything really, to cook meals they could share together. Eating alone, drinking alone - how could he go back?

The buried bottle of whiskey in the solarium was meant to be for Baelfire's return, but Baelfire would never return now that Emma was here with the key. He was gone, lost somewhere in the human world. If Killian had asked to pursue the lost boy's trail, if he hadn't waited in this tomb of a house, would things be different? The whiskey is smoky, a burn of fire inside him that licks his insides along with his self hatred. There is nothing more in him besides regret. Regret for not saving Baelfire, for letting Milah transform into the monstrosity she had become, and for Emma - everything he touched turned to dust. He was poison.

The emerald bloom of a flower he doesn't recognize is blurred in his drunken vision, but the thorns are sharp enough to make him curse as he bleeds over the strange petals. Even the solarium rejects him, his laugh bubbling out despite his hatred of everything around him.

Wandering the halls with another bottle in hand, he can't remember where this one was stashed. It's an old bordeaux that is wasted on him and dropped carelessly in the hall, probably hidden by Milah for some celebration - there were too many nooks and crannies in Carterhaugh stuffed with something, be it drink, memories, or ghosts like himself - it's not hard to imagine being as dead as he feels himself longing to be. Milah had warned him of this fate, her heel on his throat as he gasped for air.

"There is no escape from us for you Killian. Accept this. You are mine."

She had beat him bloody, used him until he felt hollowed out, carved clean of any kind of emotion. Breaking him took time, and she had more than enough of it. Depositing him at Carterhaugh in banishment at the end of her torture had been the hardest withdrawal he had faced until now, imagining Emma leaving him here when he had done all he could to heal. Maybe he deserved this hell; after all, the Fae were a form of damnation.

This torture was the worst and most effective the devils could have used. He was left blind now, her light too much up close, left to wander in the dark for his attempts to see her. In a room he doesn't immediately recognize as he stumbles through the door, there is a cool armoire that lets him crawl in like a beaten dog, the moth eaten linens inside serving as a soft cocoon around him. It's blissfully dark and enclosed, a coffin for the phantom he is. He should not accept becoming a ghost again, but in truth he should not have accepted a lot of things.

It might be best if he cut out his heart and buried the burden of it in the garden after all; to be blind, heartless, and complete his own transformation into the damned spirit of Carterhaugh. Maybe then the next owner might have pity for him, and he could forget about the losses that make his chest ache.

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The quiet stillness that settled over Carterhaugh when Emma padded to the kitchen was oppressive, the smallest movements tensed as if she were a thief in her own house. It felt wrong to be here, the change in atmosphere reminding her of when she had squatted in a museum's unfinished exhibit space for a few weeks, the edge of always being caught like a predator she knew lay just outside her peripheral vision. The difference was that she had caused this change, brought it upon herself by being careless and selfish and naive. He was gone. The absence of another presence was like a vacuum, and it sucked the life she had worked so hard to put back into the giant house without mercy.

No, that wasn't quite right. She was a ghost in this house because it was him she rebuffed. Others could come and go, but it was Killian who had actually made her feel like the building had a soul.

Touches of him were everywhere, even in her own decisions. She spent breakfast wrapped up in one such choice, his preferred coffee mug warming her hand under his preferred blanket that smelled like him. There was no one here to judge her if she wrapped herself in what was gone, or cried bitterly into her drink. There was only her. Only Emma, lost girl, left again and again.

Lunch rolled around faster than she could have anticipated, watching windows as she tried to convince herself to do anything but look for signs of him. His room was unslept in, bed made and tidy. It struck her as so entirely him, the lines of the crisp sheets creased with care, and she laughed out a strangled noise. He had cared about her, and she should have told him that he was cared for too. Laying in his bed, wrinkling the smoothed linens and holding his pillow tightly as she curled around it, her heart ached with unsaid admissions.

When he came back, she would tell him. Emma willed herself to have courage and take a leap of faith just this once, to trust that he would come back. He had to come back, and when he did, he would have to let her tell him the truth.

A spiteful voice slithered in her ear, its words making her lungs constrict.

He doesn't have to forgive you for pushing him away.

You don't deserve it.

Emma was tired of not deserving what she so desperately wanted. She had wanted a family, friends, safety, a roof over her head, trust, and love for so long. Fighting for those things after being let go from foster homes, after living in abandoned places, after the house with too many doors that haunted her nightmares, after Neal's destruction of her trust, after her forced committal and subsequent release, after making a family and making friends who she knew cared - Killian could be something new if she just let him in to try.

He had proven himself worth it time and time again even before her kiss, a kiss she now dreamt of in his bed. She could hear him, his mumbled and worried voice full of concern he shouldn't have over her, wetness drenching her cheeks from tears cried into his pillow.

Time is a wheel, and it turns and turns and spins and whirls as it pulls Emma along with it. It's as if her eyes are covered in gauze, her smile feels forced but she also craves having her lips upturned for him. When she is alone, completely and blissfully alone, she examines the confines of the ring that surrounds her. In the silence, there's clarity. Emma breaks it with whispered words she repeats to herself. The feel of them on her lips gives her hope, as if she can beat whatever this is by practicing the magic words that she longs to say.

'No.'

At one time, he had told her with his grin (too sharp, she can see it now, his teeth are sharpened and too white) that people knew better than to say no to him. She had done so with correction (he had called it correction when his hand met her face, or torso, or wherever he could reach with the open palm, then closed fist) and then by choice, not realizing what she had given away. First her name, then accepting all of his hospitality, giving him the power of her voice and will, and then letting him lure her into his ring completely. It glittered on her finger, too bright, overwhelming in its gaudiness. It's a wonder that she hadn't known and hadn't seen it behind the glamor.

Emma wonders idly if this is madness, if she's gone insane or broken to a mental fracture. Every time she sees him now in his true form (with the long fingers, the hair that moves sometimes as if in an invisible wind, his pointed ears and sharp teeth, the cold steel eyes that seem to glow, the carved angles of his face casting deep shadow) and cannot control her actions fully or fight against his will, she fears that her mind is lost. When people that aren't made of the glittering marble look at her, do they see what she once saw? Do they see a beautiful vision of a happy couple, that seems to exist outside of reality? Are they able to see how her face strains and her fingers spasm, all in attempts to claw at her face?

She knows that Neal and his kind can see the truth, even as hard as she tries to hide it. She knows that Neal is quick to take her hand in his (too tightly, as if to break her fingers) to still the tremors. She knows that Neal will kiss her (He always tastes of wine and honey, but now there is an aftertaste of something old, something gone sour and bitter, it makes her tongue feel as if she has licked an old battery covered in wet earth) to cement her smile.

The more she tries to break free, the more he presses down to keep her under his thumb. He grips tighter, beginning to take away the freedom of her silent reprieves by never leaving her alone. Emma can hear him in the next room, hear what he is doing and can hear the other woman as the purple haired beauty watches her with amusement.

'In the olden days, they warned you mortals not to dance with us,' She purrs, her warm colored skin ice cold when she curls to take a selfie with Emma, 'Say Hi, Emma. This is for my Instagram page, TheSeaBitch - Hey unfortunate souls! Ursula here, with Emma Gold, the it girl, hit girl, socialite you all want to be! We're reminding you to come out to Atlantica to dance this Friday, first drink is free and no cover for you other it girls. Come on, dance with us!"

Ursula twists the camera, and Emma's mouth moves on its own.

"Please, come dance! I could dance forever…" Her voice sounds foreign, but as Ursula presses a button to close out the video, she giggles while changing the filter.

"Great job, Emma. Neal will love this, after he finishes with her make sure to tell him that is our next ring." Ursula's cold fingers pinch Emma's cheeks, pushing her lips out into a pout as nails dig into the skin. Emma does not wince, even as the sharp pang of it hits her. "You have truly been such a perfect little thrall. I bet you'll be the one he chooses as his first attempt now that he's ready."

Emma grins, not understanding what that means, only happy to please. Her nose begins to bleed. Ursula looks at her with a too wide grin, the noises finally stopped in the room she cannot and does not want to see into.

Neal walks out as he finishes buttoning up his pants, his shirt open and tie slung around his neck. Emma stands dutifully as he approaches, carefully smoothing down his shirt, buttoning it and tucking it in his pants, then tying his tie. She can feel his eyes on her, watching the gentle trickle of blood slide down her face. He kisses her hungrily, the taste of copper unwelcome to her even as he groans, his eyes fluttering closed. From behind him, Emma watches the woman leave through the door, looking confused and dazed while she adjusts her skirt, Neal still pushing his tongue down her throat.

'I didn't want to do that, Em.' He whispered in her ear. She pulled off his lap in the car, adjusting her dress and then attending to cleaning him. 'I had a deal I needed to take care of, that's all. You're special. I know you are struggling with this, but I am keeping my promise to you - we are going to run away together, have a family, live in happiness. I just need to get things in order to make sure it's perfect.'

Emma stares, looking at him carefully. The air in the car shifts, as if a gust of wind has forced past the partition or closed windows.

'I don't want this Neal, I don't know what you've done to me, or how, but I don't want -'

The sleepy feeling of comfort rises again, a smile creeping up her face. Her head is so heavy, and Emma lays it in his lap as he strokes her hair, curling it around his fingers with a kind smile. He is so good to her, isn't he? So wonderful…

It echoes, again and again, how much she loves him, and how wonderful it is to be loved by him. How grateful she should be. He takes her shopping, her previous dress wet and stained, dressing her like a doll until she's perfect to stand at his arm.

They dance at Atlantica, the bright colors of outfits and gleam of sparkling fabrics among bubbles that fall from the ceiling makes Emma feel as if they are underwater.

(Part of her feels as if she is drowning)

Ariel and Ruby come, they appear as if they are parting the sea with their presence. Emma tries to tell them to flee with her slow blinking and blurry gaze. They don't. Neal is delighted when they dance with them, and when they drink. Emma watches them spin in circles while her feet step in choreography she can't control.

That night he presents her with the emeralds, the circle cut necklace, the bracelets, the earrings - the green so bright it seems as if it's a growing plant. Emma holds it in her palm, feeling it pulse, feeling it dig into her hand as if it wants to fuse with her skin. It whispers, and Neal whispers with it.

(It says, 'I am the ring of green mantle, I am the double rose with biting thorns!

I am the wands and I am the maidenhead!

I am everything that takes root, that will snap, and that will break forth!')

(Neal says, 'I'm ready. Let me show you the dark wonders, and the many terrible things. Let me have all of you. Let me have you, give me life from you, and from me.

Let me take you to what will be our home.')

(It sits heavy on her chest, just below her clavicle and between her breasts, whispering without pause. It is clear what it wants, it is clear what he wants, and Emma will not give him this. The whispers curl like worms, they crawl over her and make her itch. It laughs at her when she thinks about contraception, cackles when she thinks about her birth control pills taken religiously when Neal sleeps.

It tells her they won't work. It tells her that she should be happy. )

Neal takes her hand, and they step out of his car. It's different, less ostentatious, the neighborhood they are in is dark. The house looks shabby, a window boarded up and a wilted chain link fence covered in rust so foreign to her now, it pushes a memory of who she used to be up from the depths of her mind. She was on streets like these before. She fought. She punched back, made her own fate. No fairy godmother's, no fairies at all. No one saved her except her.

Rage prickles down her spine, sweat beading at the nape of her neck.

Ariel and Ruby step out of the car behind her. They look tired, almost asleep on their feet, but with happy smiles that make them look drunk. Emma knows they aren't drunk.

They stepped inside the house, it's dark wood paneling smelling like cigarettes and dust, the linoleum as they walked into the kitchen peeling. The cupboards are crooked and an old fridge hums when they turn beside it to go down to the basement. The wood stairs squeak under their steps, until her foot connects with white stone. They walked further, until Emma first sees the house for what it is - The house with too many doors.

Neal twirled her, laughing, and through opened doors she sees the shivering women with their blank stares. He spins her into him, and she feels the press of him against her, his breath on her neck. Her fingers curl closed, nails biting into her palms as she tenses. Neal rocks her, slowing as he turns her to look at him with confusion.

"We're finally ready. You're ready, and I," His grin infectious. It made her stomach turn. "I found you. You are so beautiful. You are so perfect for this. I made you, and you will make for me, in turn."

The rage under her skin heated to fury. No one has made her anything, and she is not this. She is not owned. She will never be owned. She isn't nothing. She has never been nothing!

She is Emma Swan, and she is not about to be shackled into this prison.

"You're… Why aren't you smiling, Emma?" He asked.

Emma blinked, touching her face. She wasn't smiling. She was frowning. Her eyes narrowed, watching Ruby and Ariel shuffle into a room. Neal touched her cheek, pushing her gaze back to him.

"Emma," Neal gritted out, his face contorted in fury. "Why aren't you smiling?"

Emma didn't answer, her hand gripping the emerald necklace by its whispering pendant and jerking it off of her neck with as much force as she could. It shrieked at her, she was sure she heard it scream, heard the cry of it like some horrid changeling infant.

She ran, ran to the steps, Neal on her heels just behind her. He caught her ankle and yanked, they fought on the stairs as she kicked at him. Her fingers dragged along the wood, splintering the boards. Another strong pull and her head landed hard on the cool rock, dizziness taking over, Neal looming above her as darkness began to bloom in her eyes.

'Oh, Emma.' Neal said with a nauseating fake tone of concern. "What ever shall I do with you?"

Emma tried to turn her head, tried to turn away from him, but she couldn't move as he dragged her.

"Emma. Oh, Emma." He tutted, her hair wet against the stone, her fingers tracing the trail that followed behind her. "Emma, Emma, Emma." He sighed.

"Emma," it was sighed, more exasperated now, but so much gentler. "Swan, you need to get up."

Emma blinked awake with a deep gulp of breath, sitting up to find a red eyed and bleary looking Killian watching her on the edge of his bed. He looked as terrible as she felt, which should not have made her heart warm as it did.

"You're here? You're back?" Emma whispered, and his sad smile at her brought more tears to her eyes.

"I didn't leave. I got a bit…" He blushed, sheepishly scratching behind his ear. "I got a lot drunk, and ended the night sleeping in another room. A closet, actually. I just woke up."

"A closet?" Emma asked, trying her hardest not to laugh, even as her eyes misted.

He chuckled nervously. "An armoire, actually, if we're being technical."

"Semantics," Emma teased, gently, an awkward silence following the way they fell back into easy conversation. Swallowing hard, Emma scooted over to his side. "Look, Killian, I -"

"It's alright, Swan. I overstepped, and I need to put my feelings for you aside." He shrugged, even as Emma gaped at him. "I shouldn't have kissed you, it was inappropriate and -"

"I kissed you, Killian. I was the one, and - Wait," She blinked, trying to clear her head. "Did you say that you have feelings for me?"

Killian nodded once, sagely. "Aye, lass. I do. I won't act on them again -"

"No!" Emma blurted, her hands finding his. "I want - No. I have them too. I don't want - I didn't want you to leave, and I thought you -" She paused, and he gently stroked her knuckles in encouragement as she met his penetrating gaze. "I've been abandoned so often. I was scared to let you in, to feel all of this so strongly, but thinking you left…"

"If you'll have me, darling," Killian whispered, his arm moving to bring her into his embrace, "You have no reason to fear I'd ever leave your side."

Emma laughed, happiness and a sense of joy flooding her veins as she looked up at him from where he held her against his body.

"I am so sorry for freaking out. I'm sorry for -"

"Apology accepted," Killian interrupted, kissing her forehead. "You needn't have even one, You have -you had an aversion to touch, and I -"

"Can I kiss you again?" Emma asked, surprised how breathless she suddenly felt.

Killian grinned, shaking his head. "No."

"Oh," Emma let out an exhale, trying to not show her hurt. "I just thought -" Killian held up a finger to silence her, tracing it along her lips to the apple of her cheek where he cupped her face. His eyes crinkled at the edges, the blue of them light and clear of worry despite their redness. He leaned closer, licking his lips, whispering against the corner of her mouth as she gasped.

"Because, darling, this time I am kissing you, if it's alright."

Emma nodded, swallowing hard. He pressed against her, and she molded herself to him, half wondering if it was a dream as her hands curled behind his neck. Her tongue slipped along his bottom lip until he was moving his head to deepen the kiss, his own tongue tracing hers while she let out a moan. This seemed to spur him on, his teeth joining the exploration as he gently bit on her bottom lip, her body grinding into his with sudden need. When she returned the teasing nibble, his answering groan made her shiver while they broke away for air.

"I think," Emma panted out, smiling at Killian's darkened gaze and mussed hair. "I like this whole you kissing me thing."

"Good," Killian smirked, his mouth trailing kisses up her neck as he pushed her back to lie on his bed. "Because I am not going to stop unless I bloody well have to."

His hands roamed her body over her pajamas, her eyes falling closed in bliss when he moved to cage her body and kissed her senseless again and again.

"I've wanted this for so long, Emma," he murmured, holding her as they lay together under the covers, her head resting on his chest. "You're beautiful, and everything I could have wanted. I thought - I thought I had ruined everything -"

"Shhhh," Emma murmured, rolling herself onto his chest, her legs straddling him. She had felt the sweatpants covered heat of him against her thigh before, but now it twitched back to life underneath her where her own warmth emanated. Killian hissed, his eyes widening. "This is a happy beginning."

Leaning down and hungrily kissing him, she pulled a wrecked keening noise from his throat when her hips rolled against his. His hands clutched at her ass, and she let her own fingers wander, splaying a palm under his waistband. He gasped when her warm palm lay against his hip bone, pulling away to search her face.

"Are you - Do you want to? It's just fast -" He let out a groan when her fingers stroked down against the heated flesh of his thigh. "Say that this is alright, Emma, because we don't have to -"

She silenced him by removing her loose top and bra, his gaze raking over her body more than appreciative. "I want this, Killian. I want you, all of you."

"Then you shall have it, love." He grunted, pulling her down to press hot kisses up her neck. He sucked on an earlobe and she whimpered, heat pooling in her belly. Frantically, Emma helped him rid himself of his clothing, kissing down his chest while her clever tongue found his nipple. The kisses turned more wild and possessive as they rolled, her body ending up over his. His cock jutted proudly against his stomach when she sat on her haunches, looking him up and down. The coil in her belly felt tight already, but the idea of his considerable size in her made it burn with want.

Emma let herself go, giving in to what she so desperately desired.

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Emma sat looking at him with lust hazed eyes, the green darkened to a stormy sea glass. Her body was perfect, her breasts bare above printed shorts and some lacy garment that had matched her discarded bra. He had felt the silky softness of it when tracing her hip bones, but now as she took off the shorts covering them his breath caught at how positively sinful they looked against her creamy skin. They did little to cover her heat, and as she shimmied out of the other garment he could see how they framed the globes of her ass perfectly. The wonders of this new world did not cease to surprise him.

Killian suddenly felt self conscious, realizing that her touch was driving him mad quicker than he wished.

"It's - ah - been a while since -"

"Me too, me too, but we'll go slow." Emma tentatively licked the large vein that throbbed under his skin, sending all thought scattering.

"You don't have to -" he tried to start as she lowered herself into a position better suited for her exploration. Braced on his forearms, he watched her smile up at him teasingly, pumping him a few times with a loose grip that he rutted into slightly.

Fae women were cold and calculated when they'd joined him, Milah growing fond of pain, but this was heaven in every sense of the word. Gods above he was a fool to not see that sinful smirk and not know Emma was perfect, fucking perfect -

Licking up his length, she bobbed and he lost all thought; his head falling back as his hands gripped the sheets tight enough to make his knuckles go white. Her mouth was so warm, sucking and swirling on the head of his cock then bobbing down to his base. He wanted to buck, but resisted to stay on the sword’s edge of pleasure, only thrusting upwards when Emma's tongue danced along a sensitive ridge.

"Em - Emma -" Groaning, he pulled her up, kissing her roughly, nipping at the corners of her mouth. Her moan tasted like warm honey, tongue guiding him into a gentler and slower pace that unraveled the rest of his thinking, the pads of her fingers nimbly finding his cock again. Killian gripped her hand firmly, pulling away from her lips to chuckle darkly under her ear. "My darling, I want this to last. I want to taste every inch of you - and you're making that incredibly difficult."

Her voice was wrecked and came in small pants, much to his satisfaction. "You did say," Emma let out a little moan as his hand found its way past her navel, "You liked a challenge."

"Mmmm." Killian left wet kisses in a trail down her neck, the bite right under her collarbone causing her hips to buck, and letting his fingers slide past her pushed aside silky underwear. The fashion in the modern age had never once been of interest until now, his other hand pulling down her shorts to reveal the barely there wet fabric his fingers swiped through.

He groaned and Emma ground herself down on his fingers, with a slight gasp that made him ache for not being between her thighs already. Her walls were velvety around his fingers as they slipped in and out, curling them he could feel her neediness as he wound her up, thumb rubbing circles before withdrawing his soaked digits. Popping them in his mouth as she watched, grumbling expletives at him for leaving her so close, she whined at his groan of pleasure at her taste. For a brief moment his eyes fluttered shut, her scent and the taste of her on his tongue both too much and too little. Emma looped her own wet fingers around the base of his cock and his eyes shot back open.

Killian pressed his lips hard against hers, hungrily and frantically desperate to feel her body against his. Pulling clothing aside to help her wiggle out of those blessed, beautiful, frustrating, underwear, then she was sinking down on him and he was praying to the stars behind his eyelids that he wouldn't spill right then and there.

He thrust up in ecstasy, pressure building as she ground her hips down, so tight and wet and perfect. She was perfect, he needed -

Lurching forward, Killian pulled Emma tightly to him, hugging her close and changing the depth of his strokes.

"Killian, please!"

"Oh, my love, you have no idea how good you feel, how much I need to hear you say my name just like that. Do you want to come with me, my darling?"

"Yes!"

"Good Gods, please - Please, tell me what you need -".

Her hand led his, his fingers working her as she tensed. "Killian!" Her nails bit into his back as she moaned into the juncture of his neck, everything condensed to a fluttering tightness as his own release chased just behind hers. The hand that clawed at his back gripped him tighter reflexively while her body tried to hold him everywhere they met.

She rolled her hips, his head falling back at their last jerking movements, bodies shuddering together in embrace.

"You are bloody spectacular," Killian whispered, leaning back again carefully, cradling her against his chest with his other arm. "Magnificent."

Emma smirked. "I couldn't tell, you give absolutely no praise or direction."

"Be fair Swan, you must understand that I never thought to do this, and I never believed that you would return my feelings."

"Me either. I suppose I could settle for you though." Emma's smirk turned to a smile of bliss, a late aftershock rippling through her when she adjusted, attempting to pull away. Killian made a keening noise, eyes falling shut as he bit his lip and she rose again, just slightly in exquisite torture. She could feel his once softening member twitching inside of her still, and she moved in a slight shift again. Already sensitive from before, his thighs quivered. The Fae could be thanked for his better than average recovery, at least. Decades of their brand of torment had one silver lining.

"Emma, I - fuck."

"Your begging? That was sexy for me the first time, so let's see if we can move past this being a one time thing. I am hoping with practice, thorough practice," Emma rolled her hips in a tight circular grind, earning a string of expletives as Killian’s back arched again, "We can make it an every week thing."

Flipping her as she squealed, he slowly started to thrust into her as she moaned.

"Start small, work our way to twice a day?" he grinned ferally, withdrawing in a slow pull to push back in at a teasingly languid pace.

"Whatever you want!" Emma whimpered.

His breath was hot on the shell of her ear, fluttering starting in her belly again. "Then we probably should make sure that our form is perfect, too."

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Emma found Killian making coffee, hugging him from behind with her face pressed into his back. Nuzzling against the thin cotton shirt, her hands dipped to splay along his hip bones. He made an indecent noise between a purr and a breathy moan, turning to pull her against him in one swift motion. Hips rolling into her, he hoisted her up into his arms.

"A man can't get a moment's rest around here, Swan." He grinned as he pressed her against the wall. Kissing her roughly, and forgetting about their breakfast until the clock chimed noon.

"You are just as insatiable." Emma smiled, untangling herself from him on the floor of the library. His bark of laughter and gentle poke in her ribs brought a grin to her face, her stomach rumbling loudly against his cheek.

"I suppose I should make something for you to eat." Killian whispered, rubbing his scruff against her navel. "It's only fair when I've had seconds of my own."

She hummed, offering a hand as she stood, leading them both toward the kitchen.

Weeks passed like this, intimacy laying itself over every aspect of their routine and relationship. Emma moved into Killian's suite at some point along the way, a vanity added to the corner while her bathroom products were gently reorganized by Killian much to her chagrin.

He made it up to her with enthusiasm, his tongue making her toes curl into the sheets as she rode his face. Hearing him moan into her folds and grip her ass tightly sent her higher and higher, up into the clouds. Even more pleasure came from watching how it affected him, if she turned to watch his cock leak, or his hips twitch upwards with desperate need for friction.

When she moved to swallow him with the same abandon he gave to her clit, he practically screamed. His whimpered breaths and puffs of hot air made her clench, until he was throwing her aside, eyes wild and face a mess of her own wet slicked juices.

Emma reveled in pushing him into a sort of frenzy, making his eyes go almost black with lust and his lips curl into a carnal smirk while filth poured from his mouth - with slight pushing Killian seemed to forget the prim and shy gardener in favor of becoming wild, animalistic. The things he whispered in her ear, as he licked up her thigh, in the soft nuzzle of one of her breasts; they could be soft and flowery, or erotic wishes that made her cheeks flame and heat lick her core.

Nowhere in Carterhaugh was too sacred to keep them from each other.

In the music room, light streamed in as the curtains lazily danced in a chilled breeze, Killian's hands threaded in the halo of her hair, setting a rhythm as he thrust up. His thighs spread further, shakily, while his other hand grappled at piano keys, playing a loud accompaniment for his groans as she bobbed her head and sucked him within an inch of his life. Feeling him send a rush of his hot cum down her throat while chanting her name made her feel pride, his protests at her interrupting a practice forgotten by both.

His hands felt amazing on her skin; the rough calluses from his hard work in the garden circling her nipple, while his soft lips followed behind could practically make her come on the spot. Emma would catch him watching her through the haze of their fucking, half lidded eyes looking up at her while he let his nose lead a trail for his lips to follow. She loved the way his palms kneaded her thighs, or pulled her up roughly, or splayed on the small of her back when he took her from behind. In the solarium he draped himself over her body in a possessiveness she hadn't ever known, torturously grinding against her to turn her into a writhing mess. Killian had chuckled into her shoulder when she had begun to whine in her throat, his hands gathering hers in a stretching thrust that made her see stars.

The way he mapped her body, admitting his memorization to her earnestly, his fingers stroking lazy patterns through the sheen of sweat on her stomach - it should have terrified her. She should be running, should know better than to stay and let someone pull down her barriers with not only sex, but with every part of their presence.

A snow storm moved in outside, both of them knowing the other well enough to know the edge it brought to their nerves. Killian made tea, while Emma chose a movie and created their blanket fort over the couches in the den. They lit candles together, the power going out as it always seemed to in heavy rains, but it was fine when they were snuggled together with warm mugs watching the screen of her laptop. Or, in Killian's case, watching her. The mugs were pushed aside, going cold while the movie played for no audience, the two preoccupied by their own rising needs.

His hands held her bouncing breasts, massaging them as she rode him with a deep circular grind that made both of them feel electric.

"God's above, oh - oh my darling - do you know how good it feels to have your sweet quim tight around my cock? You're going to make me come undone my love, please don't stop!"

Emma was being lit, flickering herself, wanting nothing more than to combust. "Close, close again, ah! Ah - Killian, I'm so so close -"

With a hiss, he moved to be above her and she lost the heat of him inside for the briefest moment before he was filling her again. He looked unearthly in the candlelight and occasional flicker of electricity, his chest hair against her nipples and the softness of the blanket underneath her a perfect combination.

"I can feel you, I want to feel you come - bloody hell , love, I - fall apart for me, fall for me, just like that," The hoarse whispers echoed through the room, the cords in his neck as strained as the groans tearing from his throat. "Good God's, Emma , just like - fuck, just like that!"

Her body shook, muscles tightening and fluttering as a fire that burned away everything but ecstasy consumed her. She was aware of the half scream she let out, but with everything pinpointed to the pulse just below her belly, she was more conscious of Killian chasing his own release with abandon.

He grunted, the hard thrusts using her weight and his muscle to ease the fury of his pace, her legs pulled over his shoulders to hold her flush and bent. She heard him utter a string of curses, the clear sign he was close, his formality falling away. Every aftershock and subsequent clenching as her body tried to hold him earned a gasping moan practically torn from his throat.

"Fucking hells, Emma - I'm - God's Emma, you feel so bloody amazing - so fucking good, Emma, yes," The word came out with a hiss, the 's' sound long in his mouth, his eyes pressed close when her hand snaked to stroke the sensitive skin below where they were joined. She squeezed, feeling the tightening in her palm as his body drew up, the vein pulsing under her thumb. " Emma , Emma, I fuck - Fuck !"

She felt his hips stutter, heard his cry, and then he was filling her with erratic strokes. Emma attempted to soothe him, the whimpers and guttural pants sounding almost pained. Lowering her legs to wrap around him, and her arms embracing him around his neck and shoulders, she peppered his face with soft kisses while the pads of her fingers ran over the lines of his muscles. His head fell, bowing from her ministrations, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck as his weight pressed down on her.

"Am I crushing you?" he whispered after a moment.

Emma shook her head, her fingers raking through his hair. His sigh of contentment and the feeling of his eyelashes on her collarbone filled her with another sort of weight instead.

She felt safe.

Not only safe, but cherished. When had anyone ever been so tender and treated her like this? Sex aside -

(No, not sex. Not fucking. He loves you, he loves all of you : body, mind, soul and heart. You know this isn't just sex and that you can't go back - )

His lovemaking aside, Killian cared about her more than anyone she knew. His love and affection were everywhere, like dust motes in the air. Sometimes seen, sometimes not but still present, and other times catching the glints of sunshine he brought into her life, valuable and precious, like gold leaf or diamond dust.

Stranger still, was knowing that Killian knew she cared for him too. There was an understanding that they both had rough edges, they both had secrets that lurked just out of sight, neither of them wanting to examine them closely. His scars and his gentle questioning that accompanied his careful touches or the way he flinched if she moved too quickly changed their relationship for the better. Emma felt his ease afterwards grow, the worry replaced by trust. On more than one occasion Killian had mentioned in quiet mumbles that his last partner had been too rough, averting his eyes.

On more than one occasion, Emma had taken his hand in her own, whispering that she understood. When she told him he never had to be ashamed around her, he scoffed, rubbing at his eyes.

"I mean it Killian," Emma waited until he turned to look at her, his face inches from her own. His eyes were wet, the blue the color of an overcast day. "I choose to see the best in you, no matter what. Whatever you have done in the past, the acts committed by you or against you, I know who you are. You could never be the villain to me." He allowed her to kiss his cheek, and curl into his side. Emma basked in the gentle embrace as his fingers traced trails down her hip bone.

He treasured her, Emma began to believe.

She was a treasured thing, falling fast and headlong into disaster, but didn't care about the consequences when that feeling was bestowed on her so liberally.

Even if more terrifyingly, she had slowly begun to realize that she, too, treasured him.

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To say that Mary Margaret Nolan was perceptive was an understatement. David and Double Ems had been Skype calling her almost every day since they had left for Christmas, as if they were looking for something. When nothing had happened the calls had tapered off slightly, until a few days after Emma and Killian had begun whatever it was that they were doing.

It was if Emma had writing on her forehead her friend could read, her eyes scrutinizing every detail and the questions becoming pointed. Finally, Emma had gotten an invitation to a big announcement from Mary Margaret, in which Killian was invited. When Emma booted up Skype, Mary Margaret's face greeted her, but her eyes were searching for someone else.

"Where's Killian? Did he not get my invite?" She asked, the accusation clear in her question.

"Look, about that -" Emma began, but Mary Margaret shook her head, scowling. She actually looked angry to Emma's surprise.

"I cannot believe that you stupid oblivious idiots don't realize that you not only are pining for each other, but you are perfect for each other, and he is head over heels -"

"We're dating, Mary Margaret." Emma admitted, begrudgingly interrupting the tirade. Seeing the look on her friend's face, Emma groaned. "Don't make it weird, but I really like him -"

"Ha!" Mary Margaret craned her head to yell across the room. "David you owe me 20 bucks!"

"No, really? Ugh, gross," David shouted from somewhere she couldn't see.

"Invite him on camera, I want to see him! We miss him!"

"You miss him, I want to question his intentions with Emma - " David grumbled, walking past in the background.

"Does he know about…?" Mary Margaret trailed off, her eyes searching Emma's face on the screen.

"No. Kind of. He knows something happened but not the details. I haven't told him about the psych ward, the fire, and Neal." Emma chewed her lip, wondering how Killian would react to her past, her hallucinations of the house with too many doors, her paranoid delusions about her friends disappearing, the fire she thought she had caused - would he still accept her knowing that she managed an illness so severe? Would it change the way he looked at her, from adoration to that smothering gaze of pity she got from everyone else?

"Are you going to? Because if you slipped back into that psychosis -"

"Eventually." Emma said, cringing at how fast the half truth slipped off her tongue. Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose, her lips pressing together. Before she could object, Emma pointed off camera. "I'm going to go get him, please don't talk about it when I get back, OK? Please don't go all Psychologist on me, I promise I'll tell him, but on my terms and later on. I'm not ready yet."

"Oh Emma," Mary Margaret sighed, her face softening. "Of course."

"I'll be right back."

Killian was waiting for her in the kitchen, handing her a hot chocolate as they settled in the living room and loaded Skype on the television's screen.

"Hi Kill - Are you both seriously in a pillow fort?" Mary Margaret asked, leaning in to her computer so her eyebrows took up the frame. "Oh my God, that is too cute, David look at them -"

"I told them to be cool about us dating," Emma grumbled, Killian letting out a snort of laughter as he kissed her cheek.

"Hello Nolan family, thank you for the invite to this, er, announcement." He blushed, and Mary Margaret giggled again. David sat beside her, finally coming into views she backed up.

They practically glowed together, David relaxing immediately when her head rested against his shoulder. Looking at where their own mirrored image was displayed on the screen, Emma could see Killian’s loving stare, her face in a resting contented grin. She looked - they looked -

"So, this announcement. I'm sure you've probably figured it out Killian, but my sister is completely oblivious to almost everything, it seems." David snickered as Emma protested, Killian laughing along with Mary Margaret.

"I might have," Killian admitted. "Congratulations are in order, I believe?"

Emma blinked, staring at Mary Margaret and her bright smile. She glowed.

To say Emma wasn't perceptive was an understatement. Her brain clicked, but she could not push the words from her mouth in surprise.

"Double Em, you're -"

"We're pregnant!" She laughed, David kissing her as Emma stared at them in complete shock. "We did some calculations, and it looks like, um," Mary Margaret's blush deepened. "It happened very likely at Christmas, most likely -"

"You -" Emma stammered, her own face reddening. "Seriously? You guys conceived in my house?"

David laughed at her grimace, before they were all laughing. Emma found herself curling into Killian’s touch, listening to her brother and Mary Margaret's plans for what they were going to do with a nursery, and how she was feeling, how they'd found out (a fainting spell during grocery shopping, of all things), the call stretching on as they simply enjoyed each other's presence. Killian traced his fingers along her back, pulling her to him immediately once the call was over and she had shut down the television.

"Mary Margaret says David and her are sending us a gift, which I'm a bit afraid for. She mentioned to me last time that they found these garden gnomes, and David thought it might spook you because you don't like -"

"Gnomes are not traditional Fae folk, at least not here. They're bloody Scandinavian, and only go after those who smell of unwashed feet." Killian sniffed, annoyed, holding her tighter. He let out a hum of pleasure when she turned to sit in his lap, eyes half closed while he stared up at her. "You're so beautiful."

Emma giggled lightly, feeling warmth in her chest and a lightness that relaxed her further. She yawned, and he followed slightly after, both of them curling into the pillows that made up their fort.

"Hey Killian?" Emma mumbled, exhaustion catching up on her.

He replied in a slow, groggy, hum of a question.

"You think you could be happy like that with me?" The question hung in the air, and Emma wanted to regret it, to take it back as her eyelids drooped.

"I think I could be anything with you, Emma," He whispered into her hair, falling to a low murmur. Her eyes blinked close, longer and longer. "I'd be happy just like them if not more. Enough to never need to compare. Incandescently happy."

The warmth Emma had felt earlier settled on her skin as she drifted asleep in his arms.

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Happiness felt strange to Emma, no real comparison to be made in the fleeting moments that it stayed in her life. She had thought she was happy, though worry and doubt had plagued her. She had wondered why others accepted happiness as it being the end all be all; hanging their joy to hitch their wagon on. Now, she knew.

There was a slow summer laziness to happy contentment, even in the early spring chill. It was as if happiness rolled over her, laid over her in a warm blanket she only wanted to burrow deeper into. Killian was tender, sweet even, his gestures so different than she had ever known. Her one night stands or Neal's rough uses for her had never shown any level of care Killian did, even in the smallest of actions. He kissed her shoulder every morning, bringing her coffee while reading her the news in their bed. He knew how she took it with more sugar than cream, knew how she sometimes needed time to forget her nightmares, and knew without needing to be told that probing the issue was not something she wanted.

I'm his eyes, she swore she could see something akin to understanding. It was too terrifying to bring up yet, but he seemed to read her. How he figured out how she had no idea, but Emma desperately wanted to hope that maybe he would listen. Maybe he would tell her she's not insane.

Maybe he knows about the darkness, about being adrift over pitch colored seas that have no end, no fathoms of depth. Maybe he knows what it's like to ride out waves that crash and claw through daily life, as if they were ships in the night passing close now, so close. As long as she doesn't ask where they're going or what lies below they can be fine forever, but for once Emma didn't want that; Because there is something that lurks, It lurks in his eyes and warnings, something scares him that he can't say, and it's the first time she has found another lost soul. She has found someone she empathizes with, her own monsters behind locked doors bursting at the hinges. He might take comfort knowing he isn't alone.

For all she knows, he might know of houses like the one Neal took her to. He might have seen places with too many locked doors, might have had too many missing friends, coworkers, neighbors, and acquaintances, might have wished to bite his tongue off than say anything but 'No' ever again.

And as she watches, she finds herself wondering if he might be the one she'll let herself sink into, not worrying about a destination any more as she simply enjoys the peace of floating in this current, no longer afraid that there might be monsters in these depths trying to pull her under.

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Summer tore through Carterhaugh's halls in a heatwave that made Emma thankful for fans and the installation of central air. Killian didn't notice the sweltering air, but she made it clear she felt free to notice him. Where she had blushed and her eyes had shied away before, now she was free to ogle without reservations. If he made more efforts to keep her eyes on him, he could always claim coincidence.

"I noticed before too, you're not exactly stealthy, Swan." He'd grinned into her jaw, kissing softly as they finished the final window of the main rooms. The stained glass lit the room in fire hues, as if the wooden floor was licked with a visible sign of the heat. Emma had been dressing much more delectably in turn, short trousers and tops with no sleeves that showed off how defined her arms were. Occasionally they had no straps, or fell just below her breasts baring her stomach and midriff.

When they lazily made love in the shade of the tree outside, blanket on the grass, it was easy to convince her to bask naked with him in the sunlight after. Emma was a marvel, a wonder, and she was his. Everything about her was like magic, her eyes finally full of trust when she looked at him. She was his, and he knew that meant all too soon she wouldn't be.

The bells came as July rolled through, Milah summoning him down to the wood. The house was finally finished, and Emma was exhausted. They had eaten a light lunch before she had fallen asleep on the couch, lost to the world in a well deserved nap. Kissing her forehead, he rolled out of their bed to stand before the Fae Queen's judgement. Emma stirred lightly, the whisper of his name sweet as she hugged a pillow with a sigh. It bolstered him, his feet carrying him quietly down the hill under the dark sky.

He could hear the hunt before he was even more than two steps into the forest, Tink running past him, then turning to run back with a smile.

"They are in a mood today, Killian!" She laughed, greeting him with a wave as she giggled. Somewhere to his right, he heard Regina bellow, the whinnying of her steed a shriek. He sighed, shaking his head as he continued deeper. Tink pouted, walking backwards on her toes with small little hops. "Killian," She whined, "Aren't you going to ask me what I did and why -"

"Why is it every time I have to kneel before the throne, you have agitated the hornet nest that resides on it?" Killian growled. She blinked, her pout turning to shock.

"I - I'm sorry. I try to distract them, and I have to keep the forest at bay…" She mumbled, looking down.

"All you do is make them angrier!" Killian gritted out, his jaw twitching. "I don't care about the forest, I just want Emma to be safe, and you -"

Tink straightened, her shoulders tightening as she stomped toward him. "I'm trying to help you, you dense - you idiot - you cabbage brain!" She sputtered, her face going red. "The forest spreads when Milah sees you, her avarice and wraith twisting the land further. I'm trying to keep you and your mortal lover safe. I'm trying to distract them!"

Killian blinked, his mouth falling open. "I didn't -" He stammered, trying to apologize. Tink shook her head, looking to where approaching war cries grew louder.

"I have to go. Just know that I have been trying to help you and this forest since… Well, forever. Neal wasn't your fault, and Emma, she -" The hoofbeats drew closer, and Tink took a sideways step towards a copse of trees. With a flick of her wrist they curled into an arch. "This place is cursed. I wish I had the time to explain, and I wish you would come with me. I'm sorry."

She took a leap through the arch, disappearing into nothingness as the horses swept through the clearing. The wind whipped around him, mud spraying his clothes as the horses passed. Regina cackled, the shrill noise falling away into the night as they chased their tails. He pressed on, the wood shifting around him, revealing how true Tink had been. Vines with thorns the size of his hand curled around dead trunks of trees, branches stretched crookedly to claw at the sky. The grass grew in black or a deadened white, no creatures stirring or making noise. The palace shifted, leaving him at the entrance, briars and strange shivering plants that snapped dripping jaws at him.

An audience awaited him when the throne finally appeared before him, the glinting silver, diamonds, opal, and glass blinding him momentarily and the jeers of Fae deafening him. Milah sat on the throne with her legs crossed, lapis lazuli and silk dripping off her body. Gold sat beside her, his tunic and breeches seemingly made of golden thread, adorned with jewels. Neal's empty throne lay empty, a red fur lined cape draped over it.

Milah stood, taller still, her features even sharper. Her lips twisted in a sneer as he knelt, the crowd booing louder. Milah raised a hand and they grew silent.

"I've thought about your proposal, and I know that you are not telling untruths, because I cannot march to Carterhaugh and kill this usurping tart myself." She drawled, clearly annoyed.

"Milah - " The crowd jeered, but Milah swept her hand toward the crowd.

"Silence!" The room fell silent again, and she stepped down towards him. "That said, regardless of previous arrangements, I request that you end our accord."

"Thank you," Killian sighed, even if the crowd voiced their upset. "You don't know how -"

"Sign it in her death blood," The crowd cheered, and Milah grinned widely. "Then you may go free."

"No!" Killian reached for Milah as she turned away, the guards moving forward from his peripheral. Shouts and cursing echoed around them at his loud refusal. "Milah, No, I won't let you -" An apple hit him on the shoulder, raucous laughter beginning while the crowd followed suit. Rocks pelted him as he curled into himself and sat, covering his head and face. He heard Milah's calm voice hush the crowd again.

Her heels clicked on the stone, nails digging into his chin and neck to raise him up. He struggled slightly, her strength unsettling, but her eyes worse so - cold and dead.

"We need a sacrifice, Killian. Do you dare deny me that which is my right? My duty?"

He rasped, her claws pulling free. Backing away, Killian coughed until he could manage a lowly growled whisper. "You shouldn't be sacrificing anyone to that thing. It's changed you, all of you. Please. Milah, I loved you. Now my heart belongs to another and she is… She's everything."

Milah's face pulled taut in rage for a brief flicker, disappearing into an almost convincing aloof shrug. "You have swayed my choice then. It will be you."

"Mí, please -" Killian tried again, taking a step forward, but she was in front of him in a flash.

Silver tendrils of lightning moved around her, crackling in the air, her eyes and skin gleaming an emotionless metallic.

"Do not address me like we are still lovers. Like you still come to my bed, and still ask me my desires. It will be you, or it will be her. You have offered yourself as her replacement by refusing to follow my directives." The stands that held the crowd began to smolder, Fae fleeing in all directions. Killian covered his face with his arm, staring at where Milah was bathed in bright light that made the air ripple in heat. "This shall be your last year."

There was a thunderclap that made his teeth rattle, then Milah stood back in front of him, her features carefully schooled even as her chest heaved. They stared at each other, Killian seeing her for the creature she was.

"October then?" he asked. "I have until then without your games?"

"Yes." Milah answered simply, returning to lounge on her throne.

Killian nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Fine. That's… fine. I'll enjoy every second of that time with her."

"Enjoy it," Milah spat, the facade of boredom failing completely. "Enjoy every second with your human whore."

Killian practically ran from the woods, clambering up the hill like a madman. As soon as he stepped foot through the doors of Carterhaugh he felt the curse shift. He almost fell to his knees in relief, wanting to weep at this newfound freedom, but then Emma was flicking on the light in her bed clothes looking at him in fear.

"You were gone, and I thought - I just knew you wouldn't - but I've trusted before and…" Her voice caught, eyes widening as he stepped forward to sweep her into his arms with a spin.

They had thirteen months together. They could do anything, go anywhere, they had thirteen months -

"Are you alright then? I was so scared, I didn't know what you were doing. Did you just go for a walk or -?"

Killian pressed his lips to hers hungrily, memorizing her taste and swallowing her protests. "I just - I really desperately need to kiss you."

She gasped, her legs parting for his knee to grind against her center. "Well, I'm not complaining," Her head fell back and he sucked on her earlobe, her hips bucking against his thigh as she keened a pretty noise. "But Killian, are you certain you're alright?"

"I will be. Let me love you tonight, properly make you dinner, drink wine with you, tell you how beautiful you are in every language I can speak -"

"What has gotten into you?" Emma squeaked out. He squeezed her ass tightly, eliciting a squeal. "Killian!"

"Nothing, nothing darling. I only want to get in to you, and taste you - "

Emma pulled away from his grasp, her smirk teasing. "You said wine and a dinner?" Her stomach growled loudly and her cheeks flushed a bright red.

"I suppose that is well in order first." Killian laughed, adjusting himself and trying to calm his racing heart. Quickly tossing together a salad, Emma argued with him over health benefits until he looked it up using her lap held computer. An ad caught his eye on the side of the page, Emma leaving to grab cheese from the fridge.

The lap-top type-writing device still gave him pause, although he handled it much better now. It had helped to have the learning curve of having a bank account that did not actually hold gold or coins, and to research. Killian had made a few mistakes, but managed to figure out the complex web that made up the interred net.

They sat down to dinner together, opening a bottle of white wine that sparkled in their glasses. Everything felt new now that he was freed, as if everything around him was clean and refreshed. With no hold barred, he prepared himself, readying for the brutal shutdown Emma might give him instead. His questioning wasn't subtle, but Emma was more than oblivious to it regardless.

"If you could go anywhere, have a dream vacation or a do over of traveling you've done, where would you go?"

Emma mulled the question, chewing her salad slowly. She liked it, complaining about the greens until he'd added an unhealthy amount of cheese. It still counted as healthy enough and a win in his books.

"You know I was married, but I don't know if I told you just how bad my honeymoon was," Emma said slowly, her voice the impassive, steely, aloof tone she reserved for touchy topics. "I - I know he cheated on me, and I know he… He wasn't a good person. I just thought, well, even then I expected him to be there."

She shrugged, briskly and Killian blinked.

"What do you mean, 'be there'?" He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Emma pushed her fork into the greens with a stab, sliding them around the plate. "He uh, he skipped our honeymoon; the entire thing. He had to work, so I stayed in our room and did our couples activities alone." She didn't look up, even as his hand found hers and she smiled wryly, remembering. "When I got back home he told me I'd gained weight. Truly, a winner."

"Oh, love -"

"It's fine. I mean, I don't want another honeymoon, I don't - that's out of the question, but, I'd love to go back and feel what it was supposed to feel like." Laying her fork down, Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, chuckling. "All those activities I skipped, or couldn't go on, or were supposed to be romantic and were instead so lonely… I just wonder what it would be like to do those with…"

Her eyes met his, and she blushed, yanking her other hand from his to stab at her salad again.

The tickets weren't expensive, the resort covering more amenities than he could fathom. His passport and making the documents that he needed were trickier, his supply of false papers just new enough to only need minor doctoring. Driving down into town with her in tow and their suitcases squirreled away in back, he watched her fidget with the radio.

"I don't think you've ever driven me anywhere before," Emma groaned, ducking her head from sight. "Ugh, there's that crazy old lunatic. He's obsessed with our house for some reason."

The windows were fogged, but Killian could hear the man's cries as he paced on the corner.

"The Fae! The Fae are at Carterhaugh, they will take your soul and beget you with changeling child to steal your youth, your luck, your fortune! Stay away from that cursed place, stay away from the wood where nothing grows!" The man screamed, waving his hands. He began to laugh wildly, running at their car while shouting nonsense, but Killian pulled away as the light fortuitously changed.

Emma peeked out, looking around confused as they turned off the main road, and onto the turnpike.

"You said we were going to the hardware store?" She asked, and he nodded, turning up the radio as he drummed on the steering wheel with his fingers. Emma cocked her head, squinting as she looked at him. "That's… That's not a lie, but it's not the truth either. What's going on?"

Killian mimed being affronted, his hand rising to his chest. "I need to go to the Hardware store, Swan. Can't a man simply just go about his business to get a certain piece of hardware with his lady love?"

"Not when you are acting so weird about it. Where are we even going? What store do you have to go to out of town?" Emma's eyes narrowed further. "You never go out of town."

"For you I'm making an exception. It's a special part. I need it, and it's only available at this certain store." He smiled, watching her chew her lip.

They arrived at the airport, and Emma refused to get out of the car as he unloaded their luggage onto a cart.

"Nope. Nuh-uh." Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes slitted slivers of sea glass. He tried to hold back his laughter, but settled for a grin as he held out his hand. "I don't know what crazy idea of yours you have cooked up in your mind, but I -"

"Take a leap of faith, love. I promise you that it might be worth it," Wiggling his eyebrows and giving a wink, he watched her fight a smile. "Very worth it."

"I'll come in the lobby if you tell me -"

"I'll tell you everything on the plane Swan, but we are running behind schedule because of your stubbornness. I would hate to have to go by myself and leave you here without my presence." Her hand met his, fitting perfectly when he pulled her forward. A valet took the car, Emma trying her hardest to hide her excitement.

"On the plane?" She murmured as they moved through TSA, some sort of inspectors that roughed up his intimate places a bit too much for his liking. He produced her passport when asked, watching her eyes widen as she read the ticket. "Wait, is this what I think - oh, Killian, I appreciate it but we can't, the house -"

"Will be there when we get back, and is being watched by Widow Tremaine," He grinned, and she smiled back with a brightness that made his heart soar. "If anything gets past the threshold of Carterhaugh, that old bat will kill it thrice over."

"The garden though, and my appointments with the contractors -"

"Will be fine, and rescheduled."

"I didn't pack -"

"I packed for you. Anything else, we can get there. The Navy taught me how to pack lightly, I have half a suitcase for you to fill with whatever you like."

"This is -" Emma sputtered, unable to protest.

"This is an adventure, love," Killian pressed his lips to her temple, swaying her when she pressed into him. "Really get into, alright? This is for you. Don't freak out or worry about anything but being happy."

Shadows flickered across her face when she looked up at him, but after a moment, she broke into a smile she reserved for him.

"Alright. Let's do this."

They stepped on the plane together, and off hand in hand.

He purchased the part he needed at the store a few blocks from their resort, the lovely bit of hardware gleaming in the jeweler's hand before it was placed carefully into a plush velvet box.

Emma was waiting for him when he returned, the masseuse just finishing her work. Killian signaled for her to go, his hands taking over to knead Emma's soft skin, feeling where the sun had kissed it on their beach walks and scuba trip.

"This is truly -" Emma giggled, swatting at him when he kissed down her back while tickling just under her ribs. "This is perfect. This is everything I wanted."

"I'm glad, darling." Killian smiled, Emma pushing him aside to sit up.

"No, I mean it. This… Killian I know this has been a lot, and I'm not ready for big declarations or conversations, because I just - I can't," He met her eyes, trying to hide his longing for just that, but she continued, her hands sliding up his chest. "But with you? I want to. I want that, all of it, and not because of this or anything like it."

"Emma -"

"Because of all the small things, and maybe yes, parts of this grand gesture, but mostly because I… I want to have someone build pillow forts with me, and looks at me the way you do."

"I always knew pillow architecture would show the true mettle of my wooing a beautiful woman." Killian grinned, her gentle smack to his chest making them both laugh.

Emma's lips met his, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, and if he was not completely hers before that moment, it didn't matter -

He belonged wholly and entirely to Emma Swan when they parted to breathe each other in, and after when that wasn't enough and their bodies demanded more.

Lying next to each other while his bones worked on becoming something other than jelly, Emma curled into him like a perfect fit. In the back of his mind October loomed, it's thirteen months a ticking time bomb to this heaven on earth.

"Hey, Killian?" She murmured into his chest. He glanced down, her half lidded gaze soft as he held her.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Emma."

Holding Emma even tighter to him, he savored every single second they had.

#Courtorderedcake #September #2020 #September 12th 2020 #Captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fanfiction #Cssns #12th

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - Not In the Mood

So at long last we’ve finally reached the last of the filler episodes for season one. Yes, I know the mood potion comes into play later and that Varian makes a cameo at the end, but the actual plot of the episode itself doesn’t add anything to the overall narrative and the elements that do come back are ones that could have been better introduced or written out altogether. Ergo making this another weak entry into the series.

Summary: Thanks to Max and Pascal's intervention, Rapunzel, Eugene and Cassandra inadvertently drink a potion that reverses their personalities. They turn to Xavier for his help in reversing their personalities to normal. Unfortunately, the elixir reverses everyone's character, making a mess of the royal visit.

So Why Should I Care About The Mains Fighting With Each Other... Again?

This episode wants to act like this sudden bickering is abnormal and a breakdown in their relationships but really, it’s the same plot we’ve had for nearly every episode the entire season. When has Eugene and Cassandra ever gotten alone? What plot hasn’t focused on Raps and Cass not seeing eye to eye? Like, this is nothing new and not a good inciting action for the plot to happen. If anything this episode only confirms to me that these people shouldn’t be wasting their time associating with each other, as I haven’t seen them actually being real friends and enjoying each other’s company before this.

Xavier, Why Do You Have a Random Magic Potion Just Sitting Around Your Workplace?

Once again we get no explanation as to how or why Xavier knows what he knows. He just so happens to have this mood potion ready to go and no one questions it. Given how this is a very dubiously unethical plan and his previous connections with two main bad guys, Zhan Tiri and the Saporians; I legit thought he’d be revealed as a villain later. But nope. He just there to get the plot going and nothing else. What a waste.

Oh Look, Cass is Getting What She Wants Yet Again.

Cass gets another guard assignment, running security detail for the upcoming banquet. It doesn’t go well because of the mood potion, but the very fact that she was entrusted with the job in the first place undermines her arcs in seasons two and three.

Poor Worldbuilding

Throughout the show we hear about these seven kingdoms. However, we never get any insight into what these seven kingdoms are. An alliance? A trade deal? Just the seven kingdoms that so happen to be the most powerful in this world?Regional stand-ins for the seven continents of the globe and not actual countries? A fantasy version of the Prussian Empire before the unification of Germany? Who knows. For we only focus on two of these ‘kingdoms’ in two episodes; Beginnings in season three and this episode.

‘Pittsford’ is the only kingdom to have an episode dedicated to it and all it amounts to is a nonsensical Napoleon Complex joke. Given the World War I inspired German uniform that the character above is wearing, the show can’t even keep its parodies and references straight. Like, that’s it. The joke is that everyone from this kingdom is short, grumpy, and wears that ridiculous helmet.

We never see this kingdom nor ever visit any of the other kingdoms. We get no insight into their cultures or way of life, despite Rapunzel’s desire for travel. And we also receive very little understanding of how these kingdoms relate back to Corona even when focusing on a possible war between them.

Unlike the mishmash of time periods I talked about earlier, this is a straight up failure in execution and not me merely being picky. It’s once again a lack of set up and resolve. The show builds something up only to never follow through with it.

Hypocrisy in Who’s to Blame Leading to Lessons Unlearned

Umm.. no, Cass is right. This is Max and Pascal’s fault. But mostly it’s Xavier’s fault for creating the potion in the first place and deciding it was a-okay to drug people with it without their consent.

But of course the writing lets them off the hook in order to make its point about the characters needing to grow. A lesson that the show will promptly forget come next episode, making it’s point, well pointless.

However the worst outcome here is the narrative letting Xavier get away without consequence while treating Varian as a villain for doing the exact same thing later on. The writers have double standards for how they treat the characters and use biased points of view to try and manipulate the audience into siding with the characters they want you to side with, rather than just presenting a conflict honestly and trusting the viewers to come to their own understandings.

Inconstancy is Left Unexplained

This is a joke, sure, but Griffin from Pittsford is also shown to be unaffected and characters conveniently fall in and out of the spell as the story needs it. There’s no explanation as for why the established rules of the potion are suddenly ignored.

Look, you don't always have explain where magic comes from or how it does what it does, but you do need an internal set of rules to act as parameters for your magic. That way when a rule changes or a person breaks a rule, it means something to the narrative and helps to drive tension. There’s no set rules for Tangled’s magic system. Things change on a dime for no given reason. Ergo the story winds up being confused in places and tension is diluted.

The Resolution is Weak

Griffin here just changes his mind about needing a peace treaty with Corona off screen with no explanation. He just does it so that the episode can end and reward the main character; so that Rapunzel won't have to face any consequences for her behavior. The universe just bends unnaturally to her will.

Her confrontation with Frederic earlier is an extension of this problem.

He snaps out of the spell just because Raps confronted him, despite the episode showing us earlier that that’s not how the potion works. Furthermore, her entire confrontation is supposed to be buildup to her becoming more assertive, but the narrative presents it like a ‘love saves the day’ deal; meaning she’s rewarded for the wrong reason. Last off she does not learn this lesson and it’ll be another three episodes before it sinks in. Even more than that if you watch the season in its intended order.

Oh Yeah, We’re Still Showing Things Out of Order and The Full Awfulness of How Rapunzel Treats Varian is Just Glossed Over.

So Pascal’s Story and Big Brother’s of Corona was suppose to come before this episode. The Wrath of Ruthless Ruth, Max's Enemy, and The Way of the Willow are meant to come after. This means that Rapunzel is still ignoring her duty, has been ignoring it, and will keep on ignoring it for several more weeks/months.

Varian’s Cameo Doesn’t Add Anything Here

Despite trying to tie into the main plot, Varian’s part in this episode is skippable. There’s no reason why he couldn’t have just made the truth serum from scratch. We didn’t need yet another run around just to establish the mood potion first. It’s slightly more forgivable than say, Monty, Willow, or Axel being introduced for next to no reason, but it’s still a mishandling of the time and resources given to the show.

Conclusion

I honestly found this episode kind of cringe. It has a lot of tropes that I personally dislike and reads like a bad 60s sitcom. It more well constructed then say Max’s Enemy, and it has more to do with the plot then Way of the Willow, but it still suffers from filler fatigue.

#tangled #anti-tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #varian #rapunzel #xavier

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underatedcharactersunite · 4 years

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A Tale Of Two Souls; A Tale Of A Life Before

Summary; As Geralt and Y/N get accustomed to being a trio, Jaskier proves to be more observant than they originally considered as Jaskier asks Y/N a question that will take her back to a time she would have preferred to forget. Pairing; Jaskier X Female Reader WordCount; 3350 Warnings; Angst, Mentions of death, torture, past abuse, Strong Language Read Part 1 here

Series Masterlist

"Credit where credit is due. That whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant by the way. Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt turned back glaring at Jaskier's impersonation of him.

"That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the Elves."

"We were lucky. Filavandrel chose to spare our lives. Despite everything, he chose the right path. The coin should help them survive for a little while at least." You felt for Filavandrel truly. Elven history's battle to live equally among humans had been arduous and troublesome. Geralt was right, the humans were better at adapting to chaos. You wished that the Elves would find a way to survive, and one day perhaps humans would one day learn to accept the Elves.

"Filavandrel's lute not gift enough for you."

"Yeah she is a bit sexy, isn't she?" Over many travels and many miles across a variety of different lands, not once had you heard a man speak so lovely about an instrument before. Jaskier was as passionate about music as he was embracing other people. While others could dispute that the man currently wandering beside you was as a total fool? Was he? In the tavern, he had already proven his musical ability. So the monster's in Jaskier's had never existed before, that could not take Jaskier's talent away from him.

"I do have respect for Filvandrel they survived the great cleansing once you know this. Maybe he could do it again. Be reborn." The thought of a war breaking out due to people's inability to be accepting one another made you think about your situation. Being outraged at Geralt for volunteering to die so immediately, had broken your heart to smithereens. Fighting monsters alongside Geralt had always been a deadly path, and you had accepted that long ago. Geralt voicing his willingness to die only confirmed that it could happen to all three of you at any given moment.

"Will the Elf King heed, what the Witcher entreats. Is history a wheel doomed to repeat" Jaskier's voice broke out into a beautiful melody, one filled with truth and sincerity. Bringing peacefulness like a warm bath after a long day, you listened as he played every note flawlessly.

"No, that's...that's shit."

"This is where we part ways, Bard, for good."

“Look, I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least allow me to try. Furthermore, I think Y/N would miss me too much if we were to part ways so early."

"Is that so Jaskier? We only met a matter of hours ago. How can you know what I am thinking? Unless you're telepathic, that is."

"I know you've been looking at me, all doe-eyed." You stopped Tarot halting to look at the Bard who had been so courageous to challenge what he believed to have witnessed in your eyes. Releasing the Tarot's reigns, you advanced forwards towards Jaskier, his eyes being unable to pick a viewing point on your body. One moment, he was focused on your eyes then on your shoulder, then your lips.

"Doe-eyed? At least I can make eye contact with you Jaskier. Perhaps it's you who becomes nervous around me. Tell me Jaskier, do I have that effect on, you all ready? If that's the case than travelling with us could be found tricky. Last chance to back out."

"Not a chance. I like the challenge I see set out in front of me." Sauntering backwards towards Tarot, you mounted her, giving her a gentle pet as you did so. The day had been long you anxiously anticipated the three of you finding a camp for the night. Hearing Geralt grunt, you knew he was conscious of the game that Jaskier had chosen to play.

"You'll lose Bard."

"Not a chance."

"We'll see Jaskier we'll see."With a gentle strum of his lute, Jaskier began to play a new song. Jaskier's nimble fingers worked effortlessly, as the song wrote itself. You wouldn't deny that the song was beautifully sung, however, the historical accuracy of the song appeared lacking.

‘When a humble bard, graced the ride along with Geralt of Rivia and Y/N the enchanting Shieldmaiden Y/N. Along came this...song. From when the white wolf fought a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves at his hooves did they travel.

They came after me, with masterful deceit. Brooke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth. While the Devil's horns, minced our tender meat and so cried the witcher he can't be bleat.’

"That's not how it happened. Where's your new-found respect?"

"Respect doesn't make history."

The three of you continued to ride onwards with no location in mind. The time in Posada had unquestionably been eventful. Never in your wildest dreams could you had fantasised of any of today's events. Especially Jaskier's introduction into your journey, previously you had been content with you and Geralt travelling the world alone.

However, in a few short hours, Jaskier had successfully fought his way into our lives. Despite the punch to his abdomen and Geralt and yourself warning Jaskier that the travelling life was not glamorous or simple. He preserved and never succumbed to persuasion. You and Geralt were officially stuck with the Bard.

"I'm sorry." Your face creased as you Geralt apologise. In the past, whenever the two of you disputed, the two of you would give each other time until the other had calmed down and the two of you were able to discuss it calmly. Geralt approaching you first was unfamiliar.

"You have nothing to apologise for Geralt. I was overreacting, that's all."

"Y/N, I've never seen you overreact. Your thought process is always valid. I know I am not the best when it comes to emotions Witchers do not feel."

"Bullshit, I know you better than that. Besides, we both know you don't enjoy others knowing that you feel. I just did not appreciate how prepared and waiting you were to die. You are aware of how much I lost before I discovered you and Roach. While I've learnt how Witchers are, it does not mean I do not fear for your life every time we're in danger."

Geralt inclined his head to look at you, riding side by side as Jaskier proceeded to play his new song ahead of you. Geralt appreciated your ability in reading his body language and mind. Many occasions, people had expected some variety of reasoning behind his actions, apart from you. You backed his decisions, and when you believed the situation ahead of you could be dealt with differently, you voiced those opinions. You didn't yell, or attempt to start an argument, you spoke gently and with conviction.

"You know me too thoroughly. I didn't tell Filavandrel to kill me to harm you. If he was going to kill anyone, I would have rather it had been me. You and Jaskier have lives to live."

"As you do dear friend, fancy placing a friendly bet?"

"Go on?" Your eyes twinkled in mischief, you adjusted your gaze to look over at Jaskier.

"How long do you think it's going to be before he grows tired and asks one of us if he can ride on either Tarot or Roach? I say to the end of the dirt road when the path will become even more treacherous."

"Three Silver pieces says he cannot get to that large tree just in the distance." Shaking hands with Geralt, the three of you continue your journey as a brand new triage.

***

"I believe you owe me three silver pieces." Geralt's voice grumbled behind you. That was the last time you ever get Jaskier the benefit of the doubt. You had considered Jaskier would have been so immersed in his song that he would forget about his aching feet. Oh, how wrong you had been. The moment the luscious green tree had come into view, Jaskier had redirected back to you both.

"Would any of you fancy allowing me to ride along with you...it's just my feet are extremely tired?"

"Don't touch Roach!"

"Okay, we're still overly possessive. What about you, my beautiful enchantress? You'll let me ride with you, will you not?" Sighing you looked down at Jaskier. You couldn't understand what was happening. You had precisely lost a bet to Geralt of Rivia. A bet that you had produced. The slight tug on Geralt's face knew that he was never going to let this go.

"I don't know Jaskier. I'm sure we'll stop for camp soon. Perhaps you could walk for a little longer." Jaskier placed his hand over his heart, acting to be wounded while he paced backwards. In the few hours you had known Jaskier, you come to realise a lot about him. While he was confident and flirtatious, brilliant and creative, Jaskier could also be a total idiot. With his attention solely on you, Jaskier had forgotten on the rugged road that he currently stepped on. Unbeknownst to Jaskier in his path was a large and rough rock. Stepping onto the rock, Jaskier slipped onto the rock, tumbling over.

"Shit, Ow!"

"Jaskier!" Jumping down from Tarot, you ran to his aid crouching beside him. Meanwhile, Geralt halted Roach remaining where he was. This was the second time in a matter of hours that Jaskier had injured himself. You were beginning to contemplate covering him up in some variety of guarding material.

"What is it with you and rocks? Earlier, you had one thrown at your head, and now you've landed on one."

"It's not my fault. If you would stop being so mesmerizing, then I would not keep distracted so easily. You smell good by the way. What is that?-Shit Y/N!" While Jaskier had been entirely oblivious to the situation before him, it had given you the perfect time to check him for any injuries. Unfortunately, the rock's edge was pretty sharp and sliced through Jaskier's overcoat and his undershirt. The wound appeared pretty deep. It wasn't something you could attend to on the side of the road.

"How bad is it?" Geralt questioned, looking up at him, you slightly shook your head side to side, proving Geralt with all the information he needed to know.

"What's going on? What's wrong with my back? Am I going to die? Dying in your arms Y/N, would not be the worst way to die, I suppose."

"Jaskier, you are not going to die. Lesson two of being a Witcher's companion; you will, unfortunately, get the occasional injuries. We're going to get you on Tarot, and we will find a place to camp for the night."

***

That is how you ended up with a smug Witcher and an injured Bard. Withdrawing the money from the pouch, you placed the three silver pieces in his hand. Standing in front of him, you smirked.

"The next time you will not be so lucky Geralt. Jaskier overcoat and undershirt off."

"Well, that didn't take as long as I thought it would."

"Really? Do you want me to make this hurt way more than it has too." Jaskier suddenly became quiet as you approached him with the salve and the all of the bandages you currently had in your disposal.

"Y/N, who are you?" Jaskier questioned, leaving you puzzled? It had been very apparent early on that Jaskier had heard of your adventures early on with Geralt. So why was he asking about your identity?

"You know who I am, the enchanting Shieldmaiden Y/N." As Jaskier hunched over sitting on a tree stump, you lightly cleaned the wound with some freshly boiled water off of the fire. Trying to clean the wound as painlessly as possible, Jaskier did not deserve to feel pain.

"I heard what Geralt said to Filavandrel earlier, one human, the other's complicated. What did he mean by that?"

"Enough Bard!" You stopped cleansing Jaskier's wound pulling away from him entirely. Your history before Geralt had been one you had desired to forget. While you knew it allowed you to become the person you aspired to become in the end, it was far from pleasant.

"Geralt, he has a right to know. You desired to get rid of him, understanding who I am is enough to make him run a mile."

"The Bard is not my concern right now you are."

"Geralt, it's better if he knows-"

"As much as I enjoy the little back and forth you have going on right now. Am I not allowed to come up with my own judgement?"

"This is going to hurt a little. If it gets too much, tell me to stop okay?" Dipping your fingertip into the salve that you made whenever you could find the right ingredients. Slowly, you began to spread the salve over Jaskier's wound, simultaneously hearing Jaskier wither in pain, your spare hand laid tenderly on his shoulder.

"So before Geralt, so rudely interrupted, who are you exactly?" Gently rubbing the salve over the wound, you halted briefly. Repeating your history for Geralt had been challenging enough. He had understood the difficulties that the world often brought. Jaskier witnessed the world being light and merry the darkness happened elsewhere.

"My name is Y/N, however before I encountered Geralt and Roach, my name was Princess Y/N of Autumndale. My Father had just learnt that he was about to become King when he met my Mother. You see my Mother was an intimidating, and powerful Sorceress. Everywhere she went, she frightened people to achieve her goals. There was no limit to my Mother's powers.

Upon hearing my Father being an eligible bachelor, my Mother conducted a love potion, so there's no way she would lose the other potential candidates. As she expected the moment my Father laid eyes on her, he was put into a trance. No one could compare to her. Not long after that, they were married, and my Mother's plan began to unfold.

My Mother wanted to create an unstoppable creature. She had been using various creatures' blood and combining it with her own. However, what she didn't know was she was already pregnant with me. So instead of the spell serving on her. It was myself the spell worked on.” Finishing applying the salve onto Jaskier's back, you began to slowly wrap the bandage around his torso, when you wandered around him, Jaskier took ahold of your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles softly.

"What happened when she found out?"

“She wanted me to become like her. Cold and calculated. Heartless. She placed a mirage for the people they were never able to witness the reality of the situation they were in.

From an early age, it was clear I was unlike my Mother in any way. I was always too kind, too diplomatic. Rather than destroying people, I used my powers for good. There was a farmer's boy whose shoes were rotten, without even realising what I was doing a new pair appeared in front of him. For punishment, I was locked away for a month.

For years she attempted to turn me into her. I was forced to watch her experiments. I watched her kill people in front of me. She endeavoured to get me to kill people and conduct her tests. Time and time again I refused, getting thrown back into the same cell, left alone for months on end. She knew then she could not break me.”

"So, what happened?"

"She exploited the situation to her advantage, or so she thought. She told everyone it had been me who was conducting the experiments, that I was a fraud. The person I allowed them to see was not my true self. The people believed her every word of course; however, my Mother had forgotten the only way a love potion could be broken."

"How?"

"If the drinker of the love potion had fallen in love absolutely with someone. My Mother assumed that meant romantic love between two lovers. What she failed to release, it meant any form of true love. From the moment I was born, my Father had gradually begun to break a hold from her grasp. When he heard what she had done, he began to plan my escape.

That night, my Father sent me off on foot, afraid the galloping of hooves would alert the town. I've never run so hard. Nowhere was safe.However, the people were not foolish and were on high alert. They came at me with stones and rocks, throwing anything they could at me. I continued to run as painful as it was. Every time something hit my body, it was more than a physical injury. It impacted me mentally. I failed them. Despite my powers, I didn't attempt to stop my Mother. I fled from them. I wasn't the enemy, I wanted to help them and did so as frequently as I could. No matter the consequences.

In a state of desperation, I stole a horse and rode as hard as fast as I could. As soon as I got further away, I allowed the horse to go free. He was not mine, someone loved him, you could tell by the condition he was in.”

"How did you meet Geralt?"

"Now that's the lighter side of the story. I had been on my own for a little over a year, teaching myself to hunt and which plants and mushrooms were good to eat. I had been accustomed to being alone, in fact I quite enjoyed it.

One day I was staggering through the forest when I came across a horse. She was sweet and didn't mind me talking to her. Being alone for a long time you don't get to be sociable. I stood with her for a while until I felt someone's blade on my neck. Geralt thought I was trying to steal Roach, which was far from the truth. However, back then, Geralt was encountering the same problem I was. We both were dealing with trust issues humans hated us because they are unable to deal with uniqueness.

After everything that I'd been through, I was not willing to die. I and Geralt fought, at the time he was better at combat. He won easily. However, I pleaded to him for my life. I told him who I was, albeit with a blade on my throat. I never expected Geralt to offer me to become his companion. I never expected Geralt to teach me everything about surviving on my own. Geralt saved my life." Sending Geralt a tender smile, you witnessed his lips tug up ever so slightly. You owed him everything, and nothing nor anybody would ever stop you from protecting him as he had done you. Jaskier's reaction was peculiar he was dead silent. Fearing the worst, you attempted to remove your hand out of his grasp however, his only tightened.

"Why did you think I would believe you're a monster? Do I come across like some variety of a judgemental Prick?"

"Of course not Jaskier. I dreaded deeper than anything that you would fear me. That is the last thing I've wanted. It's not even been a day, and yet you've already grown on me. If you decide to stay-"

"I promised Geralt that I would change the public's tune about him, and now it appears that I've got to prove to you that I'm not like those people who threw stones and rocks at you. Frankly, I do not mind in the slightest whether your entire human or a mixture of whatever creatures your mother was cruel enough to experiment on."

"I was not implying that you were like my previous subjects, but we have only known each other for a day, and you deserve to know who your travelling with."

"I do not care if that's not what you were implying. I am going to prove to you that I am not like them, my enchanting beauty. I will prove it to you."

#A Tale Of Two Souls #Jaskier imagines #Jaskier imagine #The Witcher imagine #The Witcher imagines #Jaskier one shot #Jaskier oneshot #The Witcher one shot #The Witcher oneshot

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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vlogsquadstories254-blog · 5 years

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Rules are Rules | d.d

Disclaimer: This is my first story, ever. For the sake of the story David’s allergies can be controlled by medicine.

“David you know I feel about that.” I can’t believe that after seven months of dating he would still try this same stunt.

“Aww come on Chrissy, all you have to do is lay down. It’ll just take two seconds,” I just looked at him with amusement drawn on my face.

“David, you know the deal. I’m not gonna lay down for free. I’ll do it but I get to shoot you the the paintball gun. It’s always been that way.” I knew he would never go for it. So imagine my shock when he laughed and nodded his head.

“Fine.” I was dumbfounded.

“Really? You want me to do this so bad that you’re willing to let me shoot you?” I asked in pure shock.

“Okay, no turning back now.” I take the blind fold off and make sure to lay down on his carpet in hopes he would change his mind, not wanting to mess it up. As soon as the blindfold was on anxiety was coursing through my veins. “David I change my mind, I don’t think I can do it.” I was panicking.

“Shut up Chrissy. You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you, take a deep breath and relax. You’re over thinking this. I even got Kristan and Lorraine to do it.” He said all of this in his ‘Camera Voice’ as I liked to call it, so I knew he was already recording.

“David Julian Dobrik, I swear to God that I will never talk to you again if this is a spider or any other type of bug. Deadass. So unless you’re ready to be single I would suggest rethinking what you’re about to do.” I heard a few people say ‘oh shit.’ They knew I wasn’t playing around. I said Deadass.

“I’ve thought about it long and hard Chrissy.”

“Okay cool, so you’ll let me up then?”

“ Nope.” God damn it. I knew it was to good to be true.

“David.....” He placed something heavy on my stomach so it wasn’t a bug.

“Okay Chrissy, I want you to guess what it is but you can’t touch it yet and you can’t take off your blind fold.” The thing keeps moving, so it’s some kind of animal.

“Is it a bear? A monkey?” I’m completely going off of previous ‘surprises’, but everyone is laughing now so I know they’re incorrect. “David please tell me it’s a puppy.”

“Yeah,” I could hear the smile in his voice and I turned my head in his direction.

“No! David, no way!”

“Take your blindfold off.”

“No, because if I do you’re gonna take him away, cause the bit will be over. But as long as I keep it on he stays!” Logic.

“Baby, take it off. There’s more.” I feel his hand on my shoulder to help me sit up. Once I’m situated and the puppy is on my lap now and not my stomach I take the blind fold off but keep my eyes closed.”

“Okay, open your eyes in 3, 2, 1..... Go!” The sight before me was amazing. I’m my lap was a beautiful Doberman puppy with a sticky note on his forehead that said ‘Hi mommy, my name is blank.’

“Oh haha. Very funny David. I’m not stupid, you’re allergic to dogs. You wouldn’t buy me a puppy.” I was giving him the stink eye and he was still recording. This was footage he couldn’t pass up. “I already know the clickbait ‘BUYING MY GIRLFRIEND HER DREAM DOG?!’”

“Yeah you’re right, I wouldn’t buy you a dog.... But I’d adopt one for you.” He gave me his shy smile and did that little laugh, the one he does when he hands someone the keys to their new car. And the presented the adoption papers to me.

“Shut up. David this isn’t funny anymore.” I was crying. Because my heart was saying “Oh my God he got you a puppy!” But my brain knew better.

“Look at the papers Chrissy. He’s yours.” He was still smiling.

“Deadass. You can’t lie on deadass, David.” This was it. The moment of truth.

“Dead. Ass.” It was done. David has gotten me a puppy. The puppy of my dreams no less. And I was a nasty snotty mess from crying so hard.

“But you’re allergic? It doesn’t make sense. David.” I was still confused. “My brain doesn’t know how to take all this excitement.”

“Well he doesn’t have a lot of hair, and I went to the doctor and got medicine. I started taking it like two weeks ago so that it would be in my system by the time he was ready to be brought home. So I’m fine as long as I don’t forget a day. And I have an alarm in my phone, Natalie has an alarm in her phone, Jason and Josh both have alarms in their phones and I added the alarm to your phone this morning. There’s literally no excuse for me to forget.” He was still smiling but the camera was away now and all of our friends had wandered off. This moment was just between us now. And I loved it.

“I love him, and I love you. Thank you David. Now he needs a name!” He pilled the camera up again but this time handed it to Natalie, who had walked over to watch us play with him.

“I think I’ll name him Cassian.”

“No. Absolutely not. He’s not getting a Star Wars name.” The lack of amusement was funny.

“Yup. That’s his name. And later tonight we can go to PetSmart and get him some things that he’ll need. Also imagine how funny it would be if we only talked to him in Slovak.” That’s how David and I met. Our parents are best friends and moved to America together when we were little. It’s fun being with my best friend all the time. And when the cameras are off we communicate that way. To make sure we don’t lose it because it’s who we are.

“That would be pretty funny. Oh gosh can we please? He would be a good guard dog that way too. That’s another reason I got a Doberman. To keep you safe when I’m out late filming. And why not just go to PetSmart right now?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I still get to shoot you remember? That’s the rules.” I knew he was trying to get out of it. But rules are rules.

#david dobrik #vlog squad #fluff #daviddobrik

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traveller-lover-dreamer · 6 years

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Daughter of the Sea, chapter 1

Soooo, he’re the first chapter to Daughter of the Sea, like I promised. It’s long and it took me all day to write it oops haha I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as you did the prologue! As I said in my last post, the prologue will come later in the story!

Prologue

Pairing : Royalty!Tom Holland X Royalty!Reader

Words : 5862

Warnings: Mention of death, other than that I think we’re good

Ever since you had been old enough to stand still for an entire day your father had asked you to attend to his audiences. Being the daughter of the Southerner king sounded cool until you found yourself stuck in an audience chamber, standing still in the hot and humid summer air, barely able to breathe because your corset was just a little too tight.

You usually didn’t wear corsets. You had never liked them. Even though he knew that, your father forced you to wear one this morning, saying it was the ways of the Northerners and that you had no choice.

The bird had come in late last night, announcing the arrival of the Northerner prince and his court. You were expecting them today around midday, but it was getting late in the afternoon and they still hadn’t arrived. You knew by the way your father was tensed on his throne that this was a bad thing. A really bad thing.

The peace between the two kingdoms had always been fragile. The ways between the South and the North were just too different. According to your father, the Northerner were a serious people. They didn’t know how to have fun, they lived just to survive in the cold of their North. Your people was more frivolous. It helped to live in a region where the weather wasn’t trying to kill you each time you stepped outside.

The capital of the South was situated on the coast of the Emerald Sea. Most of the kingdom consisted of isles in the sea but you had never been to them. As your father said, “a woman on a ship means a shipwreck in a week”. So you stayed on the continent in Azkapoor, the city of a thousand lights. The most beautiful city in the world according to your dad. It truly was beautiful. Everything was covered in rare precious stones. Every building had its own colour depending on where you were in the city. The rich had rubies and topazes on top of a gold coating, the poorest district had only quartz of a hundred different colours. The military district was covered in sapphires and emeralds and the castle was made of diamonds and all the other precious stones, nested in walls of glass or rocks coated in gold. When the sun was shining and it was most of the time, the city literally glimmered from a thousand lights. It was beautiful.

Your father said the capital of the North was boring compared to Azkapoor. It was nestled in a valley between the Black Mountains and it was made of stones and marble. Nothing impressive compared to Azkapoor.

It helped that Azkapoor was the richest city in the world. Not only because of your father but because a lot of merchants lived here. And with them came their fortune.

There was the sound of a trumpet outside of the audience chamber and then the marshal entered the room, with a group of around thirty people behind him.

“The prince of the North, Thomas Stanley Holland, and his court”, the marshal announced as a young man started walking down the aisle toward the throne.

You were currently standing on your father’s left, two feet behind the throne and you felt your blood stopping in your veins. Yes, your father had been the one to invite the Northerners to the tourney, but this young man was acting in a provocative way as he didn’t wait for her father to tell him to come to the throne. You held your breath as you noticed your father’s knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists.

The young man stopped in front of the throne and smiled his brightest smile as all of his court bowed to show their respects to your father. The prince looked at them before sighing deeply and bowing.

“You can rise”, your father said in his coldest tone.

“It’s an honour to be here, your Grace”, the prince said with a velvety voice.

His eyes went to you and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. He was handsome. Definitely one of the most handsome men you had seen in your life. His curly hair was dishevelled a bit, probably because of the wind outside, but it suited him well. His brown eyes were gorgeous as they shone when he smiled at you.

“I don’t recall my father mentioning you had such a lovely daughter”, he said as his eyes went back to your father.

“Show some respect”, Lord Blackfyre, your father’s right hand, hissed.

The prince raised his hands.

“I meant no offence”, he replied. “I only speak the truth.”

“Enough”, your father intervened as you noticed Lord Blackfyre putting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

During the entire interaction your eyes had been riveted on the prince’s eyes. The fact he thought you were lovely had made your heart go crazy and your cheeks turn red. You looked away when his gaze went back to you, a mischievous smile on his lips.

“My daughter is not yours to contemplate, Prince Thomas”, your father declared with a stern voice.

“Then why dress her like a Northerner?” the prince asked, his smile only growing wider.

“To show some respect you clearly are lacking”, your father answered.

“Why are we so serious, aren’t we here for a tourney?” the prince said, changing the subject.

Good move. You knew by the way your father was tensed that the prince was risking his life by talking about you this way.

“The tourney begins tomorrow at dawn”, your father declared. “May the best knight in the Two Kingdoms win. Don’t miss the feast tonight.”

Your father dismissed the audience and the Northerners left first, followed soon by your father’s own court.

“That kid is playing a dangerous game”, Lord Blackfyre said once everybody had left the room.

“If he says another word like that I’m cutting his tongue”, your father declared.

“It didn’t offend me, my King, nothing to be worried about”, you jumped in, regretting it immediately when your father turned to look at you, a dark look in his eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion”, he said. “Did you forget who killed your brother?”

You lowered your gaze to the ground, afraid your father was going to hit you for your insolence. You wanted to tell him you didn’t forget it, it was always there in the back of your mind, but you didn’t say a word.

Ever since your brother’s death, your father had hated you with all his heart. Before that, he treated you well, even though he wasn’t necessarily loving. He had a son, he had no reason to despise the one that took his wife away. About that, your mother had died the day she had given birth to you. Your father never loved you because of that. It meant he couldn’t have other sons that could go on and take care of his kingdom when he would die.

Now that his only heir was gone, your father hated you. He kept saying you were going to be the end of his kingdom because a woman couldn’t rule it.

Your brother had died at the Battle of the West Gate, the same battle that had put an end to the War of the Two Kings. Your father had lost the battle and he had been forced by the Northerner King to make peace. They had signed a treaty saying both of the kingdoms were going to cohabit in peace from now on and that they were going to form an alliance. The Northerner King didn’t ask your father for anything, even though your father had been the one who had tried to invade the North. He only took Lord Blackfyre’s son as a hostage and in return your father had taken the king’s squire as a hostage. His name was Harrison Osterfield and you had grown up by his side, even though he was a couple years older than you. You hated to admit it but he had taken your brother��s place in your life.

“Let’s not let this get between us while the Northerners are here”, your father said. “They need to think that we are united.”

You looked up from the ground, wondering if you had heard your father right.

“I don’t want those barbarians to think we are weak”, he continued. “We may have lost the war but we sure aren’t going to lose the tourney.”

Your father’s pride had been deeply hurt when he had lost the war. You knew this tourney wasn’t about having fun, it was about showing to the Northerners he was stronger than them and that he could crush them if he wanted. You also knew that this was what your father wanted. He wanted to take revenge on them.

You wondered if it was a mistake for the Northerners’ king to have sent his own son here. To your father’s eyes, there was no better revenge than to kill his enemy’s son, to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Y/N, go to your evening class with Master Emond”, your father ordered.

You nodded your head, bowing slightly before leaving. One of your father’s guards followed you as you made your way up to the Southwest Tower. You couldn’t breathe correctly thanks to your corset, so you took your time climbing the stairs.

When you got at the top, you joined Master Emond on the balcony where you usually took your classes. The guard stayed at the door to make sure no one was going to intrude on your lesson.

“Sit”, ordered old Master Emond as he was watching the city. “See the dust in the west?”

You looked in the direction he pointed, squinting until you saw what seemed like a dust cloud.

“I think so”, you answered.

“It was caused by the passing of the Northerners”, he explained. “More precisely because of their horses.”

“Oh”, you said.

“Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today.” The master grabbed a heavy book on the table to his left and gave it to you.

“The geography of the Two Kingdoms”, you read the title.

“We’re having a geography lesson today”, the master said.

You opened the book carefully, your fingertips grazing the maps that laid in front of your eyes.

“Where are we right now?” asked the master.

“Azkapoor”, you answered. “The capital of the South.”

“And what is the capital of the North?” Master Emond enquired.

You hesitated as you searched through the book. You only knew it was nestled between some mountains, you had no idea how it was called. You found a map of the North and eventually your eyes rested upon the capital of the North.

“Londir”, you answered. “It’s between the Black Mountains.”

The master nodded his head.

“Now, what lies between the North and the South?”

You knew this answer all too well. You had heard a dozen of stories about that sea. The Mermaid Sea. Few were the sailors that dared sail its waters and fewer where the men that came back.

“The Mermaid Sea”, you said.

“Do you know where the Mermaid Sea’s name come from?”

You shook your head.

“Legend says that in its depths lie a city greater than anything you had ever seen”, the master began. “It supposed to be more beautiful than Azkapoor. In this city lives a people. The mermaids. Half fish half human, those mermaids feast on man’s flesh. They have tamed a species of sea serpents and those serpents attack ships to sink them so the mermaids can feast on their crew.”

A cold shiver went down your spine. It was just a legend but you had heard once that all legends come from a truth. The thought that there was something true in this story was scary.

“That is the reason why our people don’t sail its waters anyways”, said Master Emond. “We go on foot if we want to go north. Where do we need to pass if we want to get there?”

“By the West Gate”, you answered. Where my brother died.

“That is correct”, declared Master Emond.

The geography lesson went like this until the sun set. When it did, Master Emond ended the lesson. You left him on the balcony. When you got out of his quarters, the guard that had waited for you followed you down the stairs. You walked to your own quarters in the western wing of the castle. Your father’s man stayed outside of your quarters, keeping guard in front of the door.

You rang a bell, calling your servant to help you get out of your dress to get ready for the feast tonight. Namila arrived a moment later with a gown in her hands.

“Hi, my lady”, she said, bowing.

“Namila, you don’t have to bow for me, I told you a thousand times”, you laughed.

“Of course, sorry.” She smiled. “Your father has suggested that, and I quote him, ‘my daughter shouldn’t wear Northerners garment tonight or I’ll kill the boy.’ So I brought you this new dress.”

She put it on your bed and your breath got caught up in your throat. It was a Southerner’s dress, which meant there wasn’t any corset (thank the gods) but instead a low V-neck. The dress was made of green silk and the silhouette of flowers was embroidered into it with a gold thread. It was soft to the touch and clearly not as hot as the one you were dressed with right now.

“Help me to get out of that corset”, you asked to Namila. “I’ll have to take a bath too, I sweated so much in that gown today.”

Namila laughed. “Of course, my lady.” She started to unlace your gown and for the first time in hours you were able to take a deep breath.

“Thank gods”, you whispered underneath your breath.

“Your bath is already ready”, Namila told you. “I got it ready while you were still with Master Emond.”

You liked your bath not too hot and Namila knew that. You walked to your bathroom and climbed down the stairs leading to the refreshing water. Your bath looked more like a small pool and you swam to your balcony overlooking the Emerald Sea. The moon was rising above the water, casting a silver glow on the waves.

Namila had put some essential oils in the water and it smelled incredibly good.

“Do you need help to wash your hair, my lady?” asked the girl.

You turned around and swam back to the staircase that led to the water.

“Yes, please”, you replied.

You sat in the stairs as she started to wash your hair.

“Remember when we were little girls and you swam with me in my bath instead of helping me clean up?” you asked.

“Yes, I do”, she chuckled. “Your father was so mad when he found out about that.”

You laughed at the memory of it. Namila was the closest thing to a friend you had had in your life. Well, she did was a friend. She and Harrison were practically your only friends. You had never liked the other noble girls, they all were jealous of you because you were a princess. Yes, being a princess was nice, but you didn’t like it that much. It was a complicated life.

“I’ve heard that the Northerner Prince said you looked good”, Namila said when she finished washing your hair.

“How did you hear this?” you asked, blushing.

“My friend Gina is seeing one of the guards and he told her”, she explained.

That reminded you of how different your lives were. To see someone was so normal for people of her class. As a princess, you had never had the chance to see someone. You had never kissed a boy and of course you were still a maiden. You had to be a maiden for your father to be able to marry you. Last time he had talked to you about wedding, he had told you he had promised you to the prince of one of the isles he had conquered. You didn’t know when and you just hoped it wasn’t going to be soon. The perspective of getting married scared you more than anything. And you knew you would never be able to marry for love, you were just a pawn in your father’s chest game.

“What do you think of the prince?” Namila asked.

For a moment you were confused. Had she heard your thoughts? You then remembered what you had been talking about a moment before.

“Thomas? He’s attractive, I guess”, you answered.

“Just attractive? He’s a prince, I’m sure he’s way more than attractive”, Namila said.

“I don’t know”, you laughed. “He’s a Northerner.”

“And? What does that change?” Namila asked.

Again you were faced with how different your lives were. For you, the Northerners were the enemies. Well, to your father’s eyes they were. To yours, they were just… Northerners.

“His people killed my brother.”

“My lady, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you of this”, Namila apologized.

“It’s fine, Namila, don’t worry.”

You got out of the bath and she gave you a towel to dry yourself. You walked back to your main room, Namila behind you. She helped you to get into your gown and then you sat in the chair in front of your tall mirror. She braided your hair in the Southerner’s way. Your hair were long and the fishtail braid was caressing the skin of your back. Because of course the dress was opened in the back, in the Southerner’s way.

“You’re ready, my lady”, Namila declared.

You stood up, admiring the view in the mirror. The gown was truly beautiful, definitely one of your favourites up to date.

“There’s going to have a lot of dancing tonight”, you told her. “I wonder if the Northerners will dance.”

“Dance with the prince!” Namila yelled excitedly.

“Perhaps I will”, you laughed. “If he’s like Harrison, he won’t be a good dancer though.”

Namila laughed. “I hope he’ll be better, you’d look good with a prince by your side.”

It was your turn to laugh. Yeah, perhaps I would but I don’t think my father would appreciate that.

You left Namila in your room, hugging her to thank her for everything. You walked to the feast room, the guard behind you and joined your place at your father’s right. Lord Blackfyre was sitting in front of you and the Northerner prince was sitting by his side. You blushed when the man looked at you, his eyes going down your frame, especially down your low V-neck. He refrained from saying anything but you saw in his eyes that he was devouring you.

Harrison was sitting beside you. You wondered how he made it to the high table and you understood when Tom and he started talking. They were friends. That made sense, since Harrison was a Northerner.

There was an orchestra on the balcony above your head and although the song they were playing was beautiful, the sound was loud and you barely heard a thing of the boy’s conversation. You looked around, noticing the rest of the Northerners were sitting in the back of the room. Where the low-born usually were. You hoped they didn’t take that as an offence. Maybe putting Harrison and Thomas at the high table was your father’s way to show the Northerners that he meant no offence.

Your father got up from his seat and the talking in the room slowly stopped. When everyone was in silence, your father started his speech.

“Today, I am welcoming at our table old enemies”, he began. “Maybe they once were enemies, but today they are our friends. They are our brothers, our fathers, our sisters and our mothers. Let this tourney be a proof we are united under the same banner, the banner of the Two Kingdoms.”

There was some shooting from some knights and your father silenced them with a move of his hand.

“Tomorrow at dawn, the bravest amongst you are going to joust. And the last one standing is going to be declared the winner of the first day. Tomorrow’s feast is going to be in his honour. The Bohort will take place the day after and the best archer will be celebrated. Last but not least, the melee will take place three days from now, and the winner will be declared the best knight in the two kingdoms.”

Your father paused as there was some cheering, both from the Northerners and your people.

“From water we came and to water we will all return one day”, your father continued. “May the feast begin!”

Your father sat down as a hoard of servants walked in with plates of food in their hands. Soon enough the clatter of utensils on plates were heard as people were starting to eat. Most of the feast consisted of sea food. Well, most of your alimentation consisted of sea food, since Azkapoor was on the coast of the Emerald Sea.

Throughout the meal, you noticed the Northerner prince didn’t eat that much. He probably wasn’t a fan of sea food. His face lit up when they brought what seemed like turkey to the high table. That he ate a lot of.

Harrison suddenly nudged you in the ribs.

“Hey, I can’t believe I made it to the high table tonight”, he said.

“Yeah, it’s amazing! And not only did you make it to the high table but you’re also sitting next to the princess. Usually, my father’s counsellors sit here.”

“Even though your father doesn’t like us Northerners, he knows how to please us”, Harrison stated.

It had been a while since he had said he was a Northerner. Somehow, this made your heart sink in your chest. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore now that his people were here.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, you lied.

He furrowed his brows. He knew you were lying but he shrugged it off, turning around to talk to his prince.

About the prince, he was wearing a typical Southerner attire. He was wearing a green tunic that somehow matched your gown. It was made of cotton, unlike your dress and it was glimmering underneath the light, letting you know a gold thread had been intricately sewn into it. The colour suited him well.

The prince looked at you. You felt embarrassed that he had caught you staring and you looked away, hoping your cheeks hadn’t turned too red.

Soon enough, the meal was over and the servants cleared a space in the middle of the room where people would be able to dance. You watched as some nobles started dancing and smiled. The ambiance in the room was great, it almost made you forget about the fact the Northerners were supposedly enemies.

“Do you want to dance?” Harrison asked.

You nodded your head quickly. You got up and he took you by the hand, bringing you to the dancefloor. The music was exhilarating and you danced with Harrison for a moment before changing partner with a nobleman you didn’t remember the name of.

You didn’t know this, but most of the men on the dancefloor were dying to dance with you. It was an honour for them to be able to say they danced with the princess. Unfortunately for them, you always went back to Harrison, even though the boy kept tripping on his feet. It made you laugh and that was what was important to you. To have fun. So you kept going on between Harrison and the nearer guys.

Once, you found yourself in front of a Northerner. A knight, you thought even though you had no way of knowing. You recognised him by his sober attire. The Southerner clothing were more colourful and this man was only covered in maroon. It was stylish though, but different from what you were used to.

Your eyes met your father’s eyes at the high table and disapproval was written all over his features. You looked away. He wasn’t going to stop you from having fun tonight.

You went back to Harrison and as the song came to an end, you found yourself in the arms of none other than the Northerner prince. You wished to switch back to Harrison as fast as possible, but the song that came next was a slower song. You weren’t supposed to switch partner in this dance, it was more of a slow waltz.

“Guess you’re stuck with me”, the prince said, a smile in his voice, as he noticed how you had tried to switch partners again.

“Uh, yeah, I guess”, you blushed.

“I’m glad you decided to wear the dress I chose for you”, he added.

You raised your head to look at him. “What did you say?”

“I sent your servant to you with this dress, what did she tell you?” he asked.

“She told me my father sent it, not you”, you answered, feeling betrayed by Namila. “Why would you want me to wear this gown?”

“Matching outfits”, he explained as he made you spin around before catching you back in his grip.

You were suddenly closer to him, one of his hands was on your hip, the other holding your hand, guiding you around the dancefloor and your heart stopped beating in your chest as your gaze got caught up in his.

“You’re even prettier up close”, he whispered.

“You look handsome too, my prince”, you replied, trying to remember your courtesy lessons you had had a couple of years ago.

Under his stare it was difficult to remember anything. He made you turn around so your back was facing him. He put one hand on your hips, the other still in yours and you looked over your shoulder to him. His face was centimeters away from yours and a soft smile was on his pink lips. You wondered how it would feel to kiss him right there in the middle of the dancefloor. After all, he was a prince. He could be the one you were going to marry. Not that stranger from across the sea.

You felt your father’s stare burning on you, but you couldn’t look away from the prince’s lips. He spun you around again and caught you so you were facing him now. Both of his hands were on your hips now, holding you close, pressing you to his body. You weren’t swaying to the music anymore, his lips were so close to yours…

That’s when you freaked out. Legit freaked out. You got out of his grasp, shoving him away a bit too roughly and you walked away from the Grand Hall where the feast had been held. You felt hot and you needed air.

You walked out in the fresh night air. You walked to the gardens, never stopping to see if someone was following you. There were guards at every entry to the gardens, you weren’t scared for your life.

You knew the gardens alleys by heart and you made your way toward the weeping willow tree that was on the side of the cliff leading to the Emerald Sea. You stood next to it, watching the waves hitting the rocks below you.

“Aren’t you afraid you are going to fall?” asked a voice behind you.

Of course he had followed you.

“I’d be afraid if I were you”, the prince said.

You turned around to see him standing there, a few meters behind you.

“Thomas…” was all you managed to get out.

“Ah, don’t call me Thomas, call me Tom”, he gently said. “I hate being called by my entire name, makes me feel like my mom is scolding me.”

He chuckled and the sound made your heart skip a beat.

“Why did you run away?” he suddenly asked. “Did I scare you?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not, Tom, I just needed some air. It was pretty hot in the Hall.”

“Was it?” he asked a smirk on your lips.

You didn’t understand why, but the way he was looking at you at the moment stopped you from thinking straight. All you could think of was his hands on your hips.

“Yeah, it was”, you replied. “We should head back in before my father sends his men to kill you.”

“Why don’t we stay out a little more?” he said. “We still hear the music from here, we could dance. And your father wouldn’t see us.”

“Tom, we can’t”, you refused. “You’re a Northerner, I’m a Southerner. My father is going to get you killed if you touch me.”

“Then I’d die a happy man”, he frankly said.

You blushed as he took a step toward you.

“Why me?” you asked. “You could have anyone in that room without risking your life, why me?”

He smiled. “Because you are the prettiest of them all, my lady.”

His voice was velvety, it felt as if it was coated in sugar. But it was the best thing ever. Nobody had ever dared talk to you like this, you had always been unapproachable because of your title. But here he was, talking to you like an equal, like if you weren’t a princess, like if you were just another girl. Or perhaps he was talking to you like you were a princess, but he was considering you as an equal. Which would make sense since he was a prince.

You stopped your train of thoughts as he took another step towards you.

“Can I have another dance with you, my lady?” he asked softly.

The realization that he considered you as an equal was enough to help you take a decision.

“Yes”, you accepted, holding out your hand for him to take.

He took it gently and pulled you away from the cliff. You started to sway together, to the distant sound of the music in the hall, interrupted sometimes by the cry of a cricket or by the waves hitting the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

The air smelled sweet, all the flowers in the gardens being the source of the smell, and a gentle breeze was caressing you both. The moon was the only light, but it was full and its glow was strong enough to cast your shadows on the ground. And in the sky laid a million stars, shining endlessly.

It was weird. How you barely knew Tom and you were there, in his arms, swaying to a melody perhaps only your hearts were hearing. You had never believed in soul mates. You had never believed in love. The only thing that you believed in is that you all came from water and to water you all returned someday. It was a Southerner saying that came from a legend… but we shall explain that another time, shall we?

“It’s beautiful”, Tom said.

“What?” you asked in a whisper.

“Everything”, he replied. “The starts, the moon, the willow.” He paused for a moment, his gaze going to your face. “You.”

His mouth was only a couple of centimeters away from yours and maybe the gods pushed you a little forward, maybe Aphrodite whispered to you, giving you her courage and boldness, but you closed the gap between your mouths.

You had never kissed a boy and here you were kissing the first prince you had encountered in your life. Tom stiffened for a moment, before melting into your touch. He kissed you back ever so gently, his lips soft against yours. It was like coming home after a long time away. It was like being born again, it was like the singing of birds in the morning, it was like the breeze during a hot summer afternoon, like the rain after a long drought.

For the first time in your life, you felt right where you belonged. And you could tell by the way he was kissing you back that the feeling was reciprocated.

When you pulled apart, after what seemed like a sweet eternity, you opened your eyes to meet Tom’s gaze.

“What was that for?” he asked, his smile spreading into a soft smile.

“I don’t know”, you answered.

He laughed gently before kissing you again. You let your hands wander up his chest, one finally finding its place on the back of his neck, the other resting flat on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat underneath it. It beat rapidly, much like yours did.

“Princess, Tom, I don’t want to step on your moment, but the king is looking for you everywhere”, a voice said.

You felt extremely embarrassed for a moment and you got out of Tom’s embrace. It was Harrison.

“Of course he is”, you mumbled.

“Is it really a good idea for me to walk back in there?” Tom asked, a small laugh falling from his lips. “I don’t want to die today.”

Harrison laughed too, but you didn’t feel like laughing. What was your father going to say?

You walked back to the hall, Harrison and Tom behind you. Your father seemed to be fuming. You enjoyed the view for a moment before he saw you. If looks could have killed, you would have died instantly.

You walked to the high table. Harrison followed you, but Tom instead walked to the Northerners’ table. You eventually sat back in your place beside your father and he just looked at you for a moment, disapproval in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he enquired in an icy tone.

“I needed some fresh air”, you answered.

“I don’t want to see you around that Northerner again, is that clear?”

“My King, father, aren’t we supposed to treat the Northerners as friends tonight?” you challenged him.

Your father seemed impressed by your reply. You had never ever questioned his orders before and instead of infuriating him more, he found himself proud of you. He would never admit that to you, but he was impressed. Finally, you were standing up to him. Finally, you showed some qualities he wanted in the heir to his throne.

“That didn’t mean you could run out in the night with him”, he declared. “You are promised to the prince of the Golden Islands, remember that next time you feel like running out in the night with a barbarian.”

That’s it? Your father wasn’t going to punish you? You were genuinely surprised and you turned to look at Harrison, who had the same look plastered on his face. You turned back to your father. Had he gone crazy? He ignored your gaze and you figured it was your cue to leave.

“May I return to my chambers?” you asked.

“Go”, your father simply answered.

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You quickly got up and walked out of the Grand Hall. You noticed Tom wasn’t there anymore either and you wondered where he had gone.

As you made your way to your chambers, you couldn’t help but to remember the feeling of Tom’s hands on your hips and the feeling of his lips on yours. Namila won’t believe me.

Chapter two here!!

Taglist : (message me if you want to be on or off the taglist for this)

@the-quackson-claxon, @theblxefox, @iron-spiderr, @starksparker, @thewiseandfree, @h-osterfield, @peachesholland, @peachyhollands, @tomhllvnds, @tomnhaznsamnharry, @indiancollegegirl, @tbhollandd, @spiderlingss, @spidey-loving-starkid, @one-curly-spider-boi, @spider-mendes, @lilyholland, @savethebabyseals

#daughter of the sea #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tomaholic #thomas holland #thomas stanley holland #fanfic #fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #harrison osterfield #sam holland #harry holland

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darveyfics · 7 years

Note

GIVE ME ALL THE ANGST. THE ANGSTY MOST PAINFUL DARVEY ONESHOT YOU CAN. MAKE ME SOB. HAPPY ENDING NO HAPPY ENDING UP TO YOU. A N G S T. ANGST. angst.

It was finados last week which is what we call our day of the dead, I was melancholic so I wrote some separation angst but I don’t know if it reaches your desired levels of sad

plus, unrelated, but I advise all of you to listen to Sam Smith’s new album and like, suffer (Say It First is the new Darvey song)

Gap

It’s been a year but she picks up when he calls; because of the day,because she knows he needs her to.

“Hey.”

They let the static of poor reception fill the void of unspoken goodbyesfor minutes because there hasn’t been a word uttered between them in threehundred and fifty days. Neither are sure of the right thing to say when thelast things said were so tangled in barbed wire; instead, they breathe andneglect until she, like always, can’t stand his indecision.

“I wondered if you’d call,” Her voice is hoarse by lack of sleep andalcohol, and too sad, more than she’d meant to let on.

“You knew I would,” He counters, tired but clear.

Donna hadn’t anticipated being the one, much less the only one, buzzedfor this conversation, but it’s something like one in the morning and his voiceis re-breaking pieces of her and it’s so much easier to stand it with scotch.

“I did,” She whispers “But I wasn’t as sure after eleven.”

He silences on the edge of confession. She can sense the weight of itjust by knowing him, counts his breaths until the scale shifts whichever way.

“I was afraid of finding out you wouldn’t pick up,” He reveals, “Andyou’re slurring,” he adds a beat later to shield from too much truth.

Another day a year ago, maybe, she would have cared to second-guess andconfront, but now it’s all dull. If nothing sparks hope, there’s no point ingranting his words value.

“Dewar’s” She explains, “A quarter bottle.”

“Too sweet,’ Harvey complains, unfailingly.

She images his grimace, though time apart has wiped off clarity in thedetails, and snorts something like a laugh “You’re the only one who likesbitter things.”

Because of the scotch, she delays interpretation until his silencestretches to demand it, “Oh,” she startles, memory snapping back to one of theirlast fights You’ll die alone and bitterthinking everyone abandoned you when you’re the one who pushed them away “Ididn’t mean it that way,” she murmurs regretfully into the line.

He sighs, waits, backing away from the edge, “I know,” It hurts him morebecause he’s the one who stayed, even if it was all mostly his fault, “But…” but I still think you’ll be there when I getin after I have nightmares about the things we said, “But I wasunprepared.”

She nods, clears her throat “Did you visit her?”

That’s why he called after all, the anniversary of Lily’s death, or itwas until two hours ago.

“I tried.”

“And?”

“And then I took the train,” he tells her, and maybe she imagines theshame in his voice but it still catches her.

“It’s only been a year,” She softens, “I didn’t think you’d make itthere, but at least you wanted to.”

“I thought I’d forgiven her,” he whispers, “I thought we had workedthrough things.”

“You hadn’t had enough time together yet.”

“Because I wasted it,” he sounds defeated.

It chips away at her, how much she wants to comfort him, but they’re toofar apart in a million and a half ways and it would hurt too much to stretchthe distance, they’d rip before they made it.

“You were hurting,” Donna offers.

“I was being stubborn,” He argues and she smiles about the suddenaccuracy of his self-awareness, “Don’t feel too vindicated,” Harvey tells heron a hunch, “I’m still awesome.”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure.”

The banter heals and aches, its unfamiliarity paralyzes them. It’s notthe same to joke around on a battlefield surrounded by the smoking remains ofwhat they had, but it’s better than the full-fledged chaos of war. Better thancold stares, slaps and leaving without saying goodbye.

It’s also suddenly overwhelming the more they don’t speak.

“And how was it with your dad?” She blurts out to relieve the emotion ofit, to stop her eyes from welling up and spilling how much time she spentmissing him instead of moving on.

“I-” He starts confusedly, coming off the daze of their truce, “I talkedto him, like always, but,” He laughs, short and surprising but genuine “Iforgot the Macallan.”

She laughs too and remembering lets some tears slip past her guard“He’ll hold that against you.”

“I know,” He says, “But it wasn’t his day.”

“He never liked it when you showed up without at least a beer.”

“He’d probably prefer that. Sometimes I think he only drank scotch forme,” He jokes.

She bites her lip, recalling one of her conversations with Gordon“Actually…” she starts and stops, withholding suspense.

“What?” He demands, but it’s good-natured.

“He told me he thought scotch was for entitled suits withoutimagination; the more expensive the worse,” She reveals cheekily.

“No he didn’t,” Harvey whines.

She smiles, a few more drops rolling down her cheek with the relief oftalking without hating him “He did,” She confirms smugly then pauses, weightingon the mercy of explaining the full story. It seems to her like he deserves it,so she softens for the truth “He also said he loved you too much to not sharethe things you like.”

Takes a while for him to answer and she knows he’s smiling with theclear memory of Gordon’s voice “Cheesy,” He mocks.

“That’s your dad,” She says affectionately.

Harvey sighs, “He would be disappointed that I didn’t have the guts togo see her.”

Donna nods, disagreeing even though he can’t tell “He would never bedisappointed in you.”

“He would,” He declares, firmly and within the second, catching himself afterand hesitating until he collects the courage to out what’s on his mind, “Justmaybe not about this.”

Her veins chill with the imminence of what’s implied. It hovers heavilybetween them like charged storm clouds, begging to rain down their feelings andthunder their truths - a natural disaster, horrifying and inevitable.

“He would hate me for half the things I said to you,” He confesses, “Ido.”

And God, how it hurts; she doesn’t want to hear any of it “Please,don’t,” She whispers weakly, closing a fist until her nails dig into the palm.

“Donna,” He calls, it’s her name and it’s a prayer but she feels so muchless than divine.

She realizes he’s about to plead for forgiveness. It would be patheticif she didn’t want to concede immediately, “I didn’t pick up for this,” Somehowshe manages to sound cold instead of crumbling, another lie on top of everythingelse.

“Just let me-”

“No,” She cuts off, “We’ve hurt each other enough.”

“I won’t,” He promises desperately.

She might trust his word if she thought he knew what they meant.

“This isn’t where we patch things up,” She asserts, about to start chokingon sobs but too driven not to speak, “We kissed, we fought, then Lily died and noneof it mattered,” Her tears start falling in clusters, she breathes erraticallywith equal parts anger and sadness, “I was willing to forget, I would havestayed, Harvey, but you kissed me,” The absurdity heats and boils onher chest, the things he did with no intention of facing consequences, “And wecouldn’t even look at each other!”

“Donna-” He’s crying too and trying to hide it, she hears it in hisvoice; it shreds her to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” She says, forcing herself to simmer down.

It’s so frustrating the way they always do this, hurt each other whenthey know they only hurt together.

There are a lot of seconds where neither of them speak and she imaginesseveral outcomes, none of them good, until, finally, he clears his throat andshe’s sure he is about to break them forever, “The Yankees lost today, well, yesterday,” He says instead, almosthalfway stable.

She blinks, once, twice; stares at nothing trying to understand “What?”

“I’m just saying it was an all-around shitty day,” Harvey soundsuncertain but somehow still determined, “It was a close call, I don’t know ifthat makes it better or worse.”

“What are you talking about?” She asks, frowning.

“I’m not talking about it,” Heanswers pointedly, “And they lost to the Red Sox, that’s twice as bad.”

He is giving up absolution to keep her on the line.

“Harvey…” She whispers.

“Just don’t hang up;” He begs, lost and drowning, “A year is a reallylong time.”

And it is. His despair wakes hers and suddenly Donna wants to tell himeverything; every joke, event, new friend and client, all the things about herlife he missed because they were too proud and wounded to reach out. She evenwants to say how much she missed the most detailed and insignificant aspects ofhaving him around, but it’s too much, it crumbles under its own weight. Insteadshe corrects him “Hasn’t been a year yet.”

He snorts a humorless laugh, “It was too long after a day.”

Maybe this means she’s feeble but… it melts everything; the time apart,the months leading up to it, the fights, the sharp words. She’s trying to holdon to his mistakes, to remember the reasons why she left, but they slip andfall and shatter and she doesn’t reach to save them.

“It was too long after a day,” She echoes, tears resuming, “I…” Shedrifts, afraid of being the one to put her heart on the line first yet again.

He spares her the decision, “I missed you too.”

They start to mend.

#darvey #suits usa #donna x harvey #darvey fic #suitsedit #author: maria #rated k #angst #dewar's is a honey scotch #i had to research this #the first part is better cause i wrote it on inspiration and i was truly melancholic #it just got cheesy and less structured towards the end but i wanted it over with

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nerdylittleshit · 6 years

Text

I have seen the Star Wars

And I liked it a lot. More under the cut because

SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!

I have managed to see this movie without knowing anything about it before (besides seeing the trailer), also thanks to tumblr new feature to blacklist content. I don’t remember the last time I saw a movie without knowing anything about it before, because especially with big movies like Star Wars or Marvel movies it gets really hard these days to avoid spoilers if you don’t want to avoid the internet all together. I have seen some (spoiler-free) first postive reviews, so I was a bit surprised to see wank/negative reviews on tumblr.

I admit that when it comes to Star Wars I am a casual fan. I have seen the movies, and as the guys I went to the cinema last night confirmed I do know what I’m talking about (also hopefully I found some new cinema buddies). I care about the characters and the story, but I am probably not as emotional invested as others. I like the idea of some ships, but very casual, and my entertainment of these movies is not influenced by any ships. That is not to say that I don’t get why some people might be upset about certain aspects about the movie. Everyone who follows this blog knows I ship Dean and Cas, and while there are many other aspects why I watch this show, I am emotional invested in this ship. So yeah, I get it.

Overall I liked this movie a lot. I need to see it a second (and third) time but for now I would say I liked it better than The Force Awakens. Which was a great movie, but as many noticed it kinda used Episode IV as a blueprint. Ironically I feel that many people back then critized this, who now critize that The Last Jedi no longer feels like Star Wars. I disagree. I felt that there where many parallels and references to the old movies, but at the same time they tried to do something new, to subvert some tropes and the audience’s expectations. Big movies, especially the Original trilogy, work a lot with tropes, so they took some risk here with breaking what the audience expected to see. I think in parts they already did this with Rogue One, which tone was different (read darker) than what you would expect from a Star Wars movie. Then again it was a stand alone movie, which allowed them to try out new things. Again I get why to some people feel like this isn’t Star Wars anymore, but I personally liked the new direction they are going.

Visually it was a great movie. There were a lot of iconic scenes/shots, and Rian Johnson certainly likes the colour red. The scenes that (visually) stand out for me were the fight between Rey and Ben vs the Red Guard and the whole big fight at the end on Crait. They do kow how to work with colours. But unlike other directors Johnson didn’t forget to focus on his characters first and foremost. They were a lot of great character moments, a lot of insight, though of course with the sheer amount of characters they couldn’t give every character the same focus.

I feel like the movie had some lengths in the second part. But then this is a general problem these days that I feel that every movie has to be at least 150 minutes long, where I think 120 minutes would have been enough (and does anyone remember 90 minutes long movies?). The other thing is that of course The Last Jedi is the second part of a trilogy, so naturally it feels like it is missing a proper end. The Force Awakens was the set up, and while The Last Jedi continues the story, it can not end it. We do get some answers but at the same time a lot of new questions.

I also feel like this was the darkest Star Wars movie yet (excluding Rogue One). There was a huge body count and the constant reminder that we are in the middle of a war. Yes, the Original Trilogy also took place during a rebellion, but they never showed the casualties so openly. Furthermore The Last Jedi repeatedly shows us our heroes failing their missions. We expect them to win, because they always do, but they don’t. People die and there is nothing to be gained expect heartbreak and grief. At the end of the movie the rebellion is at its lowest point, but yet they remain hopefull. They fight and they fail, but they never lose their hope.

Some other things:

- I liked that they gave Poe a bigger role this movie, though I hope that we do get to see more about his backstory in the last movie. I know that there are comics and books who explore his background more, but I would love to see some aspects of this in the movies. I want to know more about his relationship with Leia. I don’t think Poe was portrayed as making the wrong choices, and neither was Holdo (or Leia). They were trapped in a situation where they were no longer right or wrong choices. I think they made a good point to show us both Poe’s and Holdo’s thought process and to question each of their decisions. I’m glad Poe finally met Rey. I hope they become BFF. Oscar Isaac looked very good and I’m pretty sure some shots were only designed to remind us of this fact.

- Luke. Oh Luke. I admit that I had some trouble believing that he wanted to kill Ben. This is the same guy who convinced his father to give up the dark side, not through fighting, but through love and hope. I do believe that he had some doubts and that his exile was a punishment for the damage he had caused to Ben. Would he have killed Ben? No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it is completely out of character for him to be afraid of Ben going dark side. But I get why this scene caused so much debatte.

I could already tell that something was off about him when he appeared on Crait because the beard was wrong. I think narratively that his death made sense and the callback to the iconic two suns scene was beautiful. He died in peace, being one with the force. And seeing as this was the second death of one member of the original trio this continues the theme of letting go of the past.

- Speaking off. Luke burned down the last remains of the Jedi religion. Ben told Rey to let go of the past. The message here is clear. Star Wars is heading into a new direction. One that has its roots in the past, but who is trying out new ways and tries to form their own identity. I wouldn’t be surprised if the third movie marks the end of both the Jedi and the Sith/The First Order. The force, as Luke tells us, doesn’t belong to the Jedi. It is neither good or bad, the same as the force users are neither good or bad. The Force is all about balance. We know from the past that the Jedi haven’t been perfect either. Seeing as they already plan a new trilogy after this one ends, that will not feature any Skywalkers, we might also see an universe without Jedi and Sith.

- Reylo. I admit that this is a ship I couldn’t get behind after The Force Awakens, as I couldn’t see Rey falling for a guy who had just killed his own father. I’m still not sure about this ship or Ben’s character in general (I call him Ben, because that is a better name then Kylo, and Rey did so as well, so). I’m not sure if I want a redemption arc for him or how it could work. I know Vader got one, but it ended in his death. I am also not sure if their relationship is romantic. They are connected through the Force and the only other two characters we saw being connected like this were Luke and Leia. So, romantic false lead only to be revealed to be siblings/cousins/relatives? And yes I know that Ben told Rey about her parents, but I am not sure if this was the truth. On the one hand it would be cool to have a character like Rey, who doesn’t come from a powerful family, to be such a powerful Force user. But Ben’s line, that she is nobody except to him, I didn’t see it as romantic. If anything it was manipulative to tell her that nobody cared about her except for him. I think their relationship/dynamic is interesting and it certainly added more to Ben’s character. Still don’t ship it though.

- Force user Leia!!!!! I saw some people surprised by this, confirming to me that some people simply forget that Leia is a force user as well, even though she isn’t a Jedi. I obviously wish we would have seen more of her as this was Carrie Fisher’s last movies. Loved her interactions with Poe and that she had the chance to say goodbye to her brother.

- I loved Rose. I know some people complained about the lack of diversity but I honestly don’t see it like that. We had plenty POC and women, and even more women in leading positions, at least in the rebellion. Still missing a queer character though. But yeah, Rose. Lots of love. And I liked that their mission Cantonica put some focus on the complexities of the ongoing war. Showing us the people who became rich because they sold weapons (to both sides) and how the poor suffered. I have no feelings towards Rose/Finn. I think they were cute together but it is also not set in stone that they do become a thing. (Though I think it is still more likely we get Finn/Rey than Finn/Poe, because I don’t trust big movies with queer ships)

- Maze/ Captain Phasma. I feel like they wanted to include those two characters but then they didn’t know what to do with them. Especially Captain Phasma. In a way I’m glad they killed her off because they wasted the potential of this character completely.

I think this is all. May the force be with you.

#star wars #star wars spoilers #the last jedi #meta #movie review

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thetoxicstrawberry · 7 years

Text

@madakaka

Summary: An alternate universe in which Madara survives the war and spends his days flirting with irritating the Hokage.

The Price of Atonement

Ch. 1: Limbo

Ch. 2: The Losing End

Ch. 3: Minor Adjustments

Kakashi heard Madara’s voice before he saw him. He was half-way across the store, where he leisurely perused the pet aisle, when the rumbling sound of vexation caused his shoulders to instantly tighten. He was sure they heard the damnable man all the way back in the meat department.

He thought for a moment about leaving his shopping cart and sneaking out the door, but instead ducked behind a neatly stacked display of boxed pastries and watched the man haggle with the cashier.

“22 ryō? For eggs? I’ll only give you 14 and I know they aren’t even worth that much,” Madara snapped.

From where he stood, Kakashi could see that the cashier was shaken. All the other customers had vacated her line, probably to wait for the crazy Uchiha to complete his purchase and leave.

“I’m…I’m sorry sir. I can’t…”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Madara said and pointed at the young woman. “16 ryō, but you won’t get a penny more from me.”

Kakashi knew he should stop this. He was the Hokage after all, and Madara, with all his eccentricities, was his responsibility. A responsibility that was supposed to be at least partially delegated out.

Where was Sasuke anyway?

Kakashi sighed and cursed inwardly for ever letting them both out of prison to being with, before he slid up from behind and threw a couple of coins on the counter.

“What do you think you are doing?” Madara turned toward him, his gaze sharp and intense.

“Ah, Madara, I didn’t realize it was you,” Kakashi said evenly. “It’s usually old women that get this worked up over prices.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“I mean,” Kakashi continued. “You do look the same from behind.”

“Don’t you have some place to be, Hokage,” Madara spat the last word.

Kakashi turned to the cashier and flashed her a quick eye smile. “My apologies for my friend here…”

“We’re not friends.”

“He spent a lot of time in hell, so his people skills are lacking.”

The cashier quickly gathered the money and processed the transaction. Kakashi took the bag containing Madara’s purchases and began to lead him out of the store as he blustered.

“Are you following me now? Is the brat not enough company for me? I’ll have you know that woman is a thief,” Madara grumbled. “But I’m sure you don’t care about those things. Stealing bloodline limits that don’t belong to you.”

Kakashi’s steps paused only for a moment, a soft laugh rumbled in his chest.

“I’m not the only one that likes to steal eyes, remember?” He pointed to the left side of his face. He watched as Madara’s own eyes traced the curve of the scar that bisected his brow and trailed under his mask. “If I remember correctly, you yanked mine right out of the socket.”

“It didn’t belong to you,” Madara said and lifted his chin defiantly.

“It didn’t belong to you either.”

Madara’s face twitched.

“What kind of person snatches another man’s eye right in the middle of battle?” Kakashi asked.

“A winner, that’s who.”

“But Dara-chan,” Kakashi said and lifted one eyebrow. “You didn’t win.”

A deep growl escaped Madara’s lips, but he didn’t reply. His footsteps took on a heavier sound, as they walked side by side. They continued in silence for about a block before Kakashi brushed a glance in the other man’s direction. Madara’s expression remained blank, as he stubbornly looked ahead to ignore the gaze of his companion.

Kakashi wondered if he had taken it too far. He liked to poke at Madara. Bantering with him had become an interesting game and often broke the monotony of his day. He loathed to admit that he was beginning to look forward to their encounters. Kakashi wasn’t built for desk duty and being around Madara allowed for him to drop the formality to engage in verbal duels of wit.

Kakashi also simply liked irritating him, but not in a malicious way. He knew just the right buttons to push and enjoyed watching the man prickle like a flustered kitten.

Madara had been all mouth when he’d first arrived back in Konoha and he gave the prison guards such a tongue lashing that they had to be rotated out. Sasuke had pleaded to either be moved or executed, anything to get away from his contemptuous predecessor. But when the weeks turned to months and suddenly Madara was alone, the talking stopped. Then the eating.

Every few weeks, Sakura would come down to check on him and monitor his condition, even though the obstinate man kept refusing any sort of medical treatment for his ailments, and it was then that she noticed something was amiss.

“I know what he’s done,” she had told Kakashi. “But if we leave him the way he is…”

“He’s going to die,” Kakashi finished her sentence.

“Yes.”

The truth was, Madara deserved to die and some dark part of Kakashi had burned with the desire to let him. There was no way for him to make reparations for what he had done. Not for the war or the heavy death toll that came with it. And not for Obito.

Obito. His name still pulled at Kakashi’s insides. It was Madara who had tainted his friend’s mind and manipulated him to carry out his wicked dream.

But what if it had been Obito that had lived and not Madara, Kakashi wondered? If it were Obito confined to life imprisonment, left to wither away from guilt and self-hatred? Kakashi knew he would want him to have a chance at atonement, a way back into the light. He knew it was his own bias that kept him from helping the reckless Founder and that ate at him.

It was then that Kakashi decided that he was going to release him. Against the wishes of the elders, his advisors, and even his friends. The only one that stood by his decision was Naruto, who was all bright-eyed enthusiasm at the prospect of Madara rejoining society.

The bag of groceries rustled as Kakashi shifted it into his other arm. They had arrived at Madara’s house. A little yellow one story, with dark navy shutters, and a low metal fence that squared off the edges of the property.

Kakashi followed him through the gate and up the walk. When they stopped at the front door, the Hokage finally broke the silence, “Madara, I…”

“Do you really think we’re friends?” Madara interrupted, his focus down on the key ring as he fumbled with it. The tone in his voice sounded inquisitive and lacked his usual challenge.

Kakashi blinked at him, slightly stunned.

“Never mind,” Madara snapped and jiggled his keys harshly as he pushed them into the lock. “I just don’t want you misinterpreting my actions. Thinking you mean more to me than you do. That’s all.”

“Don’t worry,” Kakashi’s face relaxed and he gave the other man a quick pat on the back. “I never forget that you’d kill me if given half a chance.”

Madara pushed the door open with a grumble and the Rokudaime followed him inside. Kakashi hadn’t been to Madara’s house since he’d picked it out for him. It had been empty then and he had delegated the task of furnishing it to Shizune.

The floor plan was open, making the main living space feel wide and airy. From where he stood, Kakashi could see her touches in the decorating. The matching gray couch and loveseat, a rustic looking credenza, and impressionistic paintings of scenic landscapes. It was charming.

On top of Shizune’s work was a randomness that could only be Madara’s additions. Cheap bargain store knickknacks, a stack of old newspapers, and candles. So many candles. The scents varied and bore in with such intensity that Kakashi’s eyes watered and he cursed his acute sense of smell.

He set the bag on a cluttered kitchen table. Madara came up alongside him and started putting away his purchases.

“Madara,” Kakashi asked, looking around his kitchen. “Where are all your appliances?”

“Hmm, oh, you mean those metal monstrosities? I burned them in the backyard,” Madara said it with a degree of nonchalance that Kakashi was left bewildered.

“You burned them?”

“Yes.”

“In your backyard?”

“Of course,” Madara said. “Where else would I have burned them?”

Kakashi moved to the back door, his jaw still slack in shock, and peered out. Sure enough, the burned-out husks of his appliances were pushed to the far side of his yard.

He turned on him, hands in the air. “Those where brand new! Why would you burn them?”

Madara shrugged and said, “I had no use for any of it and there was no other way of disposing of them.”

“You could have told me to remove them. You didn’t have to destroy them.”

“I kept the cooling one. I like that one,” Madara said and gestured towards the refrigerator. “I don’t know why it ruffles your feathers so bad. We didn’t have dishwashers in my day. It was simply taking up space.”

“But you didn’t put anything in its place,” Kakashi said and motioned to the empty hole. “Do you have any idea how expensive that dishwasher was? The taxpaying citizens of Konoha paid for it too and you burned it.”

“If you want them back, you can take it. It’s crowding up my backyard anyway,” Madara said as he placed a jar of peanut butter into the cabinet and shut it.

He was smiling---an evil playful grin, Kakashi noted, and realized that Madara was savoring the opportunity to finally find something that upset him. He rubbed at his face and tried hard to get his composure under control. He took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, but found the tension wouldn’t give and they only tightened back up again.

The village finances had taken a major hit after everything was destroyed during the Pein attack. Coupled with the dwindling missions—an unpleasant side effect of the new era of peace—there wasn’t any room to throw money away. Kakashi hoped the accounting office never found out about Madara’s little bonfire.

“Quick question,” Kakashi said, raising his head. “If you can’t mold chakra, how did you burn them?”

“Yes, that was quite the chore. I didn’t consider that until after I had drug them outside,” Madara said, tilting his head. “My current condition is one I’m still growing accustomed to. Once I had them out of the house, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to summon fire to destroy them, so I walked down to the corner market—it’s less than a mile from here-- and bought some accelerant.”

Kakashi could visualize it all in his head. Madara, hauling his large appliances out the backdoor, without the added benefit of chakra aided strength, only to realize that, in order to complete his mission, he would need to go about it the old-fashioned way. He was probably sweating, panting, and irritable by the time he made it to the market.

“I was looking for kerosene or something similar, but was told they were out. I am under the suspicion that the storekeeper was, instead, reluctant to sell me something that could be used for destructive means. So, I bought hairspray instead.”

“Hairspray?”

Madara nodded and pointed to the stack of newspapers, “I drenched the papers in the hairspray and put them inside every nook and cranny I could, before setting it ablaze with a match. I singed all the hairs off my arm.”

Well, no one can ever call him a quitter.

“Madara, what am I going to do with you? We need to channel that energy of yours into something productive,” Kakashi sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want you lighting anymore fires. You don’t have the ability to extinguish it if it were to get out of control.”

“You afraid I’ll burn my house down and you’ll be forced to buy me a new one?” Madara teased.

“No,” Kakashi said. “I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself or someone else.”

Madara rolled his eyes. “There you go again, making it sound like we’re friends. I thought we already clarified that issue.”

“You don’t have to like me, but as the Hokage, it is my job to take care of the village and everyone who lives here. And as much as you hate it, that includes you.”

Madara stared at him for a moment and something flickered briefly in his eyes, but it was gone so quick that Kakashi barely saw it.

Vulnerability.

“Hmph,” Madara’s face twisted into a snarl and he glared back at him. “We’re done. I have things to do. I would appreciate if you left me to it.”

“Alright,” Kakashi sighed. “But no more fires. I should have a job for you in a few days. I’ll send for you then.”

“Delightful.”

Madara followed him to the door and shut it hard behind him. He then quietly moved to the window and watched through a part in the curtains as Kakashi walked back the way they had come.

“Imbecile,” he growled to himself.

He then turned and padded back to the kitchen, only to find Sasuke standing in front the fridge, door open, with a carton of orange juice pressed to his lips.

Madara scowled and clenched his fist. “You might as well finish that or take it with you, because I won’t be drinking any after your dirty mouth has been on it.”

Sasuke closed the top and gently placed it back in the fridge.

“I can’t wait to see what he has you doing after you pissed him off like that,” he said and turned to face the older man.

“He’s fine,” Madara said, as he removed the carton from the fridge and dramatically threw it in the garbage. “It takes more than that to get him angry.”

“Good thing too,” Sasuke continued. “For a second there, I thought I was going to have to leave. Give you two some distance.”

“What do you mean?” Madara frowned. The look on the younger man’s face was smug, which only infuriated him more. “You can’t think that idiot would fight me for destroying a few machines.”

“Fight you? No,” Sasuke chuckled, as he pulled a chair out and took a seat.

“Whatever. Just get out of my house. I’ve already told you, I don’t like you in here.”

“You know,” said Sasuke, “I would have taught you how to use your oven and dishwasher. All you had to do was ask. Then you wouldn’t have had to destroy them.”

“That…” Madara bristled and his face flushed. “That is not why I got rid of them.”

“I can see you still have your washer and dryer. Too much trouble to burn them all in one day? They aren’t hard to work. If you don’t want me to teach you, I’m sure Kakashi would show you.”

That was it. Madara had had enough. He grabbed the back of the chair Sasuke was sitting in and begun to drag it across the kitchen.

“Madara, what are you doing?” Sasuke asked, but didn’t bother to get out of his seat.

With more effort than he would admit, Madara managed to pull Sasuke and the chair out of the house and onto the back porch.

“I told you to leave,” he said, calmer than would be expected. “Now go, before I decide to set you on fire along with the other contraptions.”

He then turned and stomped back into the house. Sasuke was still laughing when he slammed the door.

#kakashi #madara #madakaka #naruto #fanfiction #my writings

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gurguliare · 7 years

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damn you got me. listen I want to see YOU write cass/audy. and maybe something about the aria-ibex comparison I was so into that... um addax content... I don't know what addax content I want but maybe if you write something I'll figure it out

sjlgkjsdgl GHOUL I WROTE LIKE, 16k of aria/ibex comparisons, I could do more but I. actually I’m not sure I could do more. if I could do more I would probably have finished that last chapter.

anyway, addax pov on cass/audy:

Surviving propaganda footage of Cassander Timaeus Berenice, then-heir apparent to an empire, had a distinctly chintzy human interest angle; on one cached page you could watch Berenice stumble out of an operating theater, clap one gloved hand over the reporter’s phone, let go of the (now blood-spattered) crystal screen/lens, and removed the gloves, slowly. The 12-second video had no sound and looped. It showcased Berenice’s housewifeish good looks (the unruly curls and faint blur of stubble reminded some commentators of the lead on Little Observation Outpost on the Tundra, who steadfastly guarded her dead spouse’s research with the aid of cloned, psychic dogs) and total lack of people skills. They didn’t even have the grace to throw a fit; probably the video was silent to spare the audience a level apology.

Sokrates used to surf for news aboard Peace because Peace was the only ship in the fleet that got signal in darkspace. They seemed not to resent the fanfare for their little sibling, who, at 28, must have been even less prepared than Sokrates to be honored, later exiled.

Now the ex-heir’s ex-heir had made good. Berenice, graying and scaled-over in medals, sat with ankles crossed on Maxine’s faded loveseat, grinning pretty shamelessly at what Maxine had said. Next to them, the Divine Discovery’s dinged-up chassis used one finger to stir tea.

“No toxins detected.” They handed the cup to Berenice, and kept the saucer.

“Oh. Thanks, AuDy.”

A pause, in which Berenice and Maxine smiled at each other more and Berenice visibly assembled another conversational sally. Discovery said, “Are you going to drink?”

Would it be rude, Addax wondered, to go and stand by the bay window, in case any snipers were waiting for a clear shot.

But he was interested in Discovery. Discovery was why he had accepted Maxine’s invitation. Agent Trig could act as occasional go-between for the Rapid Evening and the Demarchy, but Agent Trig, quizzed about L&D, said vaguely that AuDy was a good dude and, well, treason talk was just that, you know? Treason. Wait, no, he meant the other thing. Talk. It was just talk.

“Sure, I know,” Addax said at the time.

He was beyond caring how quickly the Demarchy shed its pretensions: Sokrates’ original coup hadn’t so much decentralized as loosened the government’s belt—after a big meal, snapping up Diasporan outliers. Sokrates might care, of course, but it would be a long time before they worked up the outrage to blame their baby sibling. Anyway, it might be nice for Apostolos to eat itself before Rigor could get to it. The ideal timing, in his mind, would be for civil war to break out right after their doom was assured, so that he wouldn’t have to feel too bad for House Pelagios.

Maxine offered Berenice a tour of the gardens. Since it was drizzling, Discovery consented to stay indoors. Protective of Berenice, it nevertheless seemed more protective of itself—or Discovery was protective of “AuDy,” or “AuDy” was protective of its one remaining occupant. Robot junk, Jamil had said, throwing a dramatic arm over her eyes when Addax tried, without understanding it well, to explain it to her. Please, not robot junk. I thought that was what we were up against.

Were—were. He couldn’t tell, even when alone, with a sick pit in the center of his calm, whether Rigor had revealed the truth—the true thing he was fighting, all along—or taken it from him forever. Whether, because of Rigor, a curtain hung over his senses. He didn’t mind being in a house with Berenice. During the days of the old war, sitting by Sokrates at the war table, he had sometimes felt a chill down his back, seeing Sokrates laugh, argue, accuse. Sokrates slapping the display. Sokrates’s neck, shining above the collar.

And Discovery, in front of him, did give him that feeling. The enemy at large. The enemy never to be caught, indistinguishable from a stranger. The body Discovery lived in had antennae, a barrel chest and ergonomic desk-chair waist, and flexible feet. Its metal was pitted from exposure, but not rusted—much. It shone under the banded rainy light.

“You’re staring. It’s inappropriate.”

Thank god, Addax thought: someone to let me know. Jace, when ogled, usually patted him on the back.

“Tell me something,” he said aloud. “Do you run simulations? About this war?”

Peace did, of course. Order did. Order simulated like anything; using the newest models, the best approximations of randomness, seeking the patterns nested under. Maybe Order would have turned into Life, forgetting itself. But he hadn’t had that kind of time.

“Not so much,” said the robot—which he had never heard a robot say before. One antenna retracted. “I’m Discovery. A lot of guessing would bias us.”

Addax wasn’t going to touch that one. “What about Liberty?“

“That’s even worse,” said the Divine. “Can you imagine? Liberty seeing the future?”

“So that’s not why they left. Part of some… grand plan.”

“Plans would bias us.”

“Right.” Addax resisted the urge to gnaw on his lip, a holdover from his term as Candidate, when, much of the time, no one could see his face. Come to think of it, espionage work hadn’t been the best place to unlearn the habit. “Tell me something,” he said again. “Why did you stay?”

The tall head moved an inch from side to side. The whole torso moved, really, but it seemed to represent a flattened head-shake. “Detachment took me. There were potatoes. Candidate Addax. What is it you would enjoy making small talk about?”

Addax began to sympathize with the Emperor’s difficulty in persuading their friend not to call them the Emperor. “Just Addax, thank you.” He had given them a false name, the Kesh name Maxine knew him by. Fuck. Note to self: new face no good against old comrades. “Where do you think Liberty is now?”

“Hurtling away from the Golden Branch as fast as your Wi-Fi can carry it. If your next question is, why did I stay, but in a more emphatic tone of voice: my friends expect me to. Also, I like flying.”

The Kingdom Come, that old clunker. He remembered it physically—it flew at hip-height with Peace, with him. Sokrates’s ship led, tacking under its glittering sail. Peace knew of everything that might touch it, which was to say, nothing else, not for lightyears around; he was always sorry, truly, that he made it travel alone for so long.

“Discovery likes flying?” he asked.

“I like flying,” Discovery said. They leaned forward, set their hand on their knee, realized they had no second hand with which to gesture (or so he presumed from the restless swiveling of the shoulder socket), straightened up, and pointed at him. Their simplified hook-foot began to thump the floor, like an eager child’s. “No, I know what you’re asking. On my ship. I make them call me Captain.”

What a weird joke. He felt himself tense up. If this had been Peace, it would have been a segue into some kind of pop-up dreamscape. Outside, a crack of lightning. Discovery’s backbone telescoped shorter as if in an actual cringe. The door opened; the Demarch loomed, sopping wet. They had Maxine’s jean-jacket tented over their head; Maxine was nowhere to be seen. Maybe they’d hidden her body in a flowerbed.

They strode in, letting the door slam. Still no graces. They wrung the jacket sloppily, like they had done their gloves as a young surgeon, and went to Discovery and gave their friend a mute, inquisitive look. Clearly they wanted to whisper but dreaded Discovery asking that they speak up. They raised a hand and snatched it back, and didn’t seem to notice when Discovery caught their wrist and held it, although there did ensue a brief, unconscious tug-o-war. Finally they turned the stare on Addax—all unsmiling. Whatever had happened to the fool who loved Maxine?

“Scared of a little rain, Demarch?”

Another lightning-pulse. “I’m not. No. Thank you. I come from a wet planet, you may not know. I’m scared of thunder,” said Berenice, with dignity. And as they said it there came the grumbling roll, lasting much longer than the light had done. “Maxine wanted to be alone for a bit. She told me to go on ahead. I think I’m supposed to check in with my delegation. AuDy, would you do the honors?”

Discovery let go of Berenice’s arm. They raised their inbuilt wrist-comm to the mic. “Your Emperor is fine,” they said. “For now. Over.”

Immediate crackle of furious voices. “I don’t know how to turn this off,” said Discovery. “Please stop talking. Over.”

Berenice squeezed their eyes shut. “That’s it for me, I think. AuDy, do you want to stay? Maxine should be back in a minute. She’d appreciate news about Maryland.”

“About her horrible lingering death?”

“Anything. But…” Again the dark eyes ran over Addax. Not a quick thinker, by all accounts: not an innovator. An effective leader with magnificent resources, no more. In the end, Addax said to himself, this fight will be won with bodies. But he couldn’t fit that thought into Maxine’s pretty parlor, the curtains drawn for a storm.

“I’ll go,” he said. “If you need an escort. I’m very tall. I attract lightning.”

“What about the thunder?” Berenice whined, and rose. They scratched the back of their head. It had been strange to have them look at him; he didn’t know why, but he was relieved that they had gone back to focused distraction. He offered his arm, and they took it; they reached for an umbrella from the stand, and he opened his palm above his head and let a forcefield sprawl out. Berenice wavered a moment longer before giving up on the umbrella.

“Won’t your arm get tired?” he thought he heard Discovery say, but by then they were stepping out onto the path.

From the parlor you could spy on the garden, but the parlor, from the garden, was dark, except for the pale back of the couch. Berenice had craned their head around anyway. “You’re considerate,” Addax told them, ignoring the growing ache in his shield-arm. “I know I made them uncomfortable, and I regret that. In the moment, it can be hard to tell.”

“That’s not it. Sorry, no, I know how it looks, but I’m trying to get us away from you,” said Berenice. The fruit trees, bowing, thrashed. Berenice’s half-cape snapped and rose in the driving wind. The rain steamed off the forcefield, but wind thrust through. “—Oh, god! What am I saying? You won one war, and we need you. Definitely. It’s just, I don’t think you should have to talk to us.”

“‘Us’?”

“The Chime,” said Berenice, squinting into the distance. They freed their arm, after another few steps, and rubbed their wrist—the place Discovery grabbed—and began to laugh. They had a nice laugh, hoarse and infectious. “I forgot. Don’t you worry about it. Oh, well. It’ll all be all right.”

#garden-ghoul #no one expects the fannish inquisition #surprise its actually cass/addax #counterweight #friends at the table #the offscreen cass-maxine convo is like: 'hey wanna get hitched' 'i can't my children would be property of the state'#[maxine stuffing implanted memories into her bag] I have to go

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proseandpeonies · 7 years

Text

You Won’t Miss Much, Part Three

The next two chapters will be filled with angst, just the way I like them!

Also I am tagging both @highlady-casandra and @azrielsiphons because I think they are fellow Connall/Vaughan shippers! It is mentioned in here briefly! I am also tagging @readinglikewildfire because she’s awesome

I will admit I don’t suffer from depression, but I know it is a continual struggle with it’s ups and downs. And I know there are times when you feel as though you are feeling better and then it gets worse. I’d appreciate feedback as to whether or not I am writing this correctly.

Summary: It’s been months since the war that changed every aspect of life in Erilea. Aelin Galathynius has survived against all odds and now is the rightful queen of Terrasen, but there are demons that still haunt both her and her court. And when she sends her king to deal with the rising tensions in Eyllwe, those demons begin their assault on everyone’s mind. And in the midst of it all, another surprise will either be the making or breaking of Aelin.

Word Count:2083

Warnings: Mentions of rape. Suicidal thoughts, torture, insomina, ptsd, depression.

Chapter Two Chapter Four

Aelin didn’t leave her chambers for three days. For three days she did not speak, eat, or read. In fact, she was not entirely sure what she did. She had distinct remembrance of one of the maids coming in and tidying up, a vague memory of Lysandra coming in and exchanging a few words with her.

She decided she was lucky that she didn’t have any meetings scheduled until the end of next week.

But on the fourth day of her seclusion, Aelin made up her mind to get out of bed and bathe and eat. But before she could even get out of bed, there was a soft knock at the door. “Come in!” She called, rubbing her brow with a finger.

The maid, Kaya, she thought that was her name, looked downright shocked that Aelin had allowed her in. “Good morning, Majesty.” She squeaked.

Aelin slumped out of bed as Kaya brought in a little wheeled cart, heavy laden with food. The girl hoisted a tray onto her hip and began to walk towards the glass doors that led out of her main room to the small dining room.

“Just leave it in here, please,” she croaked, her voice cracking despite not speaking to anyone in the past three days. Kaya paused, then nodded, and set the tray on the small coffee table. Aelin glanced around the room, noticing the lack of large dog. That was why Lysandra had been there, she guessed.

“Would you like me to add more logs to the fire, your Majesty?” Startled, Aelin squinted towards the fire. It was barely glowing. “I󠇆— Ah, yes,” she yawned tiredly. “Thank you.”

The girl bowed her mousy head and scurried towards the hearth. Aelin shrugged on her robe, the cold light illuminating the room. She hated this aspect of winter; the cold. It never seemed to leave her bones, and without her mate beside her, the cold had turned into a numbing ache.

Aelin strode over to the window, pushing back the velvet curtain with a hand. The spacious grounds were sparkling in the morning sun. Snow had fallen recently, but for the life of her, Aelin couldn’t remember when.

“When did it snow?” Aelin , a hand coming out of its own volition to scratch at the frost on the window. “Three days a-ago, miss.”

A part of Aelin wondered why the girl was so nervous, but another part didn’t care. “Is there anything else I c-could do for you, miss?” Aelin didn’t look back at the girl. “No,” she whispered. But as she heard the girl turn to go up the steps to retrieve the cart, Aelin made a small noise. She was tired of wallowing in self-pity. Inaction would only further her decline.

“Was there something, your Majesty?” Aelin sighed. She’d wait until she’d calmed down a bit before training with Fen and the others. And, she didn’t think she could face them after the way she’d acted the other day. “No, Kaya. Thank you.” Dismissed. Aelin turned after the girl had left and squared her shoulders. Today— today she would survive, as she had been since Rowan had pulled her out of the iron coffin. It was slow— healing. But no matter what, Aelin would heal. She owed that to herself and to her kingdom.

If there was one thing Fenrys wasn’t expecting when he walked into the training rooms, it was the Queen of Terrasen pummeling a practice dummy with Goldryn. In fact, he almost walked out as he watched her from the open door, to afraid that she’d strike him down. Verbally or physically.

Silently, he turned around, preparing to ease the large door shut when he heard Aelin shout from the back of the room. “I know you’re there.”

He turned back, inclining his head towards his queen. “Majesty,” he murmured. When he looked back at her, Aelin was studying the dummy, her keen eyes examining her blows. “Well, come in.” She said as she turned towards him finally, her breath barely heavy despite her vigorous exercising. Fenrys nodded again and stepped out of the doorway.

He watched as Aelin went back to careful parries and swipes with the dummy, her blade glinting each time she swung. The tension in the room was palpable as he walked over the training mats to the wall opposite him, where the rack of sparring sticks sat. Without much thought, he selected a waxwood staff, giving it a few trial twirls. It was suitable enough, so Fenrys began his usual routine.

As he trained, thoughts of the other day whirled in his mind. Aelin still seemed distant, but at least she was out of her rooms. But the tone of Aelin’s still echoed in his bones, the sheer cold rage that burned and maimed all in its’ path.

For a horrible second, that voice had reminded him of Maeve. Fenrys knew he couldn’t blame his queen entirely for her actions, but he wasn’t entirely prepared to forgive her for those few actions.

For a long, long while the only sound in the room was the near-rhythmic thump of Aelin’s blade against the leather dummy, and the swish of Fenrys sticks through the air.

Pausing for a moment, he brushed back his hair, glancing once towards the female behind him, who was moving with trained brutality. She met imaginary parries with blocks so final, Fenrys wondered for just a second if Rowan had trained her with a sword.

But as her thin white shirt stuck to her back with sweat, Fenrys was reminded of her past as Ardalan’s Assassin. And of the past year. Of whippings and war.

With a sigh, he forced the thought from his head.

He exhaled sharply and raised the sparring stick, spinning it and swiping at invisible enemies’ feet.

He’d asked Connall to join him, but his twin had declined, making some flimsy excuse. But Fenrys knew he was too busy panting after Vaughan, who was currently helping Ren Allsbrook train the new guard.

A part of Fenrys was happy for his twin, but Vaughan was a different type. He’d fought along the male long enough to know he was a fantastic warrior, and that he’d die sooner than harm any member of their court, but there was a certain part of the male that had always made Fenrys uneasy.

There was a kind of unfeeling, unempathetic air about the male. Fenrys knew his brother, and his brother needed someone to care for him, someone who could understand the complexity of his emotions.

But Fenrys also knew it was none of his business, as Connall so often reminded him. Fenrys switched hands, striking low, high, and working in a few punches and—

“Fenrys!”

He turned around so fast he nearly struck himself with the staff. Aelin stood her hands braced on the pommel of her sword, chest heaving. She licked her lips once, then bowed her head.

“I am sorry,” she said so abruptly that even she seemed shocked by it. He didn’t need to ask what she was apologizing for. With a trembling hand, she brushed back her hair, “You are right. I need to face— I need to face the things done to me. The things I’ve done. But, I am unwilling to take complete blame for my outburst.” She sheathed Goldryn, her eyes shining as she approached him.

With a jolt, he realized not many would ever see this side of their strong, unrelenting, steadfast queen. The apologetic, vulnerable side. Aelin paused a foot or two before him and met his eyes. “I’m thankful that you two care enough to check on me, but I need to sort some of my own things out.” He caught her meaning, no more snooping. Fenrys nodded, then took the hand Aelin put forth.

“Will you give me time?”

“Of course, but Aelin, if you ever need to talk about that—”

“Don’t,” she whispered, and the anger in her blue-gold eyes was enough to make him drop it.

“Of course, Your Majesty, I will always give you time.” They were shirking the issue.

He bowed his head. Aelin smiled softly and squeezed his hand. Fenrys felt his mood lift at that hint of a smile. “Now,” she said as she retracted her hand. “Help me train.” Fenrys gave a wicked grin, “Has Whitethorn been slouching in his duties?” Aelin thwacked him on the shoulder, but laughter echoed in the room.

The laughter was almost enough to make Fenrys forget what had just transpired. She was avoiding the truth. And it was going to bite her in the ass if she didn’t face it.

Aelin grinned as she sipped from her glass of water, watching Fenrys show Lysandra a maneuver that would disembowel someone while also severing a hip flexor. The shifter had slipped into the room twenty minutes ago when Aelin had been sparring with Fenrys. It was good, Aelin decided, to get out and talk and move.

It wasn’t a cure-all, but it helped.

And it certainly helped with the loneliness. Lysandra let out a tinkling laugh as Fenrys murmured something under his breath, and Aelin set her glass down, crossing across the mats to her friends. “Lys, how about you and I go—,” Aelin pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. For a second, she felt her breakfast rise in her throat. Lysandra raised a groomed brow. “What’s wrong,” she asked gently, but Aelin shook her off.

“Oh, I—”

A wave of nausea swept over her so harshly that she nearly fell to her knees.

Aelin doubled over as Lys and Fenrys raced to her side. “What’s wrong,” Lysandra asked again, her hands digging into her sides.

Aelin felt bile rise in her throat, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Don’t vomit, don’t vomit don’t vomit.

Aelin ripped herself from Lysandra’s hands and raced to the trash bin besides the door. Tears pricked her eyes as she vomited her breakfast up, her stomach convulsing. Through her disgust and embarrassment, she heard Lys order Fenrys to check the water, then felt the shifter’s gentle hands on her back.

“Nothing,” Fenrys called from the back of the room. Aelin retched again, and Lysandra crouched next to her, brushing back the hair falling out of Aelin’s braid. Thoughts and emotions whirled in Aelin’s head as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Aelin took the glass of water that Fenrys offered her and sipped slowly. “Lysandra, I’d like you to come with me,” she didn’t recognize her own voice. It seemed too cold, too distant.

Fenrys and Lysandra exchanged glances, and Fenrys opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a shaky hand and walked out.

Lysandra spared one last glance towards Fenrys—who was giving her a puzzled look—then sprinted out the door.

When Lysandra skidded to a halt before Aelin, a thousand questions whirled through her head, namely, Why the hell was Aelin shaking as hard as she was?

The queen’s face was pale as death, and her hands trembled as she raked her hands through her golden hair. Panic was beginning to thunder in Lysandra’s chest. “Aelin,” she hissed as the woman closed her eyes tightly.

“I know why I was sick,” she muttered, her voice croaky. Lysandra nodded, gesturing for the woman to continue.

“I’m late, Lys. Two weeks.”

Lysandra felt the blood drain from her own face at what she was implying.

“Do you think…” Lysandra trailed off unable to finish the sentence. Aelin sighed and squared her shoulders. Without warning, her queen grabbed her hand and dragged her into one of the storage closets across the hall.

The room stunk like mildew, but it didn’t seem to bother Aelin as she dragged a bucket down from a shelf and plopped herself down. Lysandra dragged her hands through her own hair. Aelin, she knew, wanted children, but this soon… So soon after the war that still left Lysandra screaming for Aedion in the middle of the night and left their queen looking over her shoulder at any loud noise.

“Rowan and I don’t use contraceptives,” Aelin murmured, her eyes downcast. Through the dim light Lysandra saw Aelin rub her finger down the scar across her palm. “There’s always been a chance.” Lysandra nodded silently, letting her friend talk. “Will you come with me? To the healer?” Lysandra cleared her throat, “Of course.” What else could she do.

#ywmm #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aedion ashryver #fenrys #the cadre #lysandra #rowaelin #my writing #throne of glass #tog #tog7 #rowaelin fanfiction #sjm

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mittensmorgul · 7 years

Text

6.10: The things we do out of personal greed and grief in the name of family...

mittensmorgul: 6.10... I also feel like we've recently discussed this one to death... elizabethrobertajones: and yet Mary still has no idea baout Samuel :P mittensmorgul: I know... I REALLY need Dean to tell her. I think if anything is gonna convey the horror of what she's done to her, it'll be knowing what Samuel did in s6 all in the name of bringing her back... He was willing to murder her children to bring her back. Because in a metaphorical way, even if she doesn't get it on this level, that's sort of what she's been doing too... not "murdering" Sam and Dean, but sacrificing the people they actually are in the name of metaphorically resurrecting the little boys she lost.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean:

They get it. They really do. But it’s just not real.

And that’s the biggest parallel between s6 and s12 here, but there are others:

Crowley torturing himself, or at least the Alpha Shapeshifter who’s taken his form. But he’s at least a few steps ahead. He’s done some research, but he’s not quite ten steps ahead, because he ends up killing the alpha anyway without getting the info he wanted on Purgatory.

Heck, I forgot there was a rugaru in this episode. Sam and Dean have captured one alive and brought it in for questioning by Crowley’s demons.

And here’s one place where Sam’s lack of human empathy actually HELPS instead of hurts them:

SAM: Look at her, Dean. She’s furious. If she could kill you, she’d’ve done it by now. She’s running. MEG: Am I? SAM: Judging by the level of flop sweat on all of you, yeah. Which means you’re running from Crowley. Which makes sense. Crowley would want to hunt down all the Lucifer loyalists now that he’s the big man on campus. MEG: How would you know? SAM: It’s what I’d do. [to Dean] She can’t kill us. She needs us to get her to Crowley so she can stick that knife in his neck. It’s him or her. DEAN: Well, I hope you both lose. But good luck.

Sam calls on Cas, luring him in with the lie that they have another Heavenly Weapon, and then threatens and guilts Cas into helping him...

They all break into Samuel’s office to hunt down Crowley’s location, pleading with Samuel to help them, because they’re working on getting Sam’s soul back. HIS GRANDSON’S SOUL. But Samuel refuses, explaining that he can’t betray Crowley because he’s been promised that Mary will be returned to him in exchange for working for Crowley.

DEAN: I’m saying, stop trying. It’s gonna go nowhere good. Samuel, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m your grandson and I’m telling you that this is wrong for so many reasons. SAMUEL: You hypocrite! DEAN: I’m asking you to learn from our mistakes! Doing this, this is how the bad guy gets us every time. It’s our Achilles' heel. Apparently it runs in the family. We will figure something else out. Okay? SAMUEL: I’m sorry Dean, but I – DEAN: Fine. Bring her back. But what are you gonna tell her? You gonna tell her you made a deal with a demon? That you wouldn’t help out her sons?

(and by the end of the episode, after Samuel actively tries to KILL Mary’s sons by feeding them to a ghoul, that really is the end of the line for whatever family loyalty they ever could’ve felt toward Samuel)

(I feel like we’ve discussed the Cas Watching Porn scene from here to the ends of the earth, so...)

Meanwhile Samuel shows up with the location of Crowley’s monster prison, but it turns out to be a trap...

Cas expresses doubts to Dean about what sort of state Sam’s soul might be in if they try to retrieve it now. It sounds horrifying, but Sam unfortunately overhears him...

Cas is such a Debbie Downer here... just more of the regrettable things required of him while he’s at war.

Inside the monster prison, Dean sees the djinn waitress from 6.01, and she’s in chains and begging for his help. Dean’s considering helping her when suddenly the prison guards shows up, aka Hellhounds.

Meg kisses Cas just to pickpocket his angel blade, and Dean looks on perplexed when Cas kisses her back... (again, talked this to death and back at least twice now)

*Samuel blasts Cas away with a weirdo angel banishing sigil*

The fact this sigil is DIFFERENT than any other we’ve ever seen makes me wonder if its effects were different, as well. Because we don’t know it yet, but Crowley and Cas were already working together at this point...

But here we have the BIG “What is Family” talk between Samuel and Dean”

SAMUEL: I just want you to understand. DEAN: Oh, I understand… that you’re a liar. You talk about putting blood first, which is funny ’cause you sound just like my dad. The difference is, he actually did. SAMUEL: I am putting blood first. DEAN: Oh, gimme a break! SAMUEL: Mary’s my blood! My daughter! Don’t come at me like I sold you out, Dean. You sold out your own mother. It was her or Sam, and you chose Sam, plain and simple. DEAN: Oh, that is such crap! You wanna know what really happened? You chose a demon over your own grandsons! SAMUEL: See it how you want. I don’t even know what Sam is. And you want me to protect him? And you? You’re a stranger. No, really, tell me: what exactly are you supposed to be to me? DEAN: I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy you never wanna see again. ’Cause I’ll make it out of here, trust me. And the next time you see me, I’ll be there to kill you.

RIGHT HERE we get a critical piece of information, or MISinformation, as it were: You sold out your own mother. It was her or Sam, and you chose Sam, plain and simple.

Samuel actually believes this is the truth. That it wasn’t MARY’s deal with Azazel (while he was wearing Samuel, even!) that started everything in motion. When the hell did Dean ever have a choice in any of this? Mary chose to sell out everything else to save John back in 1973. Including SAMUEL.

But that was the lie Samuel chose to believe, because it would result in him getting what he wanted. Mary, alive at any cost.

Meanwhile Sam uses his soullessness and ruthlessness to enact another plan while Dean’s dragged off to become ghoul chow... Dean fights off two ghouls without a weapon until Sam comes in to finish them both off. They trap Crowley...

CROWLEY: I said ‘can’t’. I meant ‘can’t’, you mop-headed lumberjack. I was lucky to get this much of you out. Going back in there for the sloppy bits? No way. I’m good, but those two in there? Forget it. SAM: How do I know you’re not lying? CROWLEY: You don’t. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m telling you. Sam, why do you want the thing back? Satan’s got one juicy source of entertainment in there. I’d swallow a rag off a bathhouse floor before I took that soul. Unless you want to be a drooling mess.

And because of this, I’ve always suspected that Crowley DID help Cas retrieve Sam from the Cage after 5.22. That it wasn’t JUST Cas on his own.

And obviously we know that when Cas turns up with Crowley’s bones, they aren’t really Crowley’s bones, but Crowley puts on a show of burning himself up anyway...

It may not have stopped everything ELSE going on behind the scenes between Cas and Crowley and their insane plan to crack Purgatory for power, but it did free Sam and Dean from working for Crowley. Obviously they were getting too close, and could potentially have REALLY killed Crowley, which would in turn have borked Cas’s chances of beating Raphael.

Basically things have just reached Complete And Utter Clusterfuck levels for Cas here. If he hadn’t still been trying to “protect” Sam and Dean from being dragged into the war (or if he hadn’t known that Dean would’ve inevitably tried to talk him out of going through with his insane plan), this is where Cas could’ve chosen to come clean with them.

But he didn’t. Because he was still sure he was doing the right thing.

Like he’s sure he’s doing the right thing in going back to Heaven to gather information to help in the hunt for the nephilim... Just, in s12 he’s approaching this “problem” from an entirely different place. In s6 he felt responsible to HEAVEN, and in s12, he feels responsible to the WINCHESTERS.

It might look similar on the surface, but peel back the surface-level trappings, and EVERYTHING is entirely different.

I keep reading theories that we’re going to be due for another 6.20 scene... but CAS IS NOT IN THAT PLACE ANYMORE. And he hasn’t been for AGES. That scene was predicated on the fact he’d been HIDING EVERYTHING from Dean all season long, that he’d been deceiving Dean about his mission, about his involvement in this plan with Crowley, that he’d been behind stirring up the monsters and capturing the alphas, and looking for purgatory.

BUT CAS IS NOT LYING TO THEM ABOUT ANYTHING now in s12. Dean’s not mad at him, he’s WORRIED about him. Cas isn’t loyal to heaven, he’s accepted his place in the Winchester family.

Why would there be another 6.20 scene FOR CAS?

I can think of at least three characters who’d merit being in that spot in s12, but it’s definitely not Cas...

CASTIEL: Crowley was right. It’s not going well for me upstairs. DEAN: If there’s anything we can do – CASTIEL: There isn’t. I wish circumstances were different. Much of the time I’d rather be here. DEAN: Look, Cas, we know you got a steaming pile on your plate. There’s no need for apologies. We’re your friends.

Oh, Cas. Circumstances are what you make of them. You just don’t want to put Dean in that position to help you. You won’t put him in danger...

But Sam’s soul? He’s decided he doesn’t even want it back now. Dean has decided otherwise.

DEAN: You don’t even know what you’re saying. SAM: No, I’m saying something you don’t like. You obviously care, a lot. But I think maybe I’m better off without it. DEAN: You’re wrong. You don’t know how wrong you are.

Yeah, it was painful and terrible and traumatic, but dammit Sam, you were wrong. Without your soul, you were ~wrong~ and /////WRONG/////. Just like nine kinds of all wrong.

#spn 6.10 #s12 meta rewatch #winchester family dynamics #sam vs reality #lies and damn lies #spn 6.20 #spn 12.19 #seriously though why doesn't everyone just trust dean's gut instincts it's like he's got an uncanny magical gift here...#castiel winchester #the story became the story #mary f. winchester

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snarktheater · 7 years

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Shadowhunters S2 — Episode 1

It's long overdue. And yeah, I know I teased that I might do something special with this, but…it's just not working out and I'm kind of tired of waiting on this show until the stars align. So we're just back to regular episode snarks. Oh well. I'm still happy about this.

The episode starts right where we left off (or…pretty close to it, anyway). Jace is on Valentine's ship, with a bunch of people passed out from drinking from the Mortal Cup that he recently acquired. Pretty simple stuff.

Except…the ship is now docked, and Clary shows up. How did she know to come here?

"I portaled in."

That's…not an explanation, Clary.

Jace refuses to leave with her, but before he can explain and/or they can argue, they get spotted. Jace downs one…guard? Random follower of Valentine who just happened to be there? Whatever, he gets knocked out, but Valentine himself arrives, by the power of dramatic timing. He and Jace fight, which gives them a chance to show off a new visual effect for the seraph blades. Which I'm not very fond of.

It just looks…less epic than the full-on glow to me. But I guess it's a matter of taste.

Note that Clary and Valentine's followers just stand back and do nothing. Because…why would they do something, right?

Anyway, Jace stabs Valentine, which is basically the point you realize this is probably a dream sequence, but it keeps going anyway…? And Clary and Jace escape into the ship instead of leaving it? And then Valentine shows up again to get killed by Jace?

Well, this time, they actually stick around long enough to see that the body turns into…some other random dude, so maybe it's not a dream after all. Also, they're now somewhere deep inside the ship, with a bunch of Valentine's experiments (remember those?) in cages. It all looks very cliché, in a way that I can't quite define, but this assembly of former human creatures snarling at the protagonist feels familiar.

Oh, also, it wasn't Clary, but Valentine the whole time.

"Your skills may be unparalleled, but your loyalty is sorely lacking."

Well gee, it's almost like you took him under duress or something. That was just dumb, Valentine.

He orders his minions to "string Jace up" after injecting him with something, and…cue credits. Which are actually kind of cool, although I do have to question the inclusion of Luke and Raphael in them. Like…since when are they on equal footing with the main six?

I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear we then jump to the Institute. If anything, I'm more pissed that we didn't open with Clary, who is, you know, the main protagonist of the show. But there is a possibility that the show will just follow the book's steps and shove Herondales to the forefront no matter what. And it doesn't look like I'm gonna be less angry about this, because we open with the Lightwoods, Magnus and Lydia, with Clary being nowhere in sight.

Lydia's been trying and failing to contact the Clave for four hours.

"The Clave being unhelpful? Who's shocked?"

Me. I'm shocked, because none of the fans seem to mind the fact that this world is built around the concept that the command of the people who fight for the defense of the Earth alternate between incompetent or actively working against their own goals.

Alec also can't sense Jace through their bond either, but…wasn't it a plot point last season that their bond was weakened? I admittedly should have at least re-read my own recaps before I started this season, but I distinctly remember pointing out that that scene was kind of…pornographic.

On the cooler side of things, Lydia and Isabelle. That is all.

I mean, they also do cool things, but I just wanted to restate my love for these two. What they do is pull up the waterways around New York, while Alec sets up monitoring of the Hudson and East River. Which…actual detective work instead of just going "oh no, Magnus's magic doesn't work on water, guess we're stuck"!

Unfortunately, this devolves into Alec being a douche to Lydia.

"Don't forget who you're talking to, I'm still the head of this Institute!"

On the plus side, Lydia and Isabelle both tell him to calm the fuck down and Lydia even dismisses him. Which means there is now a timer on "how long until Alec goes rogue", but hey, at least she didn't take his shit.

I feel like you're getting some of Jace's angst through your bond, Alec.

And now we get to Clary as she…has another reunion with Jocelyn, complete with "I never thought I'd see you again". Which…do you mean besides that time you saw her again at the end of the last season? Clary does call Jocelyn out on hiding her life to her, Jocelyn apologizes and promises not to lie anymore, and it's actually pretty sweet. Until Clary gives her the box of Jonathan's stuff, that is.

"His name is Jace. He's alive." "That's impossible."

I want to hope that they don't drag out the fakecest for too long, but…I'm not feeling very confident about it. Although I do know that Sebastian/Jonathan/whatever has been cast for the second half of the season, so who knows?

And that's apparently enough of our protagonist. We're back to Alec angsting, although he does apologize to Magnus for lashing out in the previous scene. I guess the girls don't deserve an apology or something. Alec also infodumps again about what the parabatai bond means, and asks Magnus's help to track Jace again like they did…in that episode I just mentioned that weakened the bond in the first place. So they did remember that, they just decide not to care about the consequences beyond "ooh but you almost died the first time".

"Why can't you just do this one thing? After everything I've done for you?"

What…did you do for Magnus, exactly? Coming out? Is that a favor you did for him? Because I can't really think of anything else right now.

Back to Clary…sort of. Luke joined her and Jocelyn, still in denial about Jonathan since she "saw them burn". Luke insists that it's the truth, but…frankly, they have no proof of that beyond what Valentine says. And since we all know it's not true…eh. I understand that it's an adaptation and you have to stick to these plots at least on some level, but it was pretty obviously a lie in the books too, which is a little bit more of an issue.

Simon shows up too, which makes me wonder where they are exactly that Downworlders can just waltz in with no problem. They catch her up on what happened to Simon by way of Simon's fangs show up on their own, but before they can do anything else, they're called away. You'd think it's something important, but no, it's just Maryse making a speech about how they're at war.

"Looks like the queen's taken back her kingdom."

For some reason, Isabelle says this, which makes it sound like she's unhappy that her mom's back in charge. But frankly, I'm too busy wondering why Maryse is suddenly back in charge in the first place.

"[The Clave's] first priority is to replace the current leadership who they have deemed…wholly ineffectual."

And they replace Lydia with…the woman she was sent to replace for being bad at her job herself? Well, not quite, there's a new Clave representative taking over the Institute: Victor Aldertree. I'm pretty sure this is a new character for the show, and he sounds surprisingly reasonable, even saying they need to find Jace because they don't leave one of their own behind. Although he does also put the Institute on lockdown, which is…less reasonable, I guess. But at least he doesn't project an air of complete incompetence that emissaries of the Clave have had in the books. I guess Lydia wasn't a lucky hit; the show really is trying their best…some of the time.

Clary's upset because this means no one is "out there" looking for Jace, and…yeah, I guess that's valid. Does this mean Aldertree canceled the orders Alec gave earlier, though? Because that sounds like a bad idea.

Speaking of Jace, he's busy getting punched repeatedly. I can't pretend I don't feel a slight hint of satisfaction over. And I don't really have much to add there; we just see him getting punched, and then Valentine says cliché banter about him being a fighter. Well, he does also put a rune on Jace, but I'm not entirely sure what it is, so I guess we'll just find out later, won't we?

Back to Clary, who's been called by Aldertree to interrogate her about the last time she saw Jace. Clary is…surprisingly honest, even telling Aldertree that Jace knew Valentine was coming, even though she doesn't know how he knew and probably realizes that it sounds incriminating.

"We have to find him." "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

That sounds…vaguely ominous, even if Aldertree puts in that line every possible ounce of laid-back-ness he can muster.

Back to Jace, and…God, I just realized why I used to handle each plot line individually in these episode snarks, this is obnoxious and it doesn't look like the show's given up on the fast switching PoVs. He's been brought to Valentine, who's busy cooking. And…I guess he's not afraid of Jace trying to kill him, even though Jace is unrestrained and has clearly shown he was willing to try again?

"You really think I wanna have a meal with you?"

You tried, Jace.

Anyway. Valentine claims he faked his identity to "keep him safe", Jace calls him out and says the Lightwoods are more his parents than Valentine is.

"I sent you a place where I knew you would be cared for." "Father of the year."

Oh, and Valentine also brings out the big "reveal" about how Jocelyn supposedly left him to die because he's special. And by "special" he means the whole demon blood experiment thing, which Valentine shows Jace by sharing his own memory. Watching Valentine inject stuff in his pregnant wife is every bit as creepy as it sounds, by the way, and to be glad, I'm happy we're not using Ithuriel as a plot device, so I'm not complaining. Plus, this is a better moment to introduce this plot point than randomly in the middle of a book like City of Glass did. Of course, it also means we get to suffer Jace's angst for the equivalent of (I assume) two books' worth of plot instead of half a book, and that's a little less welcome. You win some, you lose some.

Back at the Institute, Magnus is on his way out, which upsets Alec.

"You really don't get it, do you? You didn't risk anything for me, you did it for you."

Alec is as shocked as I am enraged. I mean, one, Alec clearly just stated moments ago that no, he definitely came out for Magnus's sake in his own mind (and I assume this is what they're talking about here). Which would be bad enough on its own, but I'll also remind you that Magnus basically pressured him and manipulated him into it for a good half of the previous season. So now, to have him call Alec out for not coming out for the right reasons? Damn, that's cold. If the showrunners had realized their mistakes, this is the worst possible way to go about correcting it.

But no, Magnus leaves after acting all high and mighty, and Alec can't follow because the Institute is suddenly on high alert, and Jace is now wanted dead or alive. So much for Aldertree being a more reasonable guy than his book counterparts. Oh, he also forces Downworlders out of the Institute, which…I'm pretty sure they shouldn't even have been allowed inside in the first place, but okay. This does pose a problem for Simon, since it's almost dawn.

"You're a smart guy. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

I take every nice thing I said about you back, Victor.

He also prohibits Jace's friends from getting involved in the manhunt, which…okay, that is pretty logical. Jocelyn is surprisingly okay about the whole thing. By which I mean we're supposed to act surprised, but since we already know she tried to kill Jonathan as a child and thinks that Jocelyn is Jonathan…do the math.

And because this episode wasn't yet suffering from subplot overdose, we follow Luke as he takes Simon with him back to the Chinese restaurant the werewolf pack lives in. Luke states once again that he is a hardcore Climon shipper by telling him to "be bold" about telling Clary how he feels. And we go from this brief moment of comic relief to…the wolf pack turning on Simon before Luke has even fully walked out of the room. Which leads to more comic relief as Simon tries to use the encanto and fails, because…being in possibly lethal danger is hilarious! So they lock him up in a shipping container. Should I care? Apparently, since we stick around while Simon tests the limits of his vampire abilities.

Back on Valentine's ship, I guess Jace is now on board (pun fully intended) with Valentine, or at least decided not to kill him directly. He's still pretty pissed about the whole being experimented on thing, which isn't helped by Valentine's discourse.

"Even a single drop of demon blood running in your veins makes you a threat to humanity."

He says so in relationship to Downworlders, but…what about Jace? Also, what exactly is the "demonic nature" that warlocks are supposed to fall victim to? Because I can sort of understand werewolves and vampires…you know, eat people, but warlocks? Don't really seem to have any inclination of any kind towards evil.

Jace considers jumping off the ship, Valentine dissuades him by picking a random warlock prisoner who just happened to be lying around and throwing him at the barrier surrounding the ship, showing Jace that unless he likes his face being burnt off, he probably doesn't want to leave that way.

At the Institute, Isabelle decides to train Clary some more. Clary isn't too happy about it, but…well, at least Isabelle is being practical about it. Plus, that way she puts on a show about how much she's not looking for Jace, which she subtly tells Clary while they spar.

On the other hand, Alec sneaks out of the Institute, intent on going to Magnus to keep looking for Jace. Maryse catches him before he leaves, trying to convince Alec to just give up on Jace altogether, parabatai bond be damned.

When you have a cancer, you cut it out before it destroys you."

That's harsh. Why are you so intent on sucking Maryse dry of every drop of likability she had in the books?

Well, Alec just ignores her and goes on his merry way. But who cares about following one plot thread, let's go check on Luke, who gets a visit from Clary (first glamoured as Aldertree). Luke agrees to use his connection to the police to find Jace (which…he'd already offered to do anyway?), and he points Clary to the container Simon's locked up in. So…I guess Luke knew about it and let his pack be threatening towards Simon because it's more fun this way? Well, who cares, because Simon doesn't seem mad about it, and this scene doesn't go anywhere because Luke immediately calls Jocelyn, who shows up to bring Clary back. Or…at least, that's how she got the permission to leave from Aldertree. She says she wants to help.

"Here are some basics of Shadowhunting."

And she immediately tricks Clary into giving her her phone and stele before running away and locking Clary in with Simon. Okay, that was kinda funny.

Cut to Magnus's apartment, where he's doing…magical tai chi? Or just juggling magic balls, if you are so crudely inclined as to make a dirty joke out of it. Alec shows up, because…he can just walk in, I guess. And he apologizes. Because yes, we're supposed to think Magnus was right earlier.

And after this nonsequitur of a scene, it's back to Clary and Simon stuck in their container. They actually have a nice moment of just being friends, which gets interrupted because…Simon tried to break down the door earlier and it paid off. Cue Simon being all disappointed that he didn't get to make his move on Clary, because we can't have nice things.

So, Jocelyn tracks Jace with the glove Clary snatched from the Institute, Clary and Simon follow her using the GPS on Clary's phone, Alec and Magnus track him through the parabatai bond…except not, because Jace gets on land just then and Alec can sense him again. This unfortunately also means that the Institute finds him immediately.

Why is Jace on land, you ask? Well, Valentine took him to a vampire den started by a woman who killed her family, in an attempt to convince him that the demon blood will always prevail and make him evil. Oh, and it'll also make him want Clary, because yes, we're following this stupid plot point. Jace hears screams inside the den, rushes in, and kills the vampires.

Meanwhile at the Institute, Alec and Isabelle show up to stop Aldertree, even going as far as to openly rebel, in spite of his earlier threats to de-rune them if they disobeyed him. This goes nowhere, except to have Lydia promises she'll do what she can to help Jace.

Speaking of Jace, the leader of that vampire den surrenders to the authorities of the Clave, meaning he can't kill her.

"Look at you. You got your stake all ready to go, and you can't use it. […] I'm no longer a threat. I know my rights."

Is the show trying to make us fall for Valentine's manipulation? Because that's kind of what it feels like. And…well, this has a very distinct air of police brutality to it, which is not helped by the fact that Downworlders have been a longstanding race metaphor. So Jace falls for the obvious bait, kills her just as Clary and Simon show up…as well as Jocelyn, who shoots Jace with a crossbow. Valentine takes the shot, the Institute forces show up, and Jace escapes with Valentine through his portal.

Which…was admittedly a pretty tight climax for the episode. The constant back-and-forth was edited tight enough to increase tension instead of preventing us to care about any of the plot lines, and Jocelyn's interference makes Jace's choice to stay with Valentine make a little more sense. So there is that.

And…that's episode 1. And so far, the show sounds…pretty equal to itself. The Malec is pure nonsense, Jace gets way too much angst and focus. And Aldertree is…I'm not sure where I stand on him, but at the very least his attitude makes him more believable as someone most people would follow as a leader, so there is that. On the other hand, Jocelyn being awake means she has agency in this story, which is a pretty good thing. And yes, I'd be lying if I said I didn't know where this is going, but I'll get to it when I get to it. Until then, this is what we got.

#This Guilty Blood #shadowhunters #Michael Reisz #Matt Hastings #Todd Slavkin #Darren Swimmer #mcg #series #TV series #review #reviews #series review #series reviews #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #st: shadowhunters s2

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