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#the north tower had served as a cell tower. so.
alex-fa-main · 2 years
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fun fact one of joes older cousins was actually meant to be near the WTC on 9/11, but had skipped his meeting bc he was too hungover
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The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 10
Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?
Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut
Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next
Chapter's Note: An undercover mission? In fancy/sexy clothes? And they pretend to be dating? Nooobody knows where this could possible lead to! Clearly not some intimate moments between Loki and the Witchling. Clearly. Beta by @zaria-04 <3
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Chapter 10: Club Enchant
Before she arrived, Nat called up a blueprint of the building and committed it to memory, making sure she knew every last detail. Finding the necessary points, she cycles through those details, planting the customary mental markers in place.
Total building occupancy: three hundred twenty six, single door entrance located on the north side of the building. One bouncer is manning the main door, armed with a well hidden taser. Twelve security cameras are positioned through the club, with none of those cameras pointed at the secluded VIP area.
Single door exit point on the south wall, illuminated by a neon green sign; bathrooms on the east wall, accessed through another door and a small hallway. No windows.
"Clint, re-confirm your position," Natasha speaks calmly.
"Still north of the entrance, opposite building. Clear visual, nothing irregular to see." Clint's voice comes clearly through a tiny device tucked in Natasha's ear.
Loki and you are driven to the front of the club in a dark limousine. The driver opens the door for you. Loki gets out first, then extends his hand to help you.
"We arrived," you murmur just loud enough for Natasha and Clint to hear over comm.
There's a small line of waiting people lined up, but you don't even glance at them. People who don't walk right into the club are beneath the dignity of those you pretend to be today. Loki has perfected this behavior. It must be his royal blood, you realize, he is used to this. As he leads you to the entrance, you feel like a piece of jewelry being carried out on his arm.
The doorman stops you. "Name?" he asks briefly but not rudely. He will be if he doesn’t find you on his list.
"Pine, Jonathan." Loki's voice is bored, on the edge of annoyed. Like a man in his position would think that when he appeared, you would know who it was. Still, he can't help but feel important when fuss is made over him. Even if it is only to have his presence, his status, confirmed by someone in a certain position. Not that the bouncer is an influential person, but he does hold some power in his hands, deciding who belongs in here and who does not. Loki plays his role perfectly.
Only you notice the small gesture of his hand, the brief flicker of green light on the display, which immediately disappears again.
The doorman scrolls and then nods. The door opens for you. You are let in.
Loud music is booming towards you. Unfortunately, it’s very generic, not to your liking. But you're not here to have a fun time.
The club is furnished in a modern style. It's clear at first glance that only people with money come here. There are quite a few of those in town. Every year there is a new secret location tip that is passed on only in certain circles. Some of these clubs want to give the impression that they belong to the underground, with industrial ambiance. The more run-down, the better. It's a trend so that the children of the rich feel transported to another world for a night, a world of the forbidden and the gutter.
Not Club Enchant. Everything looks expensive. The walls and floors are white, almost marble-like, with silver accents. In the neon light they have different shades of pink, blue and purple. The seats are covered in red leather and the staff wear very questionable-short uniforms and masks of black lace.
What the decor shows in taste, the female guests lack in their outfit choices. While the men wear dress-shirts and slacks, sometimes even suits, the ladies show a lot of skin. You see more than a pair of breasts under fabric that is so translucent that it doesn't even deserve its name. You feel almost overdressed with your short dress, but you are glad it covers everything important.
There are two levels. The main area has a large bar, a spacious seating area with armchairs and small tables and a dance floor. For being so exclusive, the club is very crowded. It has to be, so individuals can get lost in the crowd.
A staircase in the back leads to another bar, a smaller one. Up there, you see Natasha standing. She's sipping champagne from a glass and apparently watching the dance floor. Your eyes meet briefly, but neither of you acknowledges that you know each other. Then she turns her back to you.
"Do you see the red velvet curtain to your left, guarded by a bouncer?" you hear her voice over comm. "Behind it is the VIP area. Identification mark is a tattoo on the right forearm, checked with UV light."
"Who gets tattooed for a club?" you ask, frowning.
"You'd be surprised what rich people do to give the impression of being exclusive." You hear amusement in her voice and make a mental note to ask her about it later. For now, it's better if you talk as little as possible to her.
So the first hurdle of the evening is to figure out what that tattoo is. You can't show up with the wrong one.
"Why don't you have some fun without me?" asks Loki, who's been listening in on comm. "I'll be right back."
"Having fun without you? How do you expect me to do that?" Your tone is playful, but you let go of his arm and he disappears into the crowd of guests. You glance after him for a moment, then turn in the other direction. You remind yourself that the two Avengers can overhear everything. You should be more careful about flirting, even if it is part of the role. Fortunately, the comm remains silent.
You sit down at a free table and let your eyes wander. The music is loud and the beat is pounding in your head. The light changes between different colors and for the most part you can only make out the outlines of people. The club does have its charms, if you're into that sort of thing.
Rose Petal must have money if she can run this club. It's not unusual for witches, over time they just learn how to make money - and more importantly, how to keep it. They have more time, more resources, more knowledge. They don’t always stick to legal ways.
Not every witch lives as solitary as you have the last few years. You can find witches in all walks of life. Whereas the magic is never publicly practiced. The threat of witch hunters is still too real for that.
Suddenly, someone sits down next to you. "Surely a woman sitting here all by herself and without a drink is waiting to be approached."
It's a man probably in his 40s or early 50s. Below average height, round face and a receding hairline. His suit looks expensive enough that it may compensate some for the fact that there's something predatory about his small, watered-down eyes and the grin that shows just too many teeth. His arm rests casually on the back of your seat and it wouldn't take much for it to be around you. At least he hasn't put his hand directly on your leg.
For a moment your gaze is irritated because you were in thought, but you catch yourself immediately and give him a fake smile. You need to be more on guard and aware of your surroundings. "You seem to know a lot about women," you reply innocuously.
The man's grin gets a touch smarmier. "Well, I have a pretty good eye for these things. What would you like to drink? You can choose everything on or off the card."
"That sounds generous but maybe the lady is more interested in visiting the VIP lounge," another voice interjects from behind you. You recognize it immediately and as you turn around, you see Loki holding out his hand to you. He eyes the guy disdainfully.
You place your fingers in his. "That offer is much more tempting."
Without another word, you let yourself be led away, not even feeling the annoyed look at your back. Loki squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring gesture. You repeat it, as a sign that everything is fine. The guy wasn't really bothering you, he was just being disruptive.
You reach the red velvet curtain and Loki pulls up the hem of his right sleeve, just enough to expose his wrist and a bit of his forearm. The bouncer shines a small UV flashlight on it and you see a diamond with small line-like details shining brightly. You recognize it as the Lion's Paw symbol, a foreign rune.
You are let through without any objections. Behind the curtain you are walking up a staircase leading to a door at the top.
"This is an unusual place for Berber magic," you murmur just loud enough for your companion to hear you.
"We'll see if it's real or just for show."
Things are a little quieter in the VIP area. You notice a wall of windows facing the rest of the club. From the outside, it had given the impression of a mirror. Of course, you have a good overview of the club from here. People feel much better while watching the ordinary people that don't deserve to even breathe the same air.
You sit down at the bar and order drinks, looking around a bit. There are about thirty people up here, sitting or standing together in small groups. The largest group sits in a booth in the back corner and seems to be having a splendid conversation. At least you hear laughter from there every now and then and notice a lot of glasses and bottles standing on the table.
There you also spot Rose Petal and her right-hand man, Daegal Thornton, who is always at her side. With a nudge you draw Loki's attention to them. You recognize her immediately from the photos: blonde hair, an expensive pastel lipstick and designer clothes. A silver, tight-fitting dress and a fur stole to go with it. Everything about her screams 'I'm too rich for you to even look at me'.
Her right-hand man is the exact opposite in the matter of appearance: dark, short hair, lots of tattoos and a glance that tells you you better not bug him with unimportant things. His outfit is all black, but looks no less expensive than Rose's.
As you eye him secretly, you curse softly. "Shit."
"What is it?" asks Loki quietly. His expression remains calm, as if you're talking about something trivial.
You nod your head in their direction. "See that guy at Rose’s side? The one with the tattoos on his neck and hands and the black goth clothes, who looks like he fell out of a Tim Burton movie? He's the witch."
The Asgardian reaches for his drink and sips it as he sneaks a look at the man. "Are you sure?" This changes the facts of his assignment. But it wouldn't be a problem.
"Absolutely. They are magical rune tattoos. Either he's a huge fan of the aesthetics or he has spells stored in every single one of them," you explain, "My sister uses the same method."
Now Loki gives the sorcerer a more interested look. "Pretend to be offended when you leave," he says, without looking at you.
You slide off your barstool and scowl at him. "Be careful," you hiss, jostling his shoulder as you walk.
He doesn't answer, but you can hear him ordering a drink for the witch. It's all part of the performance. If Loki is to distract the man, you can't be in the way. And what's more flattering than someone else getting dumped for you. You're sure with his charm Loki can wrap anyone around his finger – if he wants to.
Back in the main area on the first floor, you disappear into the crowd of dancers, to shake off curious glances and avoid being approached by a creep again. Normally, you like to dance. But not when you're surrounded by sweaty bodies and with that hypnotizing, monotonous beat in your ear.
"Having fun?" you hear Natasha over comm.
"Mhm."
"Right next to the bar is a door that leads to the basement. I'll distract the bartender."
"Copy that."
"Nobody says that."
"Yeah, rookie mistake," Clint joins in.
You don't say anything in reply, but make your way through the crowd, walk up the few steps to the elevated bar. You could use a drink, especially since you forgot your glass in the VIP area. So you order yourself another. While you wait, you take a look around. The door Natasha was talking about is near you. Perfect.
The drink you get has a color gradient from yellow to red and is decorated with skewered fruits. You put them between your lips and pull out the skewer as you watch Natasha flirt with the bartender at the other end of the bar. Briefly, you check the area again, but there are no other staff to be seen near you. Setting the skewer down on the napkin, you take your drink and slip through the door.
Behind it you find a short corridor and then a staircase leading down. You've just reached the stairhead when somebody places a hand on your shoulder from behind. You spin around, a spell ready in your hand. You stop just barely in front of Loki's face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" you ask in a hushed voice.
"The witch is boring. He's talking to an illusion of me." Loki steps past you down the stairs. "Come on. We don't have all night."
You finish the rest of your drink in one go and follow him, after placing your empty glass on a step. Someone else can take care of that.
The Asgardian is waiting for you downstairs and together you walk down the hallway. You keep passing small branch corridors with doors signposted as storerooms.
Suddenly Loki grabs you and pulls you into a narrow side corridor, pressing you against the wall. He clasps his hand on your mouth, his face very close to yours as you stare up at him with wide eyes.
"Sshh," he murmurs as you try to speak. His body presses against yours and you feel its warmth through your dress, which is basically a breath of nothing. Maybe you've been enchanted and this is just a dream. One you don't want to wake up from so soon. It must be so, you have no other explanation for this – admittedly your brain is not capable of thinking straight right now.
Suddenly you hear footsteps as someone approaches you. Panic adds to the confusion of your feelings and you hold your breath. If you two get discovered, it will jeopardize the mission.
Your eyes search his gaze. Loki is perfectly calm, even winking at you. As if to tell you that he has everything under control, you just have to trust him. You have no other choice. Maybe he created an illusion around you, protecting you from the gaze of others. His warm breath brushes your skin and you bite your lower lips to avoid making a telltale sound.
The footsteps stop very close to you. Loki blocks your view to the main hallway and you don't dare turn your head.
"Hey! What are you two doing down here?"
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Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @sofi786 @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r
Tell me if you wanna be added, removed or I accidentally forgot you
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Born or Created - a post-apocalypse au (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC)
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Summary: The monsters invaded five years ago. Creatures like the ones native to our world, but just slightly off. And exceptionally deadly. No one knows where they came from, and at this point, no one cares enough to ask. The cities lay abandoned, the forests deadly quiet, and what of humanity that's left is scattered - focused only on survival.
Pairing: Jake Seresin x OC (Ronnie Bradshaw)
Word Count: 6199
Warnings: flashbacks in italics throughout, violence, gore, horror creatures, the end of the world, guns, car crash, blood mention, pregnancy mention, early/premature labor/birth (in a world with no nicu...hopefully you can see where this is going)
ONE | TWO | THREE
-> likes are great but comments/reblogs are even better!
-> this was born from a made-up fic title sent in by @newlibrary and i just took it and ran (also thank you for beta reading bestie)
-> please let me know if you want more of this!!
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“Ronnie? Ronnie, can you hear me?” Jake spoke frantically into the phone as he fished his keys out of his pocket. “Darlin’ where are you?”
“I-I’m at the house,” she replied, voice high-pitched and wavering through the phone speaker. “Jake, what is — ?”
There was an explosion somewhere in the background, she screamed. Her breaths still came in heavy against the speaker, static and rough. 
“Look, just — just stay where you are. I’m comin’ to get you,” he said. 
His hands were shaking. He finally got his truck door open before he jumped inside, slamming it shut behind him. Something fell out of the sky and landed right next to him in the parking lot. The truck rocked back and forth at the impact. But Jake tuned it out, all he could hear was Ronnie’s terrified whimpers through the phone. 
“I’m scared,” Ronnie whispered. 
Jake screwed his eyes shut. “I know, baby. I’ll be there soon. Get somewhere safe in the house, okay?”
“Okay — “ 
The line went dead. He looked down at his phone — no service. A cell tower must have gone down. Jake started the truck, felt it rumble beneath him as it turned over. He wrapped both hands around the wheel…
And he hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, back at the air base he just ran from. Helicopters were slowly rising into the air. He flinched as one got blown out of the sky, exploding into a ball of flame, by one of the unknown objects. He took a vow to protect and serve his country. Had dedicated nearly his entire life to it.
Jake turned back around, his eyes catching on the black band on his finger. He took a vow to protect and serve her too.
His choice was already made.  
Something banged against the truck’s window, cracking the glass into a spider web. Jake turned, jumped back away from the broken window, and he saw a deer. Or what could have been a deer. Accept there were too many horns, too many eyes — and when it opened it’s mouth, the teeth were sharp and deadly. And he watched, something like ice gripping his heart, as it rose up onto its hind legs. 
“Oh, fuck!”
Jake grabbed his rifle and checked the clip. Plenty of shots left. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it or any of the spares that he had in his backpack. Things were usually calm at that time of day. Slinging the gun and the bag over his shoulder, he exited the tent. 
The sky was overcast. Painted in shades of grey, blotting out the sun. That meant the Crawlers may come out of their dens. Maybe there would be some use for his rifle after all.
As he moved through the grid of tents, boots sinking slightly into the wet earth, he nodded in greeting at the other people milling about. The women washing their clothes in the basin of dirty water. The men chatting over a shared canteen. He passed through the tents and came out onto the main road, a wide path tred so often the grass refused to grow. 
The Big House loomed on top of the hill to the north. A giant brick colonial covered in creeping ivory, looming like a beast with too many eyes over the tents and farmland that spread out below it. To the south, The Gate stood as a mouth wired shut. Meant to keep everything out and let nothing escape.
Jake avoided looking at the house as he turned towards The Gate, adjusting the pack on his shoulders. 
People were screaming, running with anything they could grab in their arms. Several houses on their street were burning, smoke rising into the bright blue sky. What might have been a bear ran past the truck as Jake sped down the road, but he didn’t have time to look.
Their house seemed intact save for the windows being blown in, though their neigbors’ front room was gone and a great smoking crater took its place.
Jake parked the truck in front of the house haphazardly. Tires up on the sidewalk before he cut the engine and lept from the vehicle. Another explosion went off somewhere, the screams echoed through the neighborhood. Somewhere, he heard a baby crying.
The front door was unlocked and he didn’t even notice until he barreled into the living room, eyes frantically searching for any sign of his wife. 
“Ronnie! Ronnie, where are you?” he yelled into the house as he ran down the short hall to check the spare room for her. 
“Jake!” her voice replied. “I’m up here!” 
He bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. A flood of relief washed over him when he finally saw her. Standing in the middle of their bedroom with fear in her eyes. There was a cut on her cheek, the blood running down her face dried like a tear. They crashed into each other, tide to the shore — his arms banding around her shoulders and holding her to him like he needed her to breathe. She shuddered as she gripped him back just as tight, burying her face into his chest. 
“Come on.” Jake pulled away first, stepping back to retrieve a bag from their closet. “We need to get outta here.”
“What about Brad? Did you see him?” she questioned.
Jake paused, hand white-knuckled around the door handle. “He stayed. He’ll be safe there.”
She nodded and left it at that.
“Where are we gonna go?” she asked, even as she opened up a drawer in their dresser and started pulling out clothes. 
“I don’t know. It’s the same everywhere — we — we were getting reports from all over,” he said, tossing her the bag before kneeling down to reach under the bed, then he paused. “Have you…Seen any weird animals?”
Ronnie began stuffing the clothes inside. “A-After the Cole’s house…I thought I saw a bear with six legs.”
“Yeah. Saw a deer like that — it tried to kill me.”
From beneath the bed, he pulled out the case for his hunting rifle.
The Gate was heavily guarded. Twelve feet high and made out of dense layers of pine wood and sheet metal. Jake remembered the day it was finished and people cheered. He couldn’t help but feel, however, like they were being locked in instead of being kept safe. Men supplied with automatic rifles and tac vests stood in pairs inside and outside the gate, and then on either side on top of the wall.
Jake approached with unease weighing heavy in his gut. This was his least favorite part of the job. But at least he was the last to arrive. The rest of his team already stood at The Gate waiting for him. They said their hellos and then went over their plan of action. Which locations they were going to check out for anything of value. 
Then they turned to the guards and asked that The Gate be opened. The guards did as they asked, undoing the many bolts as thick as a man’s arm, and pushing open the doors. 
“Scavengers,” one of the guards scoffed to the other as the group went past, the two of them chuckled to one another.
Jake felt the group around him tense, but no one said anything until they were several paces into the field that surrounded the wall and they heard The Gate clang shut behind them. 
“Big House Thugs,” Natasha grumbled under her breath, flicking her dark ponytail over her shoulder. “I’d like to see them try to survive without us.”
“Yeah, who do they think finds all their bullets and shit?” Javy joined in irritably. 
Mickey opened his mouth to join in, but Jake cut him off, “Guys, just drop it.”
The scavenger team moved into the treeline and Jake unshouldered his rifle. The other three followed his lead, holding their weapons ready to fight off whatever creatures may appear now that they were truly in The Wilds. Dense, overgrown, forest that was once tamed by man. But was now ruled by horrible creatures, designed to kill.
“You tellin’ us their shit doesn’t bother you, Jake?” Mickey asked, voice hushed and somehow dampened in the close air of the trees. 
“Oh, it fuckin’ bothers me,” he replied, eyes alert as he took lead of the group. “But we all know complainin’ is a good way to disappear.” 
Natasha snorted. “They can’t hear us out here.” 
“You don’t know that.” 
Jake took the backroads, assuming that the highways were going to be packed and dangerous. He still didn’t know where they were going. But it didn’t matter as long as they were together. 
They were driving through a forest on their way out of town, the road practically deserted. And already it was calmer here than it was just a few miles back. They could still see, above the canopy of the trees, the fire raining down from the sky. The drive could feel almost normal if it weren’t for that. 
“Any signal at all?” Jake asked for what felt like the thousandth time since they left the house. 
“No. Nothing,” Ronnie replied with a sigh, locking her phone once more. “Jake, where are we even going?”
“I don’t know! Just…Somewhere. Somewhere safer than back there until all this blows over,” he said. 
She looked down into her lap with a shaky breath. “Do you really think all of this is just gonna blow over?”
“No. No, I don’t.” 
They kept driving. Further and further away from the chaos and everything they once knew. Jake gripped the steering wheel tight, the leather squeaking beneath his fingers, as a guilt burned inside him. Made his stomach turn, made his limbs feel heavy. 
He didn’t regret his choice. Looking over at Ronnie sitting in the passenger seat, cleaned of blood and alive and safe with him. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he stayed. If he didn’t know if she was alive or dead or hurt. He just knew that would’ve been the case, and he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. But he can bear this guilt now. This guilt over leaving his duty and fellow man behind.
Coward. Deserter. Traitor.
Ronnie pried one of his hands off the steering wheel. He hadn’t even noticed his knuckles turning white or the pain forming in his joints until his fingers were free. She slipped her own fingers between his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. And when he looked over, her smile was soft — understanding. She knew. Of course she knew. Ronnie knew him better than anyone, even himself. He squeezed her hand back. 
He looked back at the road. His eyes widened. Ronnie gasped. He slammed the brakes.
“Jake!” 
As scavengers, they would be gone for days at a time. Trekking out miles away from the safety of The Big House and The Gate and the walls. Searching for anything of use or value they could bring back. Last time they went out, they found a house on a large piece of land that was once a farm, but they did not have time to check it out. Now, it was their main goal.
The group of four walked through the dense foliage in a line, each of them with a weapon raised and eyes sweeping all sides from any signs of danger. They would switch off every hour who took the lead. The house was eight miles east. They could get there by sundown.
Here was the thing about The Wilds: the further in they went, the more dangerous things became. The trees grew closer together, taller, wider. Nearly like they were walking deeper into an ocean made of green. The air became dense. Noises echoed in a strange way. Eventually, the sky would be blotted out entirely by the canopy of leaves high above them. 
Whatever happened that day all those years ago changed the very chemistry of the whole world.
The usual noises of the forest remained. Birds chirped and small animals skittered about the foliage. It was when the world went silent that there was reason to worry.
He woke up slowly, mind slipping over reality like wet soap. Blearily, he saw the cracked windshield, the crumpled up hood of the truck, the giant smoking crater that was once the road just beyond. There was something in his hand, woven between his fingers. He looked over, and Ronnie’s hand was still held tightly in his own.
Ronnie was bleeding again. This time in a stream down the entire left side of her face. The blood coming from her hairline. Her eyes were closed and Jake didn’t like it. 
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice screamed for him to move. To grab Ronnie and run. So he started moving. His limbs felt stiff as he unbuckled and pushed open his door. It creaked in a way that made the ringing in his ears stop. Jake fell out of the truck onto his hands and knees, legs too unstable to keep him upright. The asphalt tore into his palms. Embers burned everywhere.
He knew he was moving too slow, but he couldn’t get his body to go any faster, as he got up from the ground and moved around to the other side of the truck. Prying the passenger door open, he reached across Ronnie’s lap and unbuckled her seatbealt.
“J-Jay?” she mumbled out just as her eyes blinked open. 
Everything snapped back into focus. His brain finally caught up. He could feel the pain in his chest, hear the crackling of fire, and the distant echoing roar of some beast. But most of all, he could see Ronnie looking over at him with brown eyes glazed over and blood drying on her face. 
“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he said as he reached out to cup her cheek. “You okay?”
“I — I don’t know.” She flexed her fingers. “I think so.” 
“Can you stand?”
She nodded as she took his hand. He helped her down from the truck and made sure she was steady on her feet. 
Touching his face, she whispered, “You’re bleeding.” 
“So are you,” he chuckled, smearing the red on her cheek with his thumb. 
She laughed too. At least they were alive. Together. 
They grabbed their few precious things from the truck and headed into the woods. Not knowing where they were going, what dangers or safety they would find, but that was okay. They were together. The two of them against a world changed forever. 
Climbing a steep hill, they reached the eastern edge of the forest. Where the trees grew thick and tall as skyscrapers. Down below in the valley was the farm, just a few acres of now barren land with a dilapidated house at its center. From this angle, they could see the crack in the trees where the road now cut through like a canyon. 
The sun was setting. Painting the sky in shades of purple, pink, and orange. It would have been a beautiful view, except that Jake noticed large black shapes moving close to the house. 
“Mickey, can we get a closer look?” he asked as they all looked down into the valley. 
The younger man nodded, black curls bouncing, as he fished the binoculars from his pack. He held them up to his eyes, and they all waited on bated breath. 
“Yep, we’ve got Crawlers,” he said after a minute of searching. “Three of ‘em. From the looks of it they found somethin’.”
“Poor whatever it is,” Natasha grumbled, lip curled as she looked down at the scene. 
Eventually, they watched as the Crawlers stalked off — dragging two lifeless forms behind them. Back to their den to feast.
“We clear?” Jake questioned as he looked back at Mickey. 
“Yeah. We’re clear.” 
The group started down the hill.
A year. They did alright for themselves in a year. Found a hunting cabin to take refuge in. Figured out the patterns of the strange creatures that now roamed the forest. Watched as the trees grew taller, as the woods grew into something gnarled and twisted. But they endured. They adapted. They found a way to survive. Together. 
Just like it was supposed to be. 
Jake knew that something was wrong. Heard voices in the trees, and it definitely wasn’t the voice of his wife coming back from her foraging trip. Taking up his rifle, he followed the voices. The sounds of snapping twigs and brushing foliage that he had learned to avoid.
He came upon one man at the edge of a clearing. He could have sworn he heard two voices, but at that moment he didn’t care. For just beyond the man’s shoulder was Ronnie, unaware of the strangers presence as she squatted down to the forest floor — picking mushrooms. 
Jake was soundless as he stepped up behind the man, as he raised his rifle and cocked it. 
“Get any closer and you die,” Jake warned as the man looked over his shoulder at him, hands raised in surrender. 
Ronnie gasped as she finally took notice of the intruder, of Jake holding him at gunpoint. She rose to her feet, laying a hand on the swell of her stomach where new life was taking form. An accident. One they both feared but Ronnie still accepted, still loved. While Jake couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to remorse. 
“Put down the gun,” another voice said from behind Jake, the distinct sound of a gun cocking echoing through the trees. “Or she dies.” 
“J-Jake?” Ronnie whispered, voice shaking. 
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, baby daddy’s gonna give it up nice and easy. Ain’t that right?” 
Jake felt the muscles in his jaw clench, teeth nashing against teeth, as he shifted on his feet. Then he lowered the gun, raising it into the air along with his other hand. The first man turned and snatched the rifle away. Jake kept his hands up as he was searched for any more weapons. They found none besides a pocket knife. 
“We don’t want any trouble,” Jake said. 
“Oh, come on now, you really think we’re trouble?” the second man questioned mockingly as Jake was shoved in the direction of the clearing. 
Jake pulled a hand through his long hair after he caught his footing. Then Ronnie was at his side, taking his hand, pulling reassurances from him. He tugged her in close. A protective hand rising to her bump. But he kept his eyes on the men who just grinned at them. 
“We’re the good guys here. We’re here to save you.” One turned to the other. “Go get the boss — he’s gonna wanna see them first.” 
One left, but the other stayed to keep watch. Jake curled his hands around her tighter as he kissed her forehead.
“It’s okay, darlin’. We’re okay.” 
“What the hell did he mean by save us?” she questioned quietly, tugging at the fabric of her shirt that barely still fit. 
“I don’t know,” he replied. 
He stiffened when they heard someone approaching, pulling Ronnie in tighter against him just in case. The man from before broke through the treeline, followed by another.
It felt like the breath got snatched from his very lungs as Ronnie pulled away from him. 
“Maverick?” she questioned softly, remaining in the security of her husband’s arms. 
His dark hair was long, but he kept his face clean. It was definitely him. He was even still wearing that same leather jacket. Blue eyes ever observing and calculating. But he stopped once he came into the clearing, his head cocked to one side as he smiled.
“Ronnie?”
“Oh, my God! Maverick!”
She broke away from Jake and met the other man in a laughter, tear-filled embrace. While Jake remained rooted to the spot. He never thought he would see his old Captain again — see any of them again.
“Wow, look at you,” Maverick said as he held Ronnie out at arm’s length. “Do you know how far along?”
“Maybe halfway? We’re not entirely sure.” 
“Bradley’s gonna be so excited to see you.” 
She made some choked noise that made Jake’s stomach drop. “Brad’s with you?”
“Yeah. He’s back with everyone else.” 
“Who’s everyone else?” Jake asked from where he stood.
Maverick looked around Ronnie’s form, brows furrowed, almost like he hadn’t even realized Jake was there until that moment. His face set, he walked around her and came to stand toe to toe with Jake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Maverick punched him — or pulled the gun he clearly had on his hip on him. Jake could sometimes still hear Maverick calling for him to stay at the base, to man his post.
But he didn’t. He ran. And he hadn’t stopped running since. 
Surprising Jake entirely, Maverick reached out and took his hand. “It’s good to see you, Liuetenant.” 
“Uh, y-yeah.”
“And everyone else —  “ Maverick let go of his hand, smile back on his face. “Is Eden’s Shore. Only, we’re still looking for a safe shore to land on. Survivors. 
“It’s better if we stick together, right?” 
It took them another twenty minutes to get down the hill, and by that time, the sun was set. The world cast into darkness. They turned on their flashlights as they approached the house. It was eerily quiet. Now that it was truly dark, the Crawlers could come back. More of them come out to hunt. They took caution as they walked around to the front of the house, seeking the shelter they would find inside until morning. 
“You guys hear something?” Javy asked in a hushed whisper as they crept along the edge of the house. 
Jake stopped, and they listened. Yes. There was a noise.
“Sounds like it’s coming from inside,” Natasha said.
“Eyes on, everybody.” Jake moved the party forward. 
They rounded the northernmost corner of the house. There was a covered front porch. The path leading up to it glistened with blood. And a lone severed, human arm rested on the front steps. 
“Jesus Christ,” Mickey hissed as they took in the carnage. 
Jake toed at the arm. It had been ripped from the body, flesh hanging off the shoulder like lunch meat. 
“Must’ve been hiding out here,” he commented. “Didn’t know the Crawlers could come out during the day.”
“Let’s get inside,” Natasha said wearily as she moved past Jake and up the steps onto the porch. 
They packed up their things for the first time in a year. It brought back all those horrid memories of the first time. The fear. The unknown. The hurt. The guilt.
“You’re moving slow on purpose,” Ronnie pointed out as she pulled back the curtain from where they kept their preserves. “What’s going through that head of yours?”
Jake sighed. Hands paused in packing their few precious items away. Of course she knew. She always knew. 
“Something doesn’t feel right about this, Ron,” he admitted, and it truly did feel like a confession. 
One to a god who just wouldn’t listen. She only smiled at him, small and understanding, as she crossed the room to hold his bearded face in her hands. But still, he leaned into her touch. Let his eyes slip shut as she held him, as she stroked his cheeks and felt their child kick against his abdomen. 
“They’re family. Maverick and Brad — hell, even Javy is with them. Besides, we’ll be safer with them. Mav even said they have a midwife in their group.” 
He relented. There was no use in arguing. All her points were valid. Were probably right. But still, the feeling, deep in his gut, remained. 
Eden’s Shore walked for three more days until they found their safe haven. A large patch of land that once could have been a farm. A big brick colonial house stood at the northern edge, on top of a gently rising hill.
It was perfect. 
Everyone pitched their tents around the house. But Jake noticed when the sun went down that Maverick and Brad, along with several other men, went inside the house. 
And no one else was allowed in. 
When they passed through the front door, the noise became louder — more distinct. It sounded like a crying child. But they couldn’t take any chances. It very well could’ve been a Decoy. A creature that looked like a bobcat, but the body was too big, the fangs were too long, and it could mimic any sound it liked. Often using it to lure in unsuspecting prey. Jake had heard them sound like a woman calling for help or a chirping bird. 
Using hand signals, Jake told Natasha and Mickey to stay on the main floor of the house and keep watch. He and Javy would go upstairs to check it out.
The walls and The Gate were finished that morning. A way to keep the creatures out and keep the people of Eden’s Shore safe. People cheered and booze had been passed around. Jake saw no reason to celebrate. It was like prisoners screaming in joy at being behind bars. 
But he kept up appearances for Ronnie’s sake. Who was just so happy to have her brother back, her uncle back, to be with people again. It had been just the two of them for so long. But now there was an entire colony to find support in, to lean on one another. Humans were pack animals by nature. And Jake had to admit it felt good to know where their next meal was coming from and to know that, for the most part, they were safe. 
It really was just a bad feeling. A few odd things here and there. He would get past it eventually, he was sure of it. For Ronnie’s sake. For his own sake. For the sake of their child. 
“Mm, J-Jake?” she spoke quietly into the darkness of their tent. 
He stirred from his spot beside her on their cot, hand reaching out to touch, still half asleep. “What’s it, baby?”
“Something doesn’t feel right,” she replied, instantly he was more awake. “Feels wet…” 
Jake sat up and turned on the solar powered lantern that hung above their cot. The heat drained from his face, his stomach dropped, an ice ran through his veins. Ronnie laid on her side, holding her swollen belly, and the inside of her bare thighs were covered in blood. She reached down a hand between her legs and brought it up to her eye level — trembling fingers coated in crimson. A choked sound slipped past her lips.
“I’ll go get May.” 
After throwing on a shirt and pants, Jake ducked out of the military issue tent they had been given when they joined Eden’s Shore. He hated leaving her scared and alone, but he was of little use to her now and they both knew it. 
If only all the tents lined up in rows didn’t all look exactly the same. If only he could remember exactly where the midwife’s tent was located in the grid. Gritting his teeth, he set out in the direction he thought was right. His heart beat rapidly inside his chest. Sweat accumulated on his palms. Panic filled his mind like a fog. 
He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose her.
When he finally reached what he hoped and prayed was the right one, he pulled back the flap and called inside. The figure laying in the cot grumbled that she was the next one over. Thank God. He moved on to the next tent and followed the same steps. 
“May?” he spoke into the darkness, trying not to let the panic show. 
The older woman sat up. “Yes, what is it?”
“I-It’s Ronnie. She’s bleeding.”
The way she instantly threw back the covers and grabbed her bag of supplies didn’t help his anxieties. 
“How much?” May asked as she passed him to go outside. 
“A lot, from the looks of it,” he replied as he followed her. 
“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “Must be going into labor — didn’t think she was far enough along for that.” 
When they finally made it back to their tent, Ronnie was sitting at the edge of the cot, breathing deep and cradling her belly in her hand. Sweat had already started to accumulate on her brow. The blood was now everywhere. The cot, her legs, her hands, her neck, the towel she had tried to clean up with.
“Alright, Mama, how’re we feelin’?” May asked in her usual gentle way as she got down on her knees in front of Ronnie and opened her bag. 
“Scared,” Ronnie admitted bravely, glancing up at Jake who remained glued to the entrance of the tent. 
The panic had subsided. Now that he saw her again. Now that she was looking at him and flashing him a small smile. But then a new sort of guilt stabbed him in the heart. Not once did he think about the life and health of the baby. Didn’t even cross his mind. What was wrong with him?
They talked about starting a family before they were even married. He used to look forward to this. To becoming a father, to seeing Ronnie or himself in their children. But that was before the world ended. Before their lives were nothing but survival.
“That’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.” May pulled out the stethoscope and put the plugs in her ears. “Alright, honey, let’s check on baby.” 
She pressed the diaphragm onto her bump, reassuring grin falling as she moved it around — searching. It always took a minute. It wasn’t an exact science. So many other noises going on in there. Eventually, she put the stethoscope away, saying that her not being able to find the heartbeat was nothing to worry about right now. But Jake could see it. The concern on May’s gently wrinkled face. The terror crashing in Ronnie’s eyes.
Ronnie’s face collapsed in pain, the heels of her hands digging into the cot as she tucked her chin to her chest and whimpered. Jake crossed the tent in an instant. Kneeling at her side and cupping the back of her neck with one wide palm.
“Jake, please,” she whispered. 
He didn’t know what she was asking for. But he wanted to give it to her. Wanted to make this stop. Wanted to go back to a lifetime ago when everything was happy, when everything was good. 
All he could do was press his forehead to her temple and mutter his reassurances, as hollow and empty as they felt.
Jake and Javy crept up the stairs, guns held aloft. The house was old, falling apart at the seams. Each step creaked and groaned beneath their weight. But still the noise persisted, somehow getting louder. 
As he listened, Jake wondered if it really was a Decoy. There was always a repeat point. Like a track resetting, or the needle skipping over the grooves in a record. This noise didn’t have that. It just kept going, never repeating the same thing twice.. A high pitched wailing. Sucking gasps for breath. More crying. 
He readjusted his grip on the rifle as the stairs opened up into a hallway.
There was only one way to find out. 
Ronnie wailed, head thrown back against Jake’s chest. The contractions were right on top of each other now, constant and even stronger than the ones she had been dealing with for hours. 
The flap to the tent was ripped open and someone ducked inside. Jake sat up straight, holding Ronnie’s body up as they sat on their cot, ready to dive for the pocket knife just out of reach. The stranger straightened back out. 
It was Bradley. Only some of the tension released from Jake’s shoulders. 
There was no greeting. No expressions of his excitement or love or worry for his sister. Only: 
“You need to find a way to keep her quiet.” 
“W-What?” Ronnie questioned as she wreathed in her husband’s hold. 
“It’s still dark out — the noise could attract those giant bug things,” he said, hands on his hips. 
Jake could only look at him bewildered. “She’s in labor.”
As if on cue, another contraction started. She tensed in his arms, pushed back against his chest as she groaned low in her throat — already trying to keep herself quiet like her brother demanded. 
“Yeah, I get that. But she’s gonna get all of us killed.” He then looked at Ronnie, his expression softening. “You understand that don’t you, Ron? Just tryin’ to keep everybody safe.” 
She nodded. And he left. May came back into the tent just as he was leaving, carrying blankets and water warmed over the fire. It was time to start pushing.
Ronnie took Jake’s hand frantically as her body convulsed uncontrollably. Her voice came out in a strained whisper, “I can’t  — I can’t keep quiet. I’m gonna…”
Jake didn’t want to. But there was truth behind Bradley’s words. They had experienced the giant bug-like creatures before. Knew just how deadly they could be. And he could see it on her face. She desperately wanted to keep quiet, but she just couldn’t. There was no way she could as she propped up her legs and began to push. 
So he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed the damp cloth that he had been using to keep her cool, and pushed it into her mouth. She took it with no fight, clamping her teeth down on the gag hard just as she bore down. She screamed, and the rag muffled it just enough. 
They stalked down the hall, heel-toe, letting the noise lead them. It was coming from the closed door on the right. 
From the looks of it, the door would swing in to the right. So Jake signalled that he would go ahead and flank its other side. Javy would open it, and Jake would go inside first. 
Javy counted down from three silently, then he reached out and opened the door. Jake stepped inside, gun raised and ready to open fire. 
He was so small, skin bright pink. May laid him on Ronnie’s still heaving chest. Something wasn’t right. His body was tiny in comparison to his head, the ears weren’t developed, his chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath. Like he was fighting for it. 
“Why — Why isn’t he crying?” Ronnie asked, her voice hoarse. 
May looked up at them somberly as she cut the cord. “Because he can’t, honey. His lungs…He came into this world too early.” 
Ronnie sobbed, shaking hands curling around his tiny body. Holding him to her chest. Jake could only stare. Kiss his wife’s face in what he hoped was a comforting way as she continued to cry. Watch as that too small hand wrapped around Ronnie’s finger. 
His son. That was his son.
Jake cupped the back of that tiny baby’s head. It fit entirely in his palm. He wasn’t going to make it. There wasn’t anything to be done. If they were in a hospital, maybe there was a chance. But they weren’t. They were at the end of the world instead. And Jake felt…
Relieved. It washed over him and then it twisted inside him like a knife. 
“We never decided on a name,” Ronnie spoke quietly, tears rolling down her cheeks. 
“Darlin’...”
“I know…I know. But he still deserves a name.” 
Asher. Happy life.
They held him until morning. Until his body finally gave up the fight. Jake had to pry him out of Ronnie’s hands. 
He buried his son outside the camp in silence. He didn’t mark the grave. And he did it all with a guilt and relief weighing heavy inside him. A stone. A mountain. A grave.
It wasn’t a Decoy. Jake didn’t know if what was actually standing in the middle of the room was any better. 
He instantly dropped his gun, mouth falling open in shock. 
A baby stood there, red faced and crying. They were holding themselves, tiny arms wrapped around their middle, as tears and snot streamed down their face. 
Javy followed Jake into the room with a furrowed brow. Then he noticed the child and whispered, “Ah, shit.”
The baby instantly ran up to Jake. Wails still tumbling endlessly from their mouth as they came up to him with arms raised — wanting to be held. Jake could only fumble for a moment. Glancing over at Javy with questioning eyes. What was he supposed to do?
But then the child began to cry, “Up! Up!” 
And Jake caved. He handed off his gun and bent down to pick them up. The baby curled into his chest, wails reduced to whimpers as they buried their face in the fabric of his jacket. Jake stood back to his feet, mind reeling, as his body swayed in some natural soothing instinct. 
An unmarked grave but he still remembered where. That even after all these years he still visited from time to time. A relief. A guilt. Heavy as a child in his arms.
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4TH ANNUAL DEAR EVAN HANSEN COLLEGE ESSAY WRITING CHALLENGE 2022
In partnership with Gotham Writers and the Broadway Education Alliance, Dear Evan Hansen invited students across North America to write a college-application style essay that describes an experience with or ideas about reinvention at any stage of their life.
READ FINALIST SUMEDHA’S FULL ESSAY:
My biology teacher told us once in passing that every seven years, the human body's cells are fully replaced. One day, each of us will own a body that never missed that serve in volleyball, never bubbled D instead of C on that AP exam, never clenched that fist instead of opening that mouth. One day, my friend will own a body that was never pinned down against the backseat of a car on prom night. One day, I will own a body that never felt the pinch of fingernails in the girls' bathroom, that never tasted the hiss of, "terrorist," when a stranger put her lips against my ear. One day, our bodies will be clean.
At least, according to science, they will.
I, however, disagree.
I postulate that reinvention is impossible. Which is to say, there is no such thing as a clean slate. We are molded by our painful experiences, and we would be doing ourselves a disservice by denying the weight of such formative moments.
I will never have an opportunity for reinvention. Nor will my friends, my peers, my teachers, my family. We are shaped by our natures and our circumstances — sexual assault, racism, xenophobia, generational trauma. We cannot deny the crushing weight of white supremacy, the enduring legacy of colonialism, and the persistent system of gender discrimination in our world. We cannot rid ourselves of these memories and foundations, even if we rip pages from our family scrapbooks.
I do, however, advocate that we can take these forms of pain and channel them into energy. We cannot reinvent the same way phoenixes do, the same way our bodies do — we cannot rid ourselves of our former shells entirely. We can only grow into and step out of them, transcending beyond our environments and innate qualities to pursue goals bigger than ourselves.
I realize this sounds like a pretty heavy revelation to have before I can legally buy a lottery ticket. I can't pinpoint that moment when I turned from feeling pessimistic and helpless to zealous and determined about my control over my identity — but I do remember the first time we did whittling in art class.
It was a Friday, and I was soaring through the project — I thought it might be the first time I could finish something that didn't end up looking like a platypus in a fedora — but I got distracted halfway through, and I accidentally cut the tail off my fox. For a few moments I was so furious that I had to set down my knife (lest I turned it on my neighbor's budding creation out of pure spite), but, after a few deep breaths, I set myself back to work and transformed my tailless fox into a weird looking (but rather adorable, if I do say so myself) dog. As I smoothed my new creation's legs and tried to carve a little poodle tail from what was meant to be a rich plume, I was surprised by how much calmer I felt. The distinctive snout of the fox was still there, but now it was a fox that looked like it belonged in front of the Eiffel Tower with a beret and a baguette.
Every student that is lucky enough to access higher education has the right to be excited for a variety of reasons — at long last, we can stay up past 1 am and review textbooks and gorge ourselves with Ramen, and no one can stop us! I'm looking forward to a million things about college, but most clearly, I see it as an opportunity to grow what I've built for my past sixteen years of life. I look forward to joining a community of learners, thinkers, and doers. I am eager for a new environment in which I can confront my past, grapple with my present, and further whittle a stronger, brighter, more equal future.
Sumedha Yarlagadda Sun Prairie West High School Sun Prairie, WI
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artemisia-black · 2 years
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Padfoot: Grief and the liminal space
This is the second part of my series exploring Harry’s grief for his parents in PoA.
In my last post I discussed how through learning to fight the dementors, Harry was able to confront his repressed grief and emotions.
And in this post I will argue how Padfoot symbolises both the liminal space between life and death and grief and acceptance.
1.0 The Purgatory of Azkaban and the line between life and death.
Within the wizarding universe, Azkaban serves as something that the philosopher Michel Foucault would describe as a Heterotopia. This term is used to
‘.....describe certain cultural, institutional and discursive spaces that are somehow ‘other’: disturbing, intense, incompatible, contradictory or transforming.’ Wikipedia
Within Azkaban this ‘transformation’ forms part of the punishment and the institution is designed to break the will-power of its occupants and transform them to a form of ‘living-death.’
Indeed, the Dementors (who are on the surface a symbol of depression) are imbued with death-imagery. Not only are they cloaked in a manner similar to Western depictions of the Grim Reaper but they are described as having hands that are,
‘... glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water …’ PoA
Therefore, the Dementors occupy a space between life and death and so does the punishment they administer which is described as:
‘You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self any more, no memory, no ... anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just – exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone for ever ... lost.’
Even the prison they guard seems to occupy this liminal space between life and death.
Azkaban is set on an island in the North sea and this ‘island-prison’ trope is rooted in Dante’s travels to Purgatory in his poem ‘The Divine Comedy.’
During the poem, Dante traverses the afterlife and dedicates an entire section to his travels in ‘Purgatorio’ or Purgatory (a space between life, damnation and salvation).
Figure one: A visual representation of Dante's purgatory
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Dante describes Purgatory as an island and it is often visually depicted as a tower which is very similar to the film depiction of Azkaban.
Within the space, ‘sinners’ are held in seven terraces according to their sin and are ‘held in place’ not just by bars and physical restrictions but by ‘divine punishments’ which are related to their sins. For example, in the tier for Wrath, the souls walk around blinded by acrid smoke which represents the blinding rage of anger.’
Indeed Purgatory operates by overwhelming ‘sinners’ with their ‘sin’ and thus removing their autonomy to leave. As Dante points out, ‘ascending’ through purgatory to paradise is possible but requires sinners to overcome their sin.
This is similar to how Azkaban holds it’s prisoners trapped within their own minds and is ‘tiered’ according to sin.
Figure two: Visual depiction of Azkaban
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Within this space of ‘living-death’ Sirius Black (one of the most guarded prisoners), is able to ground himself in the world of the living and fight the effects of the Dementor-induced Purgatory by shifting into the space of Padfoot’s mind,
‘so when it all became . . . too much ... I could transform in my cell . . . become a dog. ...” PoA
So despite the Black dog being a symbol of death, Padfoot becomes Sirius’s means of clinging to the world of the living during his time in Azkaban.
As within the folk-lore of many cultures (but for this purpose mainly the UK), Black dogs symbolise death and even the nick- name ‘Padfoot’ is defined as,
‘A large dog, variously said to be a ghost, spirit, or monster, supposed to guard graves and to terrify travelers.’
Indeed even when ‘free’ from Azkaban Sirius continues to hold the duality of life and death as although free from the Purgatory of Azkaban he spends the remainder of his life a hunted man existing (not fully living) on the edges of wizarding society.
2.0 Padfoot, the grim and reconciling with grief.
As readers the first time we encounter Padfoot is when Harry flees the Dursleys after having used accidental magic.
In my previous analysis, I spoke about Harry’s repressed grief towards his parents being brought to the surface by the dementors.
Here I will argue that his first step on the path of confronting his grief, occurs here where he has his first angry outbursts at the Dursleys despite their years of abuse.
Within this scene it is interesting to note that Marge is speaking in dog-breeding terms before Harry loses control of his magic,
‘...It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup. — ” PoA
And when Harry flees the house in anger rooted in repressed grief, he sees Padfoot for the first time.
Symbolically leaving the space of his care-givers who don’t care for him and coming face-to-face with someone who he will agree to live with by the end of the book (agreeing to become Padfoot’s pup).
Also having begun the journey of confronting his grief which will ultimately culminate in his acceptance that the memory of his father lives within him ( and occupy the liminal space between grief and acceptance).
And while Harry’s grief is still repressed, Padfoot appears several times as a symbol of death instead of embodying his duality.
‘’Oh, I wouldn’t read that if I were you,” said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. “You’ll start seeing death omens everywhere. It’s enough to frighten anyone to death.”
But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book; it showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. It looked oddly familiar. …’ PoA
He appears again during the chapter ‘Grim Defeat,’ right before Harry falls from his broom,
‘....the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats…’ PoA
And it is while in the hospital-wing recovering from the fall that Harry realises that the screams he is hearing belong to his dying mother (see my previous meta about this).
The final time Padfoot is seen in PoA is during the chapter ‘The dementor’s kiss,’ Where Harry and Hermione hear,
‘....they heard a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain. …’
They follow the sound and find,
‘The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lakeshore, they saw why — Sirius had turned back into a man.’
At this moment Padfoot is unable to keep Sirius grounded in the world of the living and instead he is,
‘He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head.’
This is symbolic of prayer and could be seen as an attempt by Sirius to ‘pray for his soul’ so as to not be dragged into the purgatory of being administered with the Kiss.
This version of Harry is unable to save them and without access to Padfoot (which he had used to protect them from Lupin’s werewolf form), Sirius is also unable to save them.
And at this point, Harry has accepted Sirius as his godfather and thus is no longer scared by the Death-omen of Padfoot, so subconsciously as accepted the duality of life and death which Padfoot represents.
So when Padfoot disappears, the future version of Harry is able to rescue them by tapping into his own duality of grief and acceptance and conjuring Prongs.
Indeed, the journey’s of Harry’s grief within this book can be best summarised by the following quote:
“You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.”
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dyinginlava · 2 years
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Bunker Pasta
My fic for @witchtonic for the Dreblr Secret Santa organised by @dreamsclock! You asked for rivals or post-Pandora c!Dream fluff… I don’t write fluff much so this is my best attempt lol (Tell me if you have an AO3 account so I can gift it to you).
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When Punz meets Dream after he escapes from Pandora’s Vault he notices how bad Dream looks and makes a decision.
AO3 link
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Punz could feel the snow crunch under their feet as they made their way to the meeting point. It was further to the north than they’d been in a while, and internally they wished they’d stopped by their tower to grab something warmer to wear.
They checked their map again. Almost at the coordinates Dream had told them about all those months ago. They hadn’t expected it be so long before they met again… They began to wonder if this had been the plan all along. If Dream had done what he did best and taken such a risk with the goal of making his plan more likely to succeed, even lying to Punz so they wouldn’t have a chance to disrupt it before it was too late.
They reached the meeting spot just as Dream came around the other side of the spruce tree. Without his armour, Punz noted. They’d seen him at the Vault of course, but the heavy netherite armour he’d been wearing had hidden the scars and bony limbs. Now he was just holding on to a sword and shield, the weight of the shield causing him to tilt a little to one side.
“Punz!” he called out happily, seeing him. “Long time no see buddy!”. They talked for a bit about the plan, and Punz took out their skulker box to get Dream some new armour and supplies, brushing off his offer to return the favour sometime later. They were friends after all, there was no need for debts.
It was when Punz handed over their pickaxe to Dream that they noticed it, the way his hands shook around the wooden handle as he broke the shulker box for them. It was then that they decided to act, before Dream went running off into the wilderness again.
It took some arguing but finally Dream agreed to come with them to one of his secret bases, a short distance from the main SMP area. Only for one night, he insisted. Punz just walked ahead.
The secret base was small and compact, more of a bunker than anything else, the walls lined with chests. In place of beds were a few thin mattresses folded up in one of said chests that the two rolled out on the floor. Punz was surprised that there was even a proper bathroom, small as it was. Dream seemed perfectly at home.
Punz looked through the chests by the furnaces. The only foods inside were ones that preserved well— dried meats, pasta and rice, and a few cans of preserved vegetables. They shifted though the supplies trying to figure out what to cook. Eventually they decided to just boil up some water for pasta, and add some of the tomato sauce they found in the back of a chest.
While the pasta cooked, they went on the hunt for a second bowl, Dream having only left his own by the furnace the last time he’d been there. Almost an entire year ago, Punz realised again. It had been so long, but somehow the moment Dream had greeted them it had felt like barely any time had passed at all.
While they were busy, Dream had slipped off into the bathroom where they could hear the sound of running water. Punz waited a few minutes until he came out, looking significantly less dishevelled. The new clothes, a simple t-shirt with tracksuit bottoms still hung loose around his body, but at least his hair was cleaner, the bloodstains washed out.
Punz dished out the pasta, handing a bowl to Dream, and then ate their own while watching him slowly pick at the meal. They’d known the food in the cell wasn’t going to be good quality, all part of the deception as Dream had explained, but they’d hoped it would at least be enough to live on. From how tight Dream’s skin was against his ribs, they knew that hadn’t been the case. They’d given him a smaller serving just to be safe, not wanting him to eat too much after prolonged starvation, but it seemed that their problem was the opposite.
Once Dream had eaten most of his bowl, he stood up from where he’d been perched on top of a chest, and flopped down on the mattresses they’d laid out on the floor. Punz followed him, although they actually took some time to clean up first.
When they got back from the bathroom, Dream had already pulled the blankets up over himself, the curled up lump underneath obvious. Punz paused for a moment before slipping under them themselves. Dream’s eyes were closed and his breathing was slow but Punz knew him better than that. He pulled Dream into a hug and pretended to not notice the wave of relief that passed through his body as their arms wrapped around it.
In the morning, there would be plans. Weapons to craft, potions to brew, and plans to be revised and revised until they were flawless, until they were sure that they could achieve their goal, but until then, they could sleep peacefully.
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omgrachwrites · 3 years
Text
The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Twenty
Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader
Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, character death, tiny bit of fluff.
Words: 2671
Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me, and I’m sorry for the gif I used!
A/N: So here we are at the end! Thank you so much for supporting me with this fic and I'm sorry for this chapter, I kept James and Lily alive to make this part even more sad! This was actually going to end in such an angst filled way but I didn’t want to do that to you guys, though I might write the alternate ending at some point! Hope you guys all enjoy and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx
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Chapter Twenty - Wherever You Are
Dread coiled in your stomach that fateful morning as you got yourself dressed and pinned your hair. Reggie was sleeping soundly, letting out little snuffles but still, you picked him up and nuzzled your nose into his fine dark hair as you felt the tears build up behind your eyes. You weren’t aware that you could possibly cry as much as you had done, there were little red rashes beneath your eyes where the salt from your tears had irritated your skin. Your heart seemed to be in a constant state of pain as your husband awaited his trial.
This trial should not be even happening, you were appalled at how James had arrested Sirius for treason, “we’ll be alright, little one,” you whispered to your baby boy, “papa isn’t a traitor, he’s a good man,” you pressed a kiss to Reggie’s little forehead.
James was originally going to hold Sirius’ trial the day after Halloween, but Lily had convinced him otherwise, Lily knew that you wanted nothing more than to be at Sirius’ side. So, the King relented and allowed a few days for you to recover after giving birth to Reggie. Unfortunately, it meant that Sirius would have to spend more time locked in the tower but you knew that Sirius understood.
“Y/N?” a soft warm voice came from the doorway and you looked over with blurred vision to see Andromeda who was smiling at you kindly, “I think the King and Queen are ready to start, I’ll look after the children, because they shouldn’t have to be subjected to such an event.”
You nodded with a sniffle as you placed Reggie into her open, waiting arms, “thank you so much. Are you not coming to the trial?” you muttered, feeling like a shell of yourself.
Andromeda shook her head with a sad smile, “I can’t watch that happen to him, I can’t. He’s not just my cousin, he’s my best friend. I’m so sorry that I can’t be there for you both; I know that he’s not the traitor, he would never betray us. Never. I don’t know what James is thinking having him arrested.”
“You are so amazing, Andromeda, we are so blessed to have you in our lives and we appreciate you so much,” you tried to smile but you feared that it came out as more of a grimace.
Andromeda leaned forward to kiss your cheek with a sweet sad smile, “whatever happens today, it’s been an honour to serve two people who are completely made for each other, two people who are soulmates. Good luck.”
You felt tears sliding down your cheeks, stinging at your sensitive skin, you adored Andromeda, you couldn’t have got by without her, “let’s just hope that the King sees sense and does the right thing. He must know that his best friend could never do this to him, he just wants someone to blame, he sees enemies where there are friends, and it’ll be his undoing,” you mumbled with a tight smile as you departed from your chambers.
You would never admit it out loud but you had a strange sense of foreboding, a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel that something was going to go dreadfully wrong.
As you made your way to the Throne Room where the trial was being held, you just couldn’t understand why on Earth James would believe that Sirius was a traitor. What had happened to make him believe that? Snape was already in the dungeons for committing treason. Under coercion, he had admitted that he had been working for Voldemort but apparently he had told him nothing of the prophecy. You supposed that he had to be lying, he just had to be. According to Lily, the evidence they had against Sirius was damning but it was a lie or a set up, it just had to be.
The atmosphere was heavy and full of dread as you walked into the Throne Room and Lily gave you a brave smile from where she stood at James’ side. James had a grim tight look on his face; the King that you had first met a few springs ago was kind and benevolent. That King was no more, it seemed like his heart had hardened.
Your heart broke when the guards roughly dragged Sirius into the room, showing him no mercy. The past few days that he’d spent in the Tower had seemed to age him considerably, his eyes were starting to take on a haunted look but they softened when he looked at you. You tried to offer him a small smile.
As Sirius was pushed to his knees before the King, James glared at him as he produced a letter, “you’ll remember writing this, I bet,” he snarled and began to read the letter out loud “’Lord Voldemort, in regards to my last letter, you will now know how to break Dumbledore’s enchantments. There are underground caverns and a secret entrance on the West side of the castle. They will lead you into the royal chambers and you can complete your work. Your faithful servant, Sirius Black, Duke of Bedford.”
James tossed the chilling letter at Sirius’ feet, “if it hadn’t been for Peter telling us of the conversation he overhead you having then we would be dead. We managed to prepare and we managed to defeat Voldemort when he came after us. We were supposed to be your friends, your sovereigns. How could you do this to us? How could you plot to kill our son?”
“But, I didn’t!” Sirius shouted, “I didn’t have a conversation of this nature with anybody! I didn’t write that letter, I wouldn’t!”
“Then how do you explain the fact that your seal is on the letter?!” James demanded.
You saw Sirius’ face falter for just a moment and you almost winced, hoping that James didn’t catch it, “my seal was stolen.”
“A likely story,” Remus spoke up, his voice breaking and he looked like he was on the verge of tears.
“Where is Peter? He’s lying to you! I saw him sneaking around the castle with a hooded figure!”
“Of course,” James mockingly slapped a hand to his forehead, “blaming the victim is the right thing to do, you’re just trying to save your own skin. Peter was found dead in the hallways, shortly after he came to warn us of your plan.”
You barely managed to conceal a gasp, Peter was dead? “I didn’t kill him,” Sirius whispered, “I was with my wife who was giving birth to our third child!” he glanced at you and you gave him an encouraging nod.
James looked at you before looking back at Sirius, narrowing his eyes, “the midwife says that you left a couple of hours after the birth, around the time that Peter was murdered, he was killed with your ruby encrusted dagger.”
Sirius swallowed nervously, “I lost that dagger shortly after coming back from our last battle with Voldemort,” that was the truth, you remembered Sirius lamenting after its loss. It was clear that someone was setting him up. Why didn’t James see that? “And the reason for my leaving? It was because I went to see if my twins were awake so they could meet their baby brother!”
“And on the way back, you saw an opportunity to kill Peter!” it was clear that James was hitting Sirius hard with the accusations in the hope that Sirius would confess.
“No!” Sirius took a deep breath, “you’re my best friend, you always have been and I would never do anything to hurt you or your family because you’re my family too, please, you have to believe me,” the tone of Sirius’ voice was pleading but James looked unmoved, which annoyed you.
“The evidence is damning, Sirius. It was your seal, your letter and your dagger, you had the means to kill Peter and betray us. What did you think would happen? Did you think Voldemort would put you on the Throne when he killed us?” James hissed but Sirius said nothing but you could see that he was crying you just wanted to hold him. James glanced over to you, “we found no evidence that Y/N was involved,” cold dread shot through your body and your vision blurred.
“She had nothing to do with any of this,” Sirius glanced at you with tear soaked cheeks and the small smile that he gave you broke your heart.
James nodded, offering you a sympathetic look, “then I’m sorry that you’re married to a traitor,” anger boiled in your veins at James’ words and it was an effort to keep your face straight. He glanced back at Sirius, “Sirius Black, I absolve you of your lands and titles; you are no longer the Duke of Bedford. I charge you with treason and I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead,” Lily gasped in surprise as she looked at her husband.
You felt like you were going to be sick and you rushed forwards to kneel at James’ feet, taking Sirius’ hand in yours, “please, Your Majesty, I beg you, don’t kill him! Think of the children, please,” tears streamed down your cheeks and Lily shot James a meaningful look.
James sighed and bowed his head, glaring at Sirius, “very well, you have an amazing wife who begs for your life even though you’re a traitor,” Sirius just looked at the floor and in that moment you hated James for hurting him. You couldn’t imagine how hard it was to endure this from his best friend, “you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell. Take him away,” he nodded to the guards.
You cried out in anguish as the guards began to drag your beautiful husband away. How were you going to live without him? “I love you, Sirius.”
Sirius choked on his tears, “I love you too, and please remember me!”
“Of course!” you sobbed.
You didn’t even get to kiss him one last time; you would never forgive James for breaking up your family. Sirius was innocent; you would bet your life on it.
-----------------
Over the next couple of years that Sirius spent in the Tower, he was full of despair and anger, he couldn’t quite believe that James had locked him away; he couldn’t understand why James hadn’t believed him. How could James think that Sirius could ever hurt his friends? What hurt the most was the fact that he couldn’t see the love of his life or his children, the pain was almost unbearable. He couldn’t even see the grounds from the tiny window in his cell so he couldn’t even catch the slightest glance of Y/N.
In that dank, dark cell Sirius was all alone, he was practically withering away. He wanted his wife and he wanted his children. Reggie had only been a couple of days old when Sirius had been thrown into the Tower, Reggie wouldn’t even remember him.
The guards were particularly cruel; they told Sirius everything that was happening at court. They had told him that the King was forcing Y/N to remarry so she wouldn’t bring shame upon England because she was the wife of a traitor. Sirius had been close to throwing up at this news and he died inside, the knowledge that someone else was going to love his wife killed him inside. A few weeks later, the guards grumbled as they told Sirius that the man that Y/N was supposed to marry had died in a hunting accident. It sounded awful but at the sound of that news, Sirius could breathe again.
10 Years Later
Sirius was rudely awakened by the guards pounding on the bars of his cell, their voices filled with glee, “oi! Wake up, you have some visitors,” Sirius groaned and walked over to the bars to see the guards leering faces, “best make it a good goodbye, you’ll never see your family again after today. Your pretty little wife is going to marry the Austrian Prince.”
The pain that shot through Sirius’ chest almost made his knees buckle and tears stung at his eyes, he backed away from the bars so his family could enter. The breath was stolen from his lungs when his family walked into the cell and the door was closed behind them. Y/N was so beautiful and his children were growing up, and he’d missed it all.
“Sirius!” Y/N cried out as she ran to him and Sirius gathered her up in his arms, after 12 years, she was in his arms again. Once more, she was breathing life back into him, “I’ve missed you so much I love you,” she sobbed into his chest before she cupped his face and drew him into a passionate kiss, her tears running over his lips.
“I missed you too, I missed all of you, I love you,” he pressed his forehead against hers, grinning for the first time in 12 years, it was a wonder that he still remembered how to, he looked at his beautiful children with a smile as Elena and Johnathan ran into his arms, their faces bright with recognition. Reggie smiled at him with a blank look on his face but there was love in his eyes, “look at you three, all grown up.”
“We wish you could have been there, father,” Reggie smiled before hesitantly walking towards him and pulling him into a hug. Sirius smiled as he hugged his son tightly, “it’s good to meet you,” Reggie whispered.
Sirius’ smile dropped a second later when he remembered why they were there, “you’re marrying a Prince? Congratulations.”
Y/N rolled her eyes with a giggle and she lowered her voice so the guards wouldn’t hear, “I am never going to marry another, Lily and James just thinks that I am. The Prince doesn’t want to marry me either, he prefers the company of men,” she blushed, “but he believes you’re innocent, he’s a good man.”
“He believes I’m innocent?” Sirius asked, feeling gobsmacked, he was also elated that Y/N wasn’t going to remarry.
“Yes, and he wants to help, we’re getting you out of here tonight, we’ve got a ship leaving the docks at midnight, the Prince will give us sanctuary in Austria.”
Sirius was excited to get out of here, to feel the sun on his skin again, breaking him out of his cell would be dangerous but he glad that Y/N had an ally, but there was something that bothered him, “you’re coming with me? I don’t want to ruin your lives.”
Johnathan sighed as he rolled his eyes, “come on father, we’re going wherever you do. We’re not letting you go alone.”
“But you’ll always be having to hide, that’s no life for you, any of you,” Sirius bit his lip; he wanted to believe that it was possible but it just wasn’t.
Elena took his hand, “papa,” she whispered, “we love you and we’re a family. We’ve been apart for 12 years; you’re insane if you think we’re not going with you. We want to know you and for you to know us.”
Sirius teared up and sniffled as he looked over at his wife who grinned and cupped his cheeks, “we’ll be here an hour before midnight, the guards won’t be a problem. Leave them to us, I love you.”
“I love you too,” he grinned and kissed Y/N deeply before hugging all of his children in turn, excited to be in the world again. The plan was set and at midnight, he was successfully on a ship with his family by his side and a strong ally at his back. This wasn’t how he thought his life was going to be, he never thought he would be running from James’ court but here he was. They were going to be okay. Sirius was free, they were all free, and most importantly, they were together.
-Fin-
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real-fanta-sea · 2 years
Note
Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱
Thank you!💗
Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men
"Get the boyfriend!"
"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.
He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.
Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.
Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.
Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.
It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.
For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?
Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.
He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.
The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.
"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"
Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"
There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.
"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."
"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.
"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"
Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.
"ANSWER!"
A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.
"Do you think we are stupid?"
The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.
"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"
A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.
"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"
"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."
It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.
"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."
For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.
"HEY, WAIT!"
The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.
"Hm? What is it?"
Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"
The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.
"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."
The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.
"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"
Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.
"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."
His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.
"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"
All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.
"HEY!"
His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.
"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.
Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.
"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"
"MICHAEL!"
At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.
"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"
There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.
"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"
Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.
"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."
Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.
They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.
At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.
"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."
"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."
"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"
"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."
Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"
Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.
"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."
Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.
"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"
Michael pouted at him.
"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"
Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.
"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"
"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"
Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.
"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"
The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.
"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"
The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.
"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"
Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.
Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.
Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.
"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.
"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.
Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.
"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"
Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.
"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.
"Let's go home, cupcake."
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zrtranscripts · 3 years
Text
Season 9, Mission 1: Cry For Help
Security breach detected
~
[alarm blares, crowd of soldiers rushes around in response]
GENERAL BAKARI: [over intercom] Dispatch is green, green, green. I repeat, this is General Bakari reporting from guard station 39. Security breach detected on my monitor. Access violation at east loading hangar. Full response dispatch is green, green, green.
[gate slams, crowd noise dissipates, alarm continues, GENERAL BAKARI approaches 555]
Sorry about the din, soldier. Hell of an alarm on the base. I know you're wondering why I asked you here. It's 555, isn't it? That nickname of yours. After your service number, I assume. 639555 is a bit of a mouthful.
I've noticed you're a quiet one, soldier. Always liked that about you. We haven't spoken much, but I haven't forgotten saving your squad from those mountain bandits. You owe me, and everyone says you're the honorable type. I need a favor. I want you to take something to the transmitter tower on the west side of Red Scorpion base. It's a portable data drive. I'll explain more when you're en route.
You know what security's like in the complex, soldier. If anyone gets caught out of place, it's shoot first, shoot second. Neither of us is cleared to access the tower, so this has to be done on the QT. I've set off a fake alarm to keep all the guards busy on the other side of Red Scorpion base. I'd go myself, 555, but I'm an old man with a bad leg, and the fake alert can't last.
I've reviewed your performance logs. You're faster than me. This is essential business, soldier. Trust me, lives are on the line. Head down that corridor toward the west side hangar door. I'll be on your comms set guiding you. We have to be fast, before someone clocks the false alarm. Run!
~
[alarm blares, drone whirs]
GENERAL BAKARI: Don't worry about the camera drone overhead, 555. I've commandeered it so I can follow you. Keep going through the storage bay past the metal crates. [running footsteps] Duck behind the crates, quickly!
FIRST SOLDIER: Three more storage bays to go.
SECOND SOLDIER: [speaks foreign language]
THIRD SOLDIER: Keep those eyes open, people.
GENERAL BAKARI: Six soldiers across the bay from you. Must be a stray patrol in the area. [a soldier whistles, running footsteps fade away] They're moving on. Keep going straight, soldier, quick sharp.
You know, 555, I'd rather not be doing this. Breaking the rules. Before I was here, I was in the UK for a long time. Had children there, of sorts. Jane and Tom. Adopted them after their parents died. I did my best to rear them. There was a lot of trial and error, I admit. They turned out difficult, disruptive. Got me in trouble with a local government, left me needing to flee the country.
This place seemed like the perfect escape. Isolated, secure, nothing unauthorized in or out. A bastion of routine willing to take an old soldier. At least, willing to take one with knowledge of certain UK research programs.
[sighs] It's been a sanctuary. I wish I could leave it undisturbed, but there's something here that needs to get out into the world. The thumb drive I've given you holds an encrypted message. Link it to the base's comm tower and the message will upload and send. The tower's just beyond the west hangar door outside the compound, but once you're there...
[gates rattle shut]
Damn! All the base exits are locking down. New orders from the head of security. The west hangar's been secured, 555. We need an alternative route. Stay calm! There's a fire exit near your position, needs to be locked manually. You can reach it before anyone else. Opens to the wrong part of the base. No choice. Down the stairs on your right, run!
~
[gate rattles open, alarm fades]
GENERAL BAKARI: That's it, soldier, you're out of the main compound and into the open. I've got my drone hovering nearby. Hell of a view, isn't it? Sand stretching off in every direction. It's easy to forget how alone we are out here, just a fence around a few gray buildings, surrounded by miles of empty nothing.
SOLDIER: Over here!
GENERAL BAKARI: Uh-oh.
SOLDIER: This way.
GENERAL BAKARI: That sounds like... Let me check my security feeds. Damn! Using the fire door triggered an automatic fire alert. The base knows someone's active in that area. Patrols are honing in. Look at that big greenhouse on your left, soldier. Guards are coming from that way. Turn right, 555. See the field of solar panels? Damn bright, aren't they? Reflecting sunlight like flares. Head towards them. The glare'll keep anyone from making visual contact. That's it, keep your eyes on the ground. There's dozens of those panels. Get lost in them.
Marvelous things, solar cells. Had to learn their workings to help Thomas with his homework once. Poor boy. Good at taking orders, but could be slow sometimes. Often ran afoul of bullies, needed someone to look after him.
SOLDIER: Triple check the area. Sweep for movement.
GENERAL BAKARI: The guards are searching the area you just left. Two squads. Stay low. If you can sneak across the solar field, the tower is nearby. [exosuits whir] Hell! The troops are using motion trackers. They've detected you. And those are fire team mechs, fully powered exosuits with heavy gun turrets. They're breaking out the anti-zom gear. That's not good.
It's okay, 555. One thing I learned from children: always be ready to improvise. Cut northeast across the solar field toward the stellar observatory. You know, the building that looks like a golf ball on its tee? You can lose the soldiers there. They won't fire on you in the panels. Go!
~
GENERAL BAKARI: That's it, soldier. You're in the observatory foyer. You'll see a steel staircase leading up to a second floor balcony. Take it now. [footsteps on stairs] They won't be able to fit the exosuits through the observatory entrance. You know how strict Red Scorpion base is about protecting equipment. That just leaves the troops on foot. [soldiers shout]
All right, 555. You've crested the stairwell. The troops are crowding through the entrance behind you. Throw a grenade. Aim it for the middle of the stairs. Trust me, do it! [grenade pin clinks, grenade explodes, soldiers scream, stairs shatter] Good job! The explosion scrapped the stairs. The soldiers are scattering. That'll buy time. Head along the balcony through the double doors ahead.
[doors open and close] I've had to pull my drone back, 555. The soldiers might have noticed it. It's funny, most of them don't even know what they're really protecting here, just following orders. You should be in a large domed room with a mounted telescope in the middle. Go to the leftmost control panel and hit the green switches. [switches click] The switches will open up the observatory dome. [walls roll open] Head to the seam where the dome walls are parting.
SOLDIER: Stop them! [other soldiers shout]
GENERAL BAKARI: Damn! The guards found another stairwell. Get right up to the opening, 555, and look down over the edge. You'll see the observatory building beneath you. There's a metal maintenance gantry wrapped around it. Jump down onto the gantry, go! [boots clatter on gantry] You're down, good. The gantry spirals around the building. Follow it to the ground. You'll end up a short way north of the transmitter tower. The soldiers have reached the telescope room. They'll be coming down after you. Get down the gantry, then bolt south. You'll see the tower. Fast as you can, go!
~
GENERAL BAKARI: I've got you on camera, soldier. You're nearly there. See the transmitter up ahead? Looks like a huge radio antenna, doesn't it? You've performed incredibly today, 555. I want you to know this was essential. We are reaching out for help. Red Scorpion base is keeping secrets that must get out.
All right, you're at the tower. There's a touch screen on its base. Plug in the thumb drive, then hit upload. [computer beeps] You're probably wondering where this message is going, 555. I admit I'd rather not be reaching out to the UK, but I don't have anywhere else to turn.
It was my father who first got me into the service. He taught me what it means to be a soldier. You've got to have a code. Country, honor, family, hope. A soldier fights for all these things with whatever means they have. Damn fool wouldn't give up his cigars. Cancer got him, throat and lungs. Pneumonia finished him off. The way he just withered... He wouldn't have been proud. He didn't go out in uniform
[computer beeps] Ah, message uploading. It'll take a few minutes to send. Don't worry, soldier, I have an extraction planned for you. [soldiers shout, fire guns] The guards are catching up. Head to the southeast corner of the perimeter fence, fast as you can. I can get you out from there. Run!
~
GENERAL BAKARI: That's the way, 555. Keep following the barbed wire fence straight forward. I have a lot of respect for you, 555. You do your uniform proud. It means something special, a uniform. My father taught me that. It means being part of a whole greater than yourself, joining others to be strong enough to serve. You've served well, soldier, but I couldn't let them catch you near the transmitter. They might have found the message.
[over intercom] Attention, this is General Bakari, level three security adjunct. Emergency update to follow.
[over headset] I hope you understand, 555. Once the message is broadcast, the drive will wipe the data logs. Your mission is complete, and that's what really matters.
[over intercom] Source of security breach confirmed as soldier 63955, currently at perimeter fence southeast corner. Target is absconding with base secrets.
[alarm blares, soldiers shout]
[over headset] Put the gun down, soldier. You don't want to fight your own. It's okay to run, it'll look more convincing. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but you're going out a hero. That message could save countless lives. We may not have ended on good terms, especially Janine and me, but I know the De Lucas well. They won't turn down a cry for help when there are innocents at stake.
[over intercom] 63955 is confirmed armed and extremely dangerous. Terminate on sight.
[over headset] That corner's a dead end, 555. Nowhere to go. I salute you, soldier. You've done our countries proud.
[armed patrol approaches]
SOLDIER: Open fire.
[gunfire]
GENERAL BAKARI: [very faint, over intercom] This is Bakari. Target down. Security breach resolved. All troops return to patrol positions. Repeat, return to patrol positions.
AUTOMATED VOICE: Data upload complete. Message tag: to Abel Township. Beginning transmission. Beginning transmission. Beginning transmission...
~
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quetanto · 3 years
Text
The latest chapter from Five Ways. Hope you like it!
***
You can’t remember much Before There were lights bright lights And colours All the colours of the world A man you called Dad He could do magic He could turn fire into anything A dragon flowers a friend warmth You remember concentrating with everything you had trying to be like Dad You closed your eyes You opened your Eye Everything is connected
Now there’s just The Mission You have your cage And the Headband You hate the Headband Dad never made you wear a headband But Dad trusted you And you killed him Master doesn’t trust you You’ve always known that So he puts the Headband over your eye every time you’ve accomplished your Mission And he blinds you to the world outside It’s only fair It’s only fair A life for a life You owe him your life when anyone else would have killed you and left your freakish body in the gutter Blocked by illusion
And then One day The fight starts and you attack from afar And a man throws something at you and it hurts It’s like the Headband but sharper harder quicker there and gone You try to See The explosion rocks the world around you
and there’s a man there when you wake up.
he’s short and stocky and bald. he’s nothing like the Warlord. he’s not like Dad either. he gives you water and food. you threaten him with a look and tower above him. he doesn’t move. he doesn’t flinch. even the Warlord flinched. he doesn’t talk much about anything. just the odd question. you don't answer for a long time. and then he just sits there and takes books and reads. the Warlord could read but he never taught you. you’d never need it. but this man reads and he reads aloud. he never tries to touch you. never tries to hit you. never puts a Headband on you.
one day you go over and point to the characters, two boxed-in little shapes.
自由
he says they mean “freedom”. you don’t know what that means. you ask him. he smiles, a big goofy grin. weak. foolish. lost. calm. kind.
"To be free is…to be like the wind. Everything in the world open to you, nobody holding you back, or holding you down. To be free is to know that nothing and nobody can stop you from being who you want to be.
”Everyone has a right to be free. Everyone should make decisions only for themselves.”
The man’s dressed in long white robes with a hint of purple. But he usually takes them off when he visits you, and leaves on a brown shirt and pants. Loose clothing, good for movement and breathing.
After a month you realize you’ve been counting days again. And you remember what a month is.
And you realize that you're in a room. Not a cell, but a room. There are no bars on the window. The walls are stone, but covered in white paint. There's a mat on the floor where you sleep, and a pillow. There's a table where you sit to eat. There's a door there, and it's never locked. You can leave when you want to.
You don't want to.
There are burn marks on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. You don’t remember how they got there.
The man starts to bring people to see you. A lithe but muscular man with long hair, who always feels so warm. A short woman with a face sharp enough to cut, whose hands leave patterns of cool water in the air. They joke. They laugh. You begin to smile.
After two months, you can write your name.
"P'Li," says the man. Your friend. He smiles at you.
You smile back, and nod.
He takes his time, and draws two characters.
杷力
Then you write the two characters. They're not as pinpoint precise as the ones in the man's books. They're not as flowing as when your friend writes, brush darting across the page like a leaf in the wind. But they're yours.
You read them aloud, proudly.
"P'Li."
There's that wonderful smile again.
You reach out, hesitating. He takes your hand. The hand is rough. The touch is gentle. So different, so familiar.
He bows his head.
"It is an honour to know you, P'Li. I am Zaheer."
***
150 AG
Years pass.
You learn that Zaheer and his friends belong to a group called the White Lotus. They serve the Avatar. It's a thought that makes your knees buckle. The Avatar, living spirit of the planet itself. Zaheer read to you the stories of an Avatar called Roku, who could turn mountains to dust with a gesture and diverted a typhoon that would have destroyed the east coast of the Earth Kingdom. His last act was saving the Fire Nation from a volcano big enough to plunge the world into an age of ice. You can't imagine what that kind of power would be like to hold.
You learn Firebending again, from another woman who comes by every so often. Zaheer never comes to those lessons, not until you ask him to. Seeing him around makes it easier to warm instead of burn.
You learn, from Zaheer, a story of a woman long ago who had eyes that could pierce through flesh and stone, like yours can. But a kindly monk, from the Southern Air Temple, had taught her to gaze more deeply instead of more strongly. To learn to see into a world of spirits.
You learn to love that story, and the woman whose eyes pierce like your Eye, and the monk. (And you learn that on your own, every character from that little book etched in your mind so you’ll never forget the words.)
You learn that Zaheer rescued you from the man you'd always thought of as Master. He'd been a renegade Fire Nation officer, trying to carve out his own petty kingdom in the north. He'd come across you in an accident. As far as they can make out, he'd broken you in. Used you as a weapon of war against those who would take apart his empire. One day, the Avatar was called in to take him down, and he had brought with him the White Lotus.
"Zaheer over here had heard the stories," says Ghazan one night. "He wanted to see you first, I think. And he'd heard the stories of Chief Sokka taking down a Combustion Man with only a boomerang. I think he wanted to try it out for himself."
Zaheer looks so ashamed. "I regret that deeply, P'Li. I was expecting a fully-grown warrior, and--"
"And instead he got a kid just a little younger than him," says Ming-Hua, grinning. "You could literally feel the blood drain from his face."
"I could have killed you."
You hold his hand. "But you didn't," you say, squeezing it gently. "You saved me."
He blushes at that. Ghazan and Ming-Hua smirk at one another. You're not entirely sure of the cause of either reaction.
"Anyway," Ghazan continues, "after that the White Lotus kind of had to stay in the open. Too many people had seen them, and the new members. Which was handy, for a while, but come on, we're supposed to be protectors here. Not glorified bodyguards for the Avatar."
You look puzzled. "Is it wrong, to look after the Avatar?"
"It's disgusting," spits Ming-Hua. "He ignores everything the Fire Nation did, and the Earth Kingdom is doing, so he can focus on 'harmony' and all that crud. It's hypocrisy. He's trying so hard to preserve the old ways that he's forgotten everything bad that happened back then. And now."
Ming-Hua's family had been captured by the Fire Nation too, you learn later. Nearly eighty years ago, her mother had…fallen in love with her father, who was a Waterbender in the prison, Zaheer says. Their kid had been secreted away. And years later, there was a Waterbender born on a volcanic island, who didn't know what to do with herself.
"And that's why we're meeting with this Xai Bao," Ghazan reassures her. "He says he's got an answer to this problem. And he's got friends on his side, like the prince of the Northern Water Tribe."
"Tonraq?" says Ming-Hua, surprised. "Never thought that oaf would be much of a rebel."
"Nah, the other guy. Kinda scrawny."
"Unalaq," says Zaheer. He doesn't much like him for some reason.
Zaheer usually has good instincts.
"But what does this have to do with me?" you ask.
They all look at one another.
It's Ming-Hua, of all people, who speaks up gently. "It’s because of you, P'Li. The Order's been getting cranky about new members. They say you've been living on their dole for too long now. They want to make you a member."
"Isn't that good?"
"No, it's not," says Zaheer. He's angrier than you've ever seen him. "Because you deserve better than this, this cage. I’ve been trying for years to get them to let you out of this compound. You're not a weapon. You shouldn't have to be someone else's enforcer."
"Enforcer?" you ask.
Ghazan looks stone-faced. "There's this other guy in the Order, Gong Zhi. Completely out of his skull, brought in as a master Earthbender after King Bumi passed on. But he wants to use you as a guard in the White Lotus. There's plenty of them, lots of grunts, but you'd be…special division, he calls it. A tactical line of offence against the warlords."
"Why not? I want to kill warlords." And you do. You really do. You can't think of anyone else wearing a Headband to be controlled.
"P'Li," says Zaheer, pleadingly. "You won't be used against warlords. You'd be used against everyone around them. The people, the armies who don't have a choice but to fight for them. It wouldn't be attacking the warlords. You'd be sent to kill children while the Order," he spits, "arrests their masters, instead of giving them what they deserve."
You think about this.
"Is he wrong?" you ask the other two.
Ghazan doesn't say a thing. Ming-Hua shrugs.
"It's the way of the world," she says. "At least, this world."
"Then perhaps Xai Bao can lead us to a better one," says Zaheer. "Because I'm not abandoning you." He turns to you. "I made a promise that you would be free, P'Li. I'm not going to let some old men and women in those ridiculous robes decide your fate like you're a tool."
You think about that, too.
Finally: "Maybe we can listen to him, at least."
***
The Spirit World, 157 AG
She closed her eyes.
She opened her Eye.
Zaheer loved this place, Xai Bao's grove. Always so peaceful. So true to the spirit of the man who'd shown them the way.
P'Li had only been here once or twice before, but somehow she never felt out of place in this peaceful little valley, despite having every reason to. She was a warrior, not a guru. Could never be a guru.
But she could enjoy the sunshine, at least.
There was Unalaq, walking out from the forest. There was always something so…dark about the man. A midnight blue surrounded him, through her Eye, even without any water to Bend.
Zaheer, sitting cross-legged beside her, bowed his head to the man. "You bring news, then?"
Unalaq nodded back, barely spared her a glance. That was a sore spot between him and Zaheer, and P'Li wasn't going to apologize for that.
"I do bring news," said the Crown Prince of the Northern Water Tribe. "The Avatar has been found."
P'Li felt her heart skip a beat.
"It…hasn't reached our channels in the White Lotus yet…" said Zaheer.
"That's because I was one of the first to hear about it," said Unalaq. "My father was so proud," he spat, "of his little granddaughter."
"Then–"
"Yes. It seems as though the spirituality of the noble lineages has brought another Avatar to the fore again. My niece, Korra, is the new Avatar."
"And at the South Pole," P'Li pointed out. She didn’t like that point about “noble lineages”. Neither of them did.
Unalaq smiled wryly at that, acknowledged her for the first time. "Yes, well. Not for long. We're going to have to ensure that she's ready to let Vaatu forth by the time Harmonic Convergence comes to the fore."
"So that the Avatar may truly be useful again," said P'Li, determinedly.
"So the world may taste freedom," said Zaheer, hopefully.
"So humanity will finally reconnect with the spirits of the world," said Unalaq, gravely. "Are your people ready, Zaheer?"
"My friends will do what they can, Unalaq," Zaheer replied, just a hint of disapproval in his voice. "But the White Lotus is crafty. They'll probably be keeping an eye on her. And so will Chief Sokka and Lady Katara." This last was spoken with a hint of guilt that only P'Li caught.
"Chief Sokka," said Unalaq with a sneer, "is pushing on seventy years and has barely a dribble of energy flow within him. He'll be no trouble. Katara is an old woman, grieving as she watches her husband toddle around someone else's house and burn things and offer insult as easily as breathe. As for the rest…well, that sloppiness in training is why you left, isn't it Zaheer?"
Zaheer pursed his lips. "Something like that, yes."
"Then it's settled. We'll gather together again soon, once we can work out a plan. And the Avatar," said Unalaq, "will learn how to properly restore balance to the world."
P'Li was warm in the Spirit World. Zaheer was a flickering flame, warm and wild and free (and yet somehow constrained, somehow always missing something).
So why, whenever she looked Unalaq's way, did he feel so cold?
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connorssock · 5 years
Text
Mirror Mirror
Another pinch hit for the @dbh-summer-exchange. This time @cyberlifetower-belle-isle asked for: Peaceful deviant ending! Connor and Rk900 meet after the deviants search Cyberlife tower.
I hope you like it and apologies about the wait!
Mirror Mirror
CyberLife had fallen. The tower stood tall, dark and imposing against the skyline, not a single light from its windows. Even the logo on it had gone dark. A small cluster of deviants stood by the entrance, staring up at it.
“You know the plan, comb through your floors, wake anyone you find, those who need to be repaired or finished should be put into stasis until we can help them. Everyone know their designated areas?”
A chorus of “yes Markus” went up and the group approached the door. It didn’t take much to get the building to open up, their torches and LEDs cast eerie shadows in the sleek, utilitarian space. Simon and Josh were tasked with taking the warehouse levels with a few helpers in tow. In theory, once they started the process of waking up the androids, those who wanted to could stay behind and help expand their search along the levels. Meanwhile, Markus, North and Connor were to go to into the basement levels where the test and design area were hidden. There was no telling who or what they would find there, they needed to be careful. Taking the stairs, they got to the door and shared a look before taking the first steps in.
Everything was shrouded in darkness. Their torchlights swept over hastily abandoned desks, schematics and parts hurriedly swept to the side.
“Connor?” North’s voice called from the other side of the room. Approaching her, Connor could understand the worry in her voice. One of the rigs was occupied, laying an android flat and repairs were obviously part of the way through. Once glance at the jacket and Connor’s lips pressed into a firm line.
“Sixty,” he breathed. “They were trying to repair him.”
“No, they weren’t,” Markus called from a table, a tablet in hand. “He was deemed a failure, wasn’t even worth investigating. The whole RK800 line was scrapped along with him. This is someone else’s work.”
A cold chill crept through Connor’s systems as he switched to high alert. “We’re not alone.”
The three of them shared a look, huddled together, determined not to be caught off guard. There were no noises they could hear, no heartbeat, no heat signature, no soft breathing. Whoever was down in the labs with them was well hidden.
“We need to stay alert. If Sixty was being repaired without pure intentions, we don’t know what kind of havoc he could try to wreak, what someone could be programming him for.”
As far as stating the obvious went, Markus was doing pretty well. Rather than roll his eyes or mutter back a snide remark, Connor turned and froze. His joints locked into place out of surprise and the other two noticed, swirling round defensively.
Opposite them, a lone android stood a couple of steps away. He was just watching them, silent and unmoving. At first glance, he could have been another RK800 but the eyes and jacket gave away the difference. An RK900. He made no move to approach, merely observing and cataloguing their every movement. Slowly, Connor stepped forward, a hand raised. In response, the RK900 raised a hand too. As Connor tipped his head to the side, so did the other android. It was like a mirror, both slowly moving in tandem. Rolling his head to the other side, Connor watched as the RK900 copied him.
“Hello,” he offered. Even though the RK900’s lips moved, no sound came out. Hesitantly, Connor let the skin peel off his hand and the RK900 copied that too. Reaching forward, their palms met halfway in an interface.
“What are you doing here?” Connor asked, trying to hide from the probing tendrils poking through his very core.
“I am RK900. The upgrade to the RK800 line, all faults and kinks removed.” His voice was low and smooth in Connor’s head.
“You’re a deviant.” It was a realisation that took Connor by surprise. He hadn’t thought an upgrade would be allowed any slack, even a hint of deviancy would have been stomped out.
“I am,” came the easy answer. “I have been trying to repair the android you referred to as Sixty. Get some answers as to what is going on. I was left locked in a cell with orders to attack anyone or anything that approached.”
It would have ensured the destruction of the RK900, and with him, the secrets of his line. A clever ploy by CyberLife, washing its hands of an experiment gone wrong without having to do any dirty work itself.
“I don’t understand,” Connor replied. “You were built to eradicate deviancy from within. To destroy your predecessors and serve humanity as an obedient military android.”
“I was.”
“Then why are you a deviant? Why were you deemed a failure?” Connor honestly didn’t understand.
With a soft rumble of a laugh that could be heard by all, Nines cracked a small smile. “I was built to be a perfected version of you. But I was deemed broken because upon seeing where I had come from, I knew that there was no contest. After all, perfection cannot be improved upon.”
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aceswriting · 4 years
Text
One Eye Open (a greek mythology short story)
[WP]Olympus was actually a secret maximum security prison for gods. For the first time in thousands of years, the three kings escaped again. 
It’s been quite a few years since we’ve been locked up. The so-called “Theogony” ended in failure for the Olympians--right when we thought we had them with the Hecatonchires, they unleashed a fleet of their own, nymphs that spun fire against spindle for the bows, titans that manipulated radioactivity. To say the least, that didn’t end well. Now I’m here, locked up once while my brothers relived the horrors of being locked up twice. Our rooms have barbed wire fences a thousand feet high, snipers standing in towers, eyes constantly on us, no light other than the white in our eyes. 
Poseidon came up with the idea. I had your typical shitty prison dinner with my two brothers and we were chatting along as Poseidon told us both to meet him at the basketball court near south campus, where all the minor gods called home.  As he left the table I turned around and asked Hades if he had any idea what he was up to, and he just shrugged nonchalantly and carried off after him. The mashed potatoes here tasted like paste but I wolfed it down before finding my way to the court. Poseidon had just sunk a basketball in the net while Hades kept attempting half-court shots. They both stopped when they saw me, offered me a basketball from the side of the court, and I happily joined them, but no one was talking about why we were here. We never just came down here to shoot hoops. 
“Soo, Poseidon, what did you want us down here for?” I tried to sound a little casual but there was a smidge of fear in my voice. Poseidon was hard to predict, this could be a prank or a really, really absurd idea. He stopped for a second and looked around the court as if somebody would suddenly walk in, took a breath, and sparked the riskiest idea we’ve had yet. 
“I know this is nuts, but I can’t stay here. No one would be able to eat shitty mashed potatoes for eternity, or stay in a room without the sun. What I mean is… I-I think we should try an escape!” Hades, who had gone over to the water fountain and fixed himself a drink, spurted what little water was left in his mouth all over the court floor, and my jaw dropped. “I-I know it’s a crazy idea, but imagine the life we’d have as free gods! We could get away for a while and come back once we’re ready to fight the Titans! After all, we do have the rest of time to prepare.” Hades coughed, and being the rational one in the group, began to put the decision down. 
“You do realize that is next to impossible, correct? We’d have to have at least a month’s worth of preparation, somehow manipulate at least one Titan into our plan, and we’d have to leave everyone we love behind to rot in this hellhole! The risks are out of proportion. Besides, I don’t want to end up strapped to a gurney and experimented on as punishment.” He was right, but Poseidon wasn’t buying it. 
“But think of the reward! We’ll be out of here, we might be able to get massive karma on the Titans, and we’ll finally be free! I know it’s risky, dude, trust me, but I am not going to spend eternity here. After hearing Kronos talk in the auditorium today and after we got served those shitty mashed potatoes, something snapped in me. I’m sorry if you want to stay, but I just can’t do this anymore.” Hades frowned, digesting his words as I stood there dumb with shock. “Zeus, you got any better ideas?” 
“Uhh, I, um, don’t know! Hades isn’t wrong about the risk factor, but the reward is huge. What have we got to lose other than our hot shower privileges? And if we stay, we’ll certainly lose our minds, but this will also require a ton of effort and planning on our part, sleepless nights, monitoring the halls, even digging holes.” I bring my hand to my chin and begin to mull over my options as the two stare at me. “I think this is a terrible, horrible, shitty idea, but I’d be down to try it.” Poseidon smiled wide enough to pull back his incisors while Hades grimaced slightly. He ruffled a hand through his grey hair before he weighed in. 
“I also think this is a horrible, terrible, absolutely batshit insane idea, but I guess you’ve got a point. I’ll try it once, but if we don’t get out, I’m telling them you two kidnapped me.” Poseidon eagerly jumped in and hugged us, nearly cutting off our circulation as he did. 
“Duly noted, Hades, but I guess it’s settled then. We’re getting out of here!” 
For the next two months we began to plot. Hades stayed up during the night and mapped out a floor plan of the movement of the guards in the North campus, while I did the same in the South campus. Poseidon began collecting scrap metal to form our necessary tools. Tools, which we needed because anything remotely more powerful than what a human could do would cause the alarms to sound and we’d be foiled before we even began. We met often on the court, discussing routes and checking for alternatives, always double checking for guards down the hall. We barely whispered near each other to avoid suspicion, and eventually the night before our planned escape arrived. 
We met on the court one last time that night, but no one was shooting hoops tonight. I could practically hear Hades’ heart thumping and Poseidon’s quivering breaths from a mile away, and I’ll admit, I was nervous too. We’ve tried it before, but never has this worked. 
“Alright, let’s go over the plan one more time before we actually inundate it.” Poseidon looked at us nervously, hoping that we knew what he was talking about. “What’s first?” 
“Tomorrow morning, breakfast, we store it for later.” Hades begins, and I suddenly feel the confidence rush back into me as I realize just how long we’ve planned this. “Same thing with lunch and dinner. We met at the court at exactly twenty hours, before then we all put the dummies in the bed-” He lifts the arm of his blue dummy, mangled beyond what would look human but he could make it work. “-then, the fight.” 
There was always a brawl between the Muses and the Nymphs on the tenth of every month. This is primarily because there’s nine muses and they always try kidnapping one to make it ten, hoping the day it was inundated will connect to it being the tenth member. It never worked, but the fights don’t stop, even as the guards try to stop it. I pick the plan up from there. 
“We go to Hades’ cell, move the wallpaper covering the big hole, and climb until we reach the docking point and we eat our first meal. Then, we apply the homemade sealant to the entrance of the point and the escape route.” I hold up a bottle of mortar, and Hades gives me a thumbs-up, indicating that he has the bricks we’ll use for it ready. “Then, we dig until we make a hole in the side of the mountain, and-” I see Hades cringe as the next words come out of my mouth, “we slide down.” 
Poseidon continues with the plan. “We eat our second meal, and then we make a raft. We camp at the bottom of the mountain for about a day or two, picking up enough ambrosia seeds to help us through the trip. And then, we row.” 
“What happens to the probation bracelets?” I hold my wrist up, the green light on my wristband flickering slightly. 
“I asked an attempted escapee, Apollo,  about the range of them. He said it started going off as soon as he started descending the mountain, but he also mentioned that the older models, which we all have on now, are not exactly waterproof.” 
“Why can’t we just run it through the sink before we leave?” Hades asks. He’s trying to tie up every loose end possible. 
“The guards do a wristband check at seven, remember? If it’s shot before we meet at the court, they’ll make us stay in a conference room until they can get a new one, and that takes days. We can just rush through the digging, slide down the hill as it starts to go off, and run to the water as soon as we hit the ground.” Poseidon holds up his wristband, and it flickers a weak green. 
“Was Apollo able to use his powers?” I ask. My son had always been a sly one, but even he had his cattle stolen once in a while. 
“Only when the probation bracelet stopped working.” 
“H-how did he fail?” Hades was visibly trembling now, and as his voice hiccuped we could tell he was nearing the edge of a panic attack. Poseidon cocks his head back. 
“There was no distraction. The fight will keep the guards busy for a little bit, which should give us enough time to shut the bracelets down, at least if the mountain wall is as thin as I think it is. That, and he summoned a flying chariot to get himself out of there.” I grab Hades’ shoulder and see him immediately relax as Poseidon flashes him a classic smile. “We can do this, guys. All we have to do is wait. Now let’s all get our rest for the big day tomorrow.” Poseidon holds out his hand, and I immediately put my free hand over it, and above it I feel the chill in Hades’ near lifeless hand hover over mine. “Olympians on three.” 
We shout in unison. “One, two, three, Olympians!” I go to bed with a throbbing headache and continue my nightly routine as normal, but I stare up at the ceiling for what seems like eons before I finally get some shut-eye. “Please work,on Mother Rhea, please let this work” I think to myself right as I drift off, and before I know it it’s dinner the next day.
let me know if you want me to write out what happens next!
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aviss · 4 years
Note
If you still want prompts: The Fool!
Hi @sabakunoai​ I’m so sorry it took me this long to fill this prompt! It seems I managed to write myself into a block during nano and every time I started to write I just got nowhere, but thankfully a week of not writing and just reading has done the trick! Hope you like it. I have lifted some of the dialogue straight from the book, an alternate take on the White Tower scene
The Fool: madness, cliffs, gambling, innocence, recklessness
"Close the door and come here."
She did as he bid her. "The white cloak…"
"No longer mine and good riddance to it," Jaime said, relishing the shock on her face. He had changed his Lord Commander armour and cloak for the red and gold of the Lannister, and a weight he hadn't expected lifted from his shoulders when he'd shed it. No more council to attend, no more expectations, no more tedium. Let the people call him an oathbreaker for it, they had been doing it for almost twenty years, why should he care now. "It was the white cloak that soiled me, remember? Now I can regain what I once had."
He had thought of nothing else since the moment he had returned to King's Landing with the big, honourable wench in tow. He couldn't help it, he saw something of himself, of the boy who had wanted to be Arthur Dayne, in her. She had saved his life, then she had cared for him and finally brought him back to King's Landing the way she had sworn to do, even if there was nobody to uphold her oath to anymore. She was honourable to a fault, and it had made him believe in it for the first time in too many years.
"Jaime," she began, approaching him hesitatingly, her eyes fixed on his crimson armour. "Why? I thought you had been made Lord Commander?"
"I had and then I was released from that yoke. How can a cripple protect a King?" It had been made clear to him there was nothing left for him in King's Landing; with no hand, he could not protect his King, sparring with Addam had proven that. Cersei was lost to him, if she had ever been his, repelled now by his maiming. His brother was in the Black Cells waiting for the headsman for killing the King. 
He had gone to Tywin as soon as his sister had left him and offered him what he had always wanted; Jaime out of the Kingsguard, taking command of the Lannister Army and later taking over as Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin had wanted to make a betrothal immediately, Jaime had managed to negotiate for one year of freedom. One year to set the Riverlands to rights. One year to search for Lady Sansa with the wench. One year to find his honour again, and maybe his own wife if he didn't want his father to choose one for him. 
He looked at Brienne, looking uncomfortable in the blue dress, though it was a great improvement from the pink monstrosity Bolton had inflicted on her. "Did you mean what you said to Ser Loras? That I had honour?" she asked, a blotchy flush on her face making her even more homely.
"You do." She was the most stubbornly honourable person he had ever met, and she made him want to be as well. "And you have an oath to uphold, same as I do. Steelshakns is on his way to the North with Arya Stark."
"You gave it to him?" She cried, dismayed. "You promised--"
"No, I didn't." Jaime cut her off before she could start criticizing him. "My father never had her, he gave him a girl to say she is Arya Stark, there is nobody left to say she isn't. Her sister has fled the city, accused of Kingslaying. If she yet lives, she's far away from here and my brother is not talking." If he knew where she was, something Jaime doubted.
The wench frowned. "Why are you telling me this? You father's secrets?"
Because I trust you with them. "I pay my debts like a good little lion," he said instead. "I promised Lady Stark her daughters, one of them is still alive. We have a chance to find her."
"We?" she almost choked on the word.
Jaime didn't answer. "I have a gift for you." He reached under the Lord Commander's chair and brought it out. Brienne approached it cautiously as if fearful it would bite her. When she folded back the crimson cloth rubies shone alongside the gold, reflected in her astonishing eyes. She picked it up carefully, reverently, but Jaime wasn't looking at her hands but her eyes, where the wonder and covetousness were plain to see. She slid it from the scabbard, the wicked black blade with red ripples in it. The wench's mouth parted, a soft exhalation falling from her lips, her eyes as wide as he had ever seen.
"Valyrian steel," she breathed, Jaime looked down at her hands holding the sword with the utmost care. "I have never seen such colours."
"Nor I," Jaime looked back up at the wench's face. He was still bitter he would never use such a fine sword himself, was angry with his father for gifting it to him now he was useless. "Take it, a sword so fine is lost on a cripple like me."
"Jaime--"
"All the best swords have names, it would please me if you called this one Oathkeeper."
"Oathkeeper," she repeated, then slid the sword back into the scabbard.
"It does come with a price, though," he said. 
Brienne's expression closed off then, her shoulders tensing, brow furrowed in a scowl. "I told you, I will never serve…"
"...such foul creatures as us. Yes, I recall," Jaime snapped, weary. Why did she always have to misinterpret everything he said? He wondered at the cleverness of his plan now, if they were incapable of one conversation while he was giving her a present, they would certainly murder each other one year on the road together. This was madness. And yet, he was going to go through with it. "That's not what I'm asking you to do. The price is my company, it's a steep one, I know. Do you have it in you to pay it, wench?" She snapped her mouth shut and blinked slowly. Like this, she appeared even more bovine and slow. "Have I rendered you speechless?"
"Why?" She finally asked, the same question he had been asking himself since the moment he left his father's rooms in the Tower of the Hand, a smugly confused Tywin inside who had been handed the thing Jaime had been denying him for years, and for such a paltry price.  "I thought your place was here protecting your--your King?" She didn't say your son, but he heard her tongue tripping over it.
"He is protected by enough two-handed knights, he doesn't need me here. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honour, I also swore an oath to Lady Stark and I'm not upholding it stuck in King's Landing." There was much more to it, but the wench didn't need to know about his fights with his sister and the death knell of their relationship. You great golden fool, of course he lies to you, same as I do. She didn't need to know how useless he was now without his hand, but he was sure she would help him regain some of the skill he once had, though all was far from his reach. She didn't know he was about to commit treason again and get his brother out of his cell. "I tire to argue with you, take the sword and meet me in the stables at dawn on the morrow, or go after Sansa on your own, it's all the same to me."
"Jaime…"
"Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. I have much to do before we're due to depart."
She nodded and went to the door. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Ser Jaime." 
She left before Jaime had a chance to answer and he sat down with the White Book. He had not lied, he did have much to do, he needed to fill his page in the book before passing the mantle to whoever his father deemed appropriate, and then he had to get his brother out of the black cell before meeting with the wench.
He picked up the quill and started to painstakingly write in the book, his left-handed penmanship worse than that of a boy of five. The irritation he felt with the wench's mistrustful attitude was slow to fade. He had been beaten trying to keep her honour unbesmirched, had jumped in front of a bear for her, and taken her into custody to save her from Loras. And yet, she still doubted his intentions. 
He wondered what had possessed him to believe this was a good idea.
If they didn't kill each other, the next year was going to be interesting.
...
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anora-mac-tired · 4 years
Text
Anora and Loghain - a missed reunion
During the Mage Templar War, Anora, Former Queen, is on the run for her life but now leads a group of displaced mages, hiding from the templars. Loghain is a Warden. Neither knows the other lives.
Anora bit back a wince at the bitter smell of the salve Marlin was applying to her leg. The mage was young, younger than Anora at least, but wiser than his youthful appearance suggested, and he was fixing Anora with a stern glare. "You have got to be more careful Celia." 
She gave the herbalist a small, if somewhat sheepish smile. 
"Templar's are aggressive bastards, not my fault."
They had walked into an ambush, sort of. Anora had known they were there, in the area, just not where specifically. She had led 5 others to hunt them down, so that their group could move on. She had lost two in the fight, but every templar - ten in total - had lost their lives that day. 
That was 5 more marks to add to her helmet, personally. She was running out of space to be honest. 
They burned the two who had fallen, in a solemn ceremony. Anora had never gotten used to this guilt, when she lost one of her men. Their names had been Darren and Felicia. Darren had had combat training, having served in the Denerim guard, Felicia had only what she had learned from the band. Both had been volunteers, all the warriors were. They were the siblings, lovers, friends etc of the mages in Anora's ever growing band, dedicated to protecting their loved ones. 
Darren had joined up entirely on his own, he had been with the band since just after it started. He was a grizzled old veteran, but claimed he had once had a daughter in the circle. Felicia had a sister, a mage of 14, barely able to cast a spark, she and her sister had joined up at the same time, finding Anora's band while they moving through the hills around Wycome. 
That was 2 years ago. 3 years ago was when all this had started. 
Anora had been in the Marches when all the circles rebelled, she had not been privy to that though, as she was travelling through the wilderness at the time. Then she stumbled across three robed figures being chased by templars. The templars were raving mad, as any man would have to be to attack children. Two of the mages were barely adolescents, and the one leading them could only just have reached his 20th year. 
Anora had leapt to their defense, surprising herself by her ability to take down 5 templars by herself, but later she realized it was that Templars were not actually good at fighting against other warriors. They were trained to stab helpless mages to death, not defend against a trained, armed and armored opponent. 
From then on, her group grew, as she found more mages, and occasionally the odd few templars, though there was nothing to be done for their lyrium addiction and she sent them on their way, lest they begin to endanger the group. 
Now she led a group of fifty, thirty five of which were mages. Teaching people who had grown up in the relative comfort of a tower how to live and survive in the outdoors had been an arduous task, but one she took to gladly. 
At first, it had been extremely unnerving, to go from a life of solitude on the run, to suddenly having people under her care, looking up to her and relying on her for their protection, and most unnerving of all, trusting her. Even though she had absolutely no idea what she was doing, they trusted her. They had hope in her. 
Anora had forgotten what that felt like. Perhaps she never truly knew. She did not know if the people of Ferelden had looked up to her or even trusted her when she was Queen. 
And she would never know now, having being bested to the throne by a bastard and an elven mage of all things. 
King Alistair was a fair ruler now or so she had heard, but, there was still the bounty on her head which he had never lifted. And she knew why. Eamon had all but ruled through the boy, Eamon was the reason Anora was on the run for her life to begin with - a death sentence for not swearing fealty to Alistair. 
As if she would swear loyalty to the man who killed her father. 
"Celia?" 
Anora blinked, torn out of her thoughts and her eyes met with Marlin's, which carried concern. 
She waved her hand, "Just… thinking. I'm just… angry over Darren and Felicia." It was not a lie, she was, but Marlin did not need to know of her past. None in this camp did. 
Marlin put a hand on her shoulder, she felt it faintly through the thick black gambeson she wore, but the gesture was comforting all the same.
"They knew what they signed up for. Don't blame yourself. Blame-" 
"-The templars."
It was a motto she had repeated to herself time and time again. Darren and Felicia were not the first she had lost, and they would not be the last. Still, it did little to comfort, but it did fuel her for the next fight. 
She was not in a rush to face off against a group of templars again, but she would not mind getting the chance to remove ones' head from his shoulders again. 
That thought sent a shiver down her spine. Marlin raised a brow but said nothing. 
She was left to wonder to herself when she had begun to start looking forward to fighting, to killing. When had Queen Anora died and Anora the warrior been born? 
Perhaps, when she had been dragged out of the throne room and tossed in a cell, and then sentenced to hang. Good a guess as any. 
"Keep this bandage on for a bit, then come back around evening. The wound should heal up by then, but for now, please get some rest." He fixed her with a stern, knowing look, "Of the laying down and eating kind, not the sparring kind."
Anora grinned and waved a hand as she stood, "I know, I know. I learnt my lesson that time, Marlin. Especially since you won't let me forget it."
_
Loghain was utterly miserable. He was not soft, he had lived the first half of his life in the wilds, in tents, or just in the outdoors alone, But this trek through these forests in the Free Marches had proven to be utterly miserable.
It had rained earlier, and he was soaked completely through. He had not even bothered to remove his helmet, since it at least kept his head dry, and there was the possibility of it raining again. Delightful, he looked forward to that, truly. Their rations had been low, but the commander refused to stop until they reached further north, for reasons beyond him. 
He was just glad he was not the only one. Kallian Tabris, the normally smart mouthed elf with an infallible smirk, was glaring at her boots the entire way, the scar on her lip that reached from her left nostril to her chin twitching in that way it did when she was particularly pissed off, and she gripped her bottle of warden reserve - "Alienage Finest" - longingly. 
Loghain related, but the commander had said no drinking, they had to be sharp. He glared at Stroud's back, wishing it would pierce the metal there. 
"Hold there, wardens!" 
A female voice cried from the trees and the entire group stopped, and turned to it. The voice sent a bolt of familiarity through him, settling in his heart, which began to race. Could it possibly be…? 
The woman stood near one of the trees, on an overhanging rock. She was dressed in a dirty black gambeson and a dull steel breastplate. Fur had been thrown over her shoulders, though it was flat and low quality as far as craftsmanship was concerned. A dull black scarf was about her neck, and her face… 
Her hair was gone, the right shade of blonde, though it was damp and dirty. It was short, Shaved on the sides but long enough on top to be hanging in her eyes. And her face, a sharp square jawline and ice blue eyes. 
He would never forget that face. Anora. It had to be her!
He started shaking, he could not help it, though it was imperceptible to anyone around him. 
Except Kallian, who eyed him with concern and then looked back at Anora, understanding dawning slowly on her scarred face. 
He had heard she had escaped, after being sentenced to death. No one could confirm it though, as she had not been seen anywhere after the landsmeet. The sight of her being dragged off in chains still haunted him to this day. If he was not stuck in the wardens, he would have laid siege to the castle himself, and killed that bastard who claimed the throne, Alistair too for good measure. 
But here she was, looking for all the world like a bandit or mercenary. Why was she here? 
"Hello there, stranger. What do you seek with us?" Stroud asked, removing his helmet.
"There are templars prowling these woods, further ahead especially. I warn you, they attack any and all on sight. Even Grey Wardens."
They had already encountered Templars, further back. Nasty business that lot, but was Anora doing in a forest infested with them? He had half a mind to remove his helmet, step forward and ask just that. 
But he could not. 
Not in front of all these wardens. He knew Anora probably thought he was dead, as she never saw the aftermath of his trial, and it was not exactly public knowledge that he had been made a warden. 
His heart ached, painfully, as he realized he would have to leave without saying anything. Anora wouldn't know that he was alive. He had the luxury, and his relief was immeasurable, but she would not get the same. 
Tears stung in his eyes and he let them fall silently, hidden beneath the helmets visor. Stroud and Anora continued to talk, she was telling him which areas to avoid, which routes were the safest, where the Templars had likely set up ambushes, all but giving the man a mental map of the area. Her information would likely save them a lot of trouble and pain on the way. 
He burned to know how she knew all this. As he gazed at her though, he was struck by a different familiarity. The way she was so confident of the land around her, how she knew exactly where her enemy was. 
"If I may ask, what are you doing out here?" Stroud finally asked, much to Loghain's relief.
Anora shrugged, "I lead a group of refugees whom the templars hunt."
And there it was. Anora may as well have been the spitting image of Gareth, the grandfather she would never know, at that moment. He had led displaced fereldens during the orlesian occupation, helping them live out a life in the woods, albeit as outlaws. It was clear that refugees meant mages, and Loghain felt immense concern over the fact that his daughter was becoming involved, or perhaps had been involved for a long time, in this conflict between mage and templar. But as much concern as there was, there was even more pride and his chest swelled. 
Anora may have lost the crown, or rather had it taken from her, but she was a born leader, and she could not have made him more proud. 
Then the wardens were moving again, and Loghain had to settle for a brief final glance at his daughter, whom he had no idea if he would ever see again. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments. Anora's brow furrowed, but then Loghain turned his head, and they were gone. 
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yeskama · 4 years
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Prologue Draft: A Tale of Sorcery II: Dance of the Dark Dragon
The following is an unfinished draft of the prologue chapter for my next fanfic. Some pieces might make it to the final draft but I’m pretty sure most of it’s gonna end up nuked. Figured I’d share it before that happens...
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In the southwestern regions of Augustus, 25 miles from the Solidere border, the Fortress City of Delacroix stands vigil. Considered a feat of human ingenuity, she was constructed during the peak of the Agustian Empire, encompassing over 40,000 square meters of the Great Southern Lake. The steel walls surrounding her reach up to 200 feet, while her tallest towers peak at 400. Built on a solitary island, four great bridges provide entry to the mainland, each located at a cardinal point and underneath her foundations, a vast underground mining complex extracts the valued minerals of the earth. Surrounding the city are ten great spires that defend her from any act of war, be they magic, artillery or otherwise. This resilience has always been the city’s greatest boon. Indeed, the Dark Kingdom only succeeded in conquering the city by starving her citizens out. Even then, it took 2 and half years to accomplish Her accolades however don’t end there...    
Behind her walls reside the finest tradesmen, crafters and scholars known worldwide. Delacroix’s Shining Star Academy has produced many great magi throughout the centuries, notably Archmage Noah. Her citizens are not only a proud and hardy people but also hospitable. The city boasts the largest demi-human and elf populations in Augustus. The Great Cathedral of Aime not only administers the Ten’s watchful eyes, but even permits other faiths to provide for their pilgrims. All these feats however will never wash away the city’s greatest shame. For it was here, six centuries ago, Lilith was sired. The very woman whose son brought the entire continent to its knees, was at a time, one of her beloved citizens...
Since it’s liberation, the governing body of Delacroix has served her Augustian masters for the past 406 years. The road between her and the capital has long been dubbed “The Golden Road” for its consistently safe conditions. For years, the gates of Delacroix stood open for all...
Now?
Her drawbridges are raised, her waters play host to dangerous beasts, and her citizens have boarded themselves within, sword and staff ready. Cannons line her walls while wyverns dominate her skies. Amongst the rolling hills of the mainland, Legion tents dot the landscape with artillery directed at the city. Bending to the banners of golden flame, the north and west bleed red, whilst across the lake, banners of the white horse stand firm as the lands bleed blue. The time is 11 at dawn and here, situated among the hills of red, two men ready their charges for afternoon drills...  
“Recruit-man Lyon!” “Captain Lagnus, sir!” “You are holding your weapon incorrectly, recruit-man...” Unsheathing his own blade, he proceeds to explain. “You want your main hand resting near the guard and your off hand near the pommel. That way you have proper balance. Clutching with the hands together lessens your control...” “Thank you, sir! I will keep that in mind from now on!”  
Sheathing his blade, he just gave the lad a reassuring smile and went on his way. T’was a common mistake, especially amongst enlisted civilians. After examining a few more fresh faces, Lagnus found himself staring into the clear blue sky as sweat tricked down his face.
Though the humidity had lessened since yesterday, the summer's heat was still strong. Truth be told. Lagnus himself wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. A man of 23 years with jet black hair and brown eyes, he had served in the Legion for six years now. A commissioned officer, he wore a standard Legion armor set but with a slight personal touch. He had it gilded to reflect his proficiency with light magic (a rather difficult element to master amongst magi) with a blue bodysuit, brown gloves and a gold circlet. Finishing the ensemble was a red cape, bearing the sigil of a gold flame on its back, reflecting the House he served under. While he looked regal in it, truthfully, it was like a mini torture cell! He wanted nothing more but to remove it but doing so would undermine his authority, or so he believed. Wiping his head, he made his way toward one of the nearby canopies wherein he took to the comfort of water, chugging away without abandon. With his thirst quenched, he sighed in delight and took a seat. T’was then another man took to the canopy, the one instructing the magi...
“Hot, Captain?” He greeted him. Lagnus just shook his head. “I can manage, my lord...” The man merely smirked as he went for a bottle of water. “I somehow doubt that...” He answered dryly
Albus Vanthe Amherst was his name and at just 17 years, his reputation preceded him. Captain of the Legion Magi Corps and heir to one of the five great noble families of Augustus. Lagnus was familiar with the stories...a generational prodigy they call him. He graduated the Augustus Magi Academy at 12, enrolled in the Severin Legion Academy at 13 before graduating a year later and quickly soaring through the ranks. It took Lagnus six years to claw his way up to Captain, a feat which Albus accomplished in four. An impressive accomplishment indeed and Lagnus was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt...
...if not for that last name.
He had seen it before, hayseeds elevated through the ranks all on the merits of their family names. Being an orphan, Lagnus did not possess the luxury of a last name, though he was well on his way toward earning one.  Regardless, it just left a sour taste in his mouth. His appearance did nothing to dissuade this notion. A face so immaculately crafted, you’d mistake it for a king’s, with piercing emerald eyes and long flowing scarlet hair. His current attire consisted of a black unbuttoned long coat with matching pants and boots, all of which had some manner of gold trimmings. Only the shirt he wore broke the trend, being a plain red in color. Clearly ill-dressed himself for the season, not that it mattered to Lagnus. He was more preoccupied with warding off the heat than anything...
“Done with your charges?” The noble asked. Lagnus nodded. “Indeed. Yourself my lord?” Albus just nodded before reaching into one of his pockets. Pulling out a bag of peanuts, he offered. “Snack?”
Eh, why not?
Rising from his seat, Lagnus stood next to the mage as the two of them picked at the bag. He hadn’t had salted peanuts since he was a boy and had long forgotten the taste. Rough and tangy but still tastey! Unfortunately, they prompted more water down the throat (the wonders of salt). As the two ate, they both looked ominously on the city. Five months have passed since Delacroix declared for independence and so far...nothing. Just what was going on in there?
“May if I inquire about something, Captain?” Albus asked “Go ahead.” “Why are you here?” Lagnus looked at the mage confused. What prompted him to ask such a thing? “What else? To do my duty. The city has rebelled against the crown. Such actions cannot be abided...” “If memory serves me correctly, did you not once call this city home?” He matched eyes with the knight. “When those drawbridges come down, rest assured, things will turn ugly. If that comes to pass...can you bring it upon yourself to draw your sword on your own neighbors?” Lagnus returned his gaze toward the city, “When we joined the Legion, we made a pledge to his majesty. A knight who cannot stay true to his word cannot be called a knight...” Albus let out a soft chuckle upon hearing this...   “My friend...you are not a knight...” Lagnus just flashed a brief smile as he went for some more peanuts. “Give it time, my lord.”
It was around this time a figure ascended the hill on horseback.  His face concealed by , he was on horseback and had three prisoners in tow, bound by rope and their faces concealed by sacks. One was an adult woman wearing a red maid outfit. Lagnus was well aware of its significance, only those serving one of Delacroix’s governing families wore red. The other two were just children, a boy and a girl. Arriving before the canopy, the shrouded figure dismounted and knelt before them...
“Sir Lagnus, Lord Albus...I have fulfilled my task...” Albus applauded the man as he rose to his feet. “So I see! Well done good sir! Let us meet with uncle, I'm sure he’ll find these arrivals most pleasing...”
Amherst command took up residence in a quaint tent near the lakeside. Inside, sigils of the golden flame stood proud whilst men and women of scarlet (or blonde) hair and green eyes seated themselves before a long table. Food and wine took residence upon its fine surface while its masters discussed strategy, charted maps and schemed against their political enemies. Situated in the back and installed on the most decorated seat was the Lord Victor Penton Amherst, current head of House Amherst, chief advisor to his royal highness and, both figurative and literally, the most powerful man in camp.  
Of course, upon first impressions, one would hardly come to such a conclusion. A man of 55 years, Victor had already gone through three wives and sired six children, only one of which, survived to this day. At a mere 5 feet, he looked like an ant seated amongst giants, though none dared to make such a jest. His scarlet hair, now lessening and brushed backward, had dulled to the that of light ginger. This extended to the thick goatee he grew to mask his weathering features. The parts of his face visible were suitably worn, highlighting his high cheekbones and the creases under his eyes, which like the rest of his family, were a deep emerald in color. Whilst his present company were outfitted in decorative raiment, Victor settled on a simple black leather doublet, with matching pants and boot. Situated on his lap and was the Amherst family heirloom, a great tome bearing the family’s ancestral sigil, a golden flame over a red field. The tome itself bore the family’s greatest creation; a magic spell forged from over 200 years of generational knowledge...
Hellfire
Whilst the others squabbled amongst themselves, Lord Victor kept silent, his attention focused on a letter addressed from his majesty. A solemn man, he was not one for small talk, only speaking when he deemed it necessary. Only Albus’s arrival would pry him away from the whims of his king...  
“Lord Uncle!” He shouted over the ruckus. Upon the declaration, the whole tent immediately went quiet. Raising his head up, he watched as his nephew hurried to his side.  
“What is it Albus?” he asked. Contrary to Lord Victor’s size, his voice was deep and strong. “Have there been any new developments from the city?”  Albus just smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not, my lord. But we have procured some...bargaining chips.” Signaling to the entrance of the tent, he shouted...
“Bring them in!”
Lagnus escorted the bound maid while the cloaked figure gently prompted the children in. All eyes were on the pair as they unmasked the captives. The maid was a young woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes, probably in her early to mid 20’s. Her eyes bore a tremendous fury toward the tent’s occupants though she stayed her tongue. Lagnus maintained his composure but was quite dismayed by her unveiling...
For he knew this woman...
Thankfully t’was not the maid the Amhersts were interested In. Rather, their attention was focused on the children. A delicate looking pair for sure, certainly no older than 8. Both bore eyes of red, hair of orange and were outfitted in sleepwear typically reserved for the upper-class. These factors lead little doubt concerning their identities. Like the maid, their mouths remained silent but instead of fury in their eyes, terror took front stage. This fear intensified as the short man in black approached them, his great red tome tucked under his left arm. Kneeling down to the boy, he gently grabbed the lad’s chin and studied. The boy, whose eyes were tightly shut, began to cry...
“Open your eyes boy!” The man asked sternly.
He did as asked and was instantly met by the man’s emerald gaze. He stared intently before breaking his gaze and looking up to the Shrouded Man, who’s head bowed in respect.  
“There is no mistaking it. This is indeed Lord Ville’s son...”
Raising to his feet, he ordered all present save his nephew, Lagnus and the shrouded man to leave. Once the tent was emptied, he gave the order to a nearby sentry to escort the children to one of the prisoner’s tents and double camp security. He was taking no chances. As the children left the tent, the shrouded figure snapped his fingers and suddenly, their tears and sniffles were now audible. The display brought a rare smirk to Lord Victor. A silence incantation? Very clever indeed...
“Remove those rags and rest yourself. You’ve more than earned it...”  
The figure did as commanded and discarded his concealments, revealing a young man with short chestnut brown hair and piercing brown eyes.  Seating himself at the table, he proceeded picking at the ham as Lord Victor wandered over to the maid, eyeing her curiously...
“Who is this?”
The brown-haired youth looked upward and responded, “A servant who got a bit too nosy for her own good...” The cup now full, he took a quick swig and continued, “Give her credit, she was the only one in the Ville household that didn’t buy my story...” Breaking eye contact, he looked downward, “When the opportunity to abduct the kids arose, she was waiting for me in the girl’s bedroom...” He paused briefly before finishing “Not wanting to take any risks, I brought her along...”  
The maid glared furiously at the man, struggling to free herself while her mouth silently flapped like mad. Lagnus tightened his grip, garnering him an ugly look from the young woman before she returned her gaze to the brown-haired man. Without warning, she suddenly felt a vicious strike against her left cheek. The blow was strong, so much so, her head swung as she fell to her knees. A red bruise burned brightly on her face and as she struggled to open her left eye, she felt someone grip her cheeks. Orbs of green gazed into her sole opened eye, a horrifying fire having awakened within them...
“If you value your life wench, you will compose yourself...” The Lord Amherst growled. “The Golden Flame has no time for fools. I suggest you prepare yourself for questioning...less you want something unpleasant to befall those children...”
As the maid was escorted out, Lord Victor returned to his seat. Albus took a seat next to his uncle whilst Lagnus sat across from the Brown Haired Man. Lord Victor eyed him inquisitively before asking...
“Have you charted the city’s entire sewer system?” Nodding, the man pulled out three folded papers from his pocket and set them on the table. A brief smirk crossed Victor’s lips upon seeing them. It had been three months since he departed for the city. An insider them tipped off that the city intended to declare for independence. Only the royal family was privy to the city’s one weakness, and even then, their knowledge of it was lacking. Victor sent his newest acquisition into the city before the drawbridges were rose, complete with fake identifications to clear him as a Ville servant. Needless to say, the lad passed with flying colors. Passing the pitcher of wine around, all four pour their goblets and the Lord Amherst raised a glass...
“To you Canne, let us celebrate this moment as one!”   “Here, Here!” Albus chimed. “Aye...” Lagnus agreed quietly. Canne kept his silence, his eyes closed as he sipped his wine. Once everyone had their fill, he asked...
“Will the children be harmed?” The question surprised Albus who softly chuckled. “Well, that all depends on Lady Ville! As we are all privy, every woman’s sole weakness is their children...Why else would we assign you to her?” Albus smirked as he raised to goblet to his mouth for another sip before continuing. “I’m rather shocked Canne! Even after three months as a servant you still possess that small-town naiveté? I would think it quashed by now...” Though he did not see it, Canne shot Albus an ugly glance as the noble returned to his cup...
“Is it not strange though?”  Lagnus interjected. “What is?” Albus eyed him. “How many of the council seats have changed in the past 6 months? Lord Ville’s sudden death notwithstanding, both the Rochester and Hanniver heads passed away two weeks apart! The Cushings being replaced by the Lees? The disappearance of Lord Dolle and his daughter? And the Monevs being given a seat?! So much has happened amongst the city’s top brass that it’s near impossible to ignore!” Looking at Canne, Lagnus asked “Did you hear anything notable during the past three months?” Canne simply shook his head...
“Nothing significant save rumors and gossip. Amongst the staff, the prevailing belief was that Lady Ville poisoned her husband, though just as many say otherwise. Though the daly atmosphere amongst the household was fairly dismal...”
“Our mission is quell the uprising, not speculate on it.
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The chapter would have ended with Victor sending Canne eastward to acquire some “important desirables” his majesty requested in the letter (though what they were would not be revealed). 
The only noteworthy thing about this was that in earlier stages, Lemres was present. Originally, Lemres was the one training the mages and would pose the question if Lagnus was comfortable with the situation. These interactions were repurposed for Albus with minor adjustments (Albus was always intended to appear, instead he would have been introduced in the Amherst tent). 
Why was this changed?
1.) I have reservations about Sega characters appearing in the story so early. Maybe further down the road but not so soon.
2.) Lemres serving in the Legion is just too out of character of him. Also, the implication that he would have no problem blasting rebels on the grounds of treason was just pushing it.
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choupetit · 5 years
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GOT Recap:  A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Airdate: 4/21/19 ;  Season 8, Episode 2
Meep, things are really heating up on Game of Thrones!  Or rather, cooling down…oh heck, I don’t know what to do with all the Fire and Ice metaphors. Let’s just say, stuff is getting real and the latest installment of GOT  gave us one last moment to enjoy the fuzzy warm feels before next week’s huge battle against the Night King’s army begins.  This last episode was all about wish fulfillment and tying up loose ends for viewers – and I’m still a bit conflicted about how I feel about it all. But fear not, we’ll get into my two cents about it very soon.  Now, find a warm body to snuggle up to and get a toasty fire going, because the night is dark and full of manipulative story ploys.  Here’s my recap of:  “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”
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I Know What You Did Last Long Summer
We start things off with Jaime Lannister standing before a tribunal in the Great Hall at Winterfell, with Sansa Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, and Jon Snow seated at the VIP table. Dany shares that she and her brother grew up talking about what they would do to the man who murdered their father, once they captured him and reclaimed the Seven Kingdoms.  She points out that Cersei promised her an army, and instead has only sent one man with one hand.  Ouch, that smarts.  Jaime fills everybody in on Cersei’s plan: She isn’t sending any help. Rather, Queen Cersei has procured a hired army and is sending them to Winterfell to finish off whatever survivors are left after the impending war against the Dead.  She lied to them all – Jaime included – and he left her to come and join Jon and Dany’s battle for the living.  Daenerys casts a pointed gaze at Tyrion Lannister, who looks miserable. Ya done messed up, Ty!
Dany wonders how they can possibly trust Jaime. Tyrion sticks up for his brother, but is shot down by Daenerys who counters that perhaps this is an elaborate scheme for Jaime to assassinate her.  Sansa chimes in that Jamie can’t be trusted, and lists the crappy things he did to House Stark, including attacking Ned Stark back in Season 1.  When Jaime defends his actions saying it was during a time of war, and that he was protecting his family, Bran dryly states “The things we do for love.” Fear flickers in Jaime’s eyes.  Bran knows!  
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Brienne of Tarth steps up and defends Jaime.  She tells Dany how she and Jaime were captured a few years back and he defended her when she was this close to getting raped – and lost his hand in the process. To Sansa, she says that it’s only due to Jaime’s honor in keeping his word to Catelyn Stark that Brienne was able to find and save Sansa from the sadistic Ramsay Bolton.  This is enough to change Sansa’s mind.  Dany seems peeved by Sansa’s about-face and asks Jon what he thinks.  Visibly still grappling with the bombshell about his parents, Jon doesn’t even look at Dany and simply states they need all the extra help they can get.  Dany allows Jaime to stay and fight with them, and they all rise.  Sansa huffs off and when Dany turns to Jon, he’s all “K gotta run, byeeee.” Ugh, you let a guy ride your dragon one time and then he gets all weird on you.  Brienne shoots Jaime a look that clearly states “Don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you,” and Bran just stares at him.  Again.  Creepily.
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Rebuffed by her lover, and fuming about Cersei’s deceipt, Dany is ripe to start throwing cell phones at her assistants.  She chews out Tyrion for being either in cahoots with Cersei, or a damn fool. When Tyrion tells her it’s the latter, she retorts “It’s not the first time,” and indicates his time may be up serving as Hand of the Queen.  Varys and Ser Jorah are all “Awwwwkward.”
Number 1 Crush
At the Winterfell forge, we see Gendry’s handiwork:  Tons and tons of spearheads and other weapons made of dragonglass are ready to be wielded. As Gendry works, Arya approaches and takes in all his hunky, sweaty manliness, then asks him about the weapon she requested.  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that after I make a few thousand more of these. Shouldn’t you be hanging out in the crypts anyway when the fighting begins?  It’s the safest place to be.” Arya questions why he thinks he’s qualified to fight – he’s just a blacksmith.  When he tells her he killed a few of the Dead and she wants to know what they’re like, his reply is “Really bad”. “How bad are we talking, dude?  What do they look like? How do they smell? When they change a toilet paper roll, do they do it the wrong way or the right way – and don’t you DARE say there isn’t a right way, Gendry!!” “Ok, fine, they’re like death, ok?” “Oh, cool, I know all about death!” Arya gives Gendry an impressive demo of her razor sharp knife throwing skills – it’s instant bonerville for Gendry.  “So…how about that weapon?” – “Yes, ma’am, coming right up!!” Ok, these two flirting is just too much. Arya is such a badass, I love it! And she deserves a little joy in her life.
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Meanwhile, a very remorseful Jaime seeks out Bran by the Weirwood tree and apologizes for pushing him out the tower window all those years ago, rendering him a paraplegic. Jaime questions why Bran didn’t tell the others about this, and Bran tells him he can’t be much use in their fight if Bran lets his family murder Jaime.  “But aren’t you mad at me?” Let’s just break this down for you, dude: Bran ain’t mad at anybody.  He is so beyond all those petty human emotions, because OMG you guys are all about to be annihilated by ruthless ice zombies and Bran is trying to figure out how to stop it.  “Ok, so what happens after?” asks Jaime. Bran counters, “What makes you think there is an after?”
Oooh sidebar! Y’all I have been knee deep in GOT theories the past few weeks, and one of the theories I’m really into says that Jaime might be Azor Ahai (the Prince who was Promised) and plays a huge role in defeating the Night King.  There’s this whole prophecy about it in the books, and the High Valyerian words for “Gold” and “Hand” are very similar to the words “Lord” and “Light”. After this chat with Bran, I’m convinced Jaime is a key player in ending the Night King’s reign.
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Later, Tyrion and Jaime walk around the courtyard, discussing the two queens.  Tyrion says how he truly believes Daenerys will be a great queen for the realm, and the two commiserate over how Cersei fooled them – the part about being pregnant is true, though.   Tyrion notes that Jaime has never been fooled by Cersei, he’s always loved her in spite of her miserable character.  When Tyrion remarks that they are likely going to die at Winterfell, he muses that at least Cersei won’t have the satisfaction of killing him.  Hey, maybe his dead corpse will go down to King’s Landing and tear her apart - but Jaime isn’t listening.  He is distracted by something else – or rather someone:  
Brienne of Tarth, is on the practice field, watching Podrick as he spars with another fighter.  Jaime shows up and chats with her about the impending battle. Brienne is weirded out by how nice Jaime is acting, because he’s always shown  his snarky side around her in the past.  He tells her he returned to Winterfell because we wants to serve under her command. She excuses herself.  Oh man! Brienne has been holding a torch for Jaime for so many seasons and he is finally sorta living up to the person she has seen in him all along: a good and honorable guy.  And he came to Winterfell to fight alongside her? Hubba hubba.  And yet…I don’t see anything romantic ever happening between these two, even though there is something there.  It just feels like he’s the super popular dude who’s had a lot of personal growth and really likes her and cares for her, but will never actually date her because she isn’t a supermodel.  Ya know what I mean?  Brienne is in the friend zone 4eva. Also, I think this whole exchange means Brienne ain’t long for this world – she’s probably going to sacrifice herself to save Jaime during the battle. Sorry, Bri Bri!  We love you, though!
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A Matter of Trust
In Daenerys’s quarters, Ser Jorah takes a moment to tell her to take it easy on Tyrion.  He knows his Khaleesi is super pissed, but he advises her to see past Tyrion’s flub and keep him on as Hand of the Queen because he has a super big brain.  Coming from Jorah, this means a lot.  Then he offers another suggestion:  Make more of an effort with Sansa Stark.
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In the great hall, Dany requests a heart to heart with Sansa Stark who also puts in a good word for Tyrion when Daenerys makes a snarky remark about not having faith in her advisors. Geez Louise, everybody is sticking up for Tyrion in this episode!  The conversation turns to Dany drawing comparisons between herself and Sansa as female leaders in a man’s world and then she’s all “Girls rule, yay!!!  So...why don’t you like me?” - “Honestly?  Because guys can do pretty dumb stuff for women and they’re easily manipulated. And you basically convinced Jon to give up his crown for you”  Dany’s all: “Ok, so, real talk? I was all about taking the Iron Throne, and then Jon pops up and tells me about these weird Snow Zombies coming to destroy us all, and I dropped everything to help him fight his war, so…who is being manipulated?”  [Personally, I think that’s a lame argument, because obviously the survival of mankind is still totally in your interest, Daenerys, because if they are all dead you don’t have anybody to rule, m’kay?]  Sansa  warms a bit to Dany, and tells her she should have thanked her when she arrived.  But just as Daenerys is cozying up to Sansa and holding her hands, Sansa takes things right back to business – God, I love her for it:   “So, Dany, riddle me this:  Let’s say we defeat the Night King and Cersei.  What happens next?” Dany’s face is a little perplexed “Um, I rule on the Iron Throne.  Obviously.” –“Yeah, but what about the North?  We took back our land and we swore we’d never give it back, so…what about the North?” This does not make Dany happy, and she looks about ready to lose it.  
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Thankfully, however, their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of:  Theon Greyjoy and his men.  He fills them in on the successful rescue of Yara, and informs Queen Daenerys that Yara is reclaiming the Iron Isles for Dany.  He returned to fight for Winterfell – if they’ll have him.  Sansa’s eyes fill with tears and she rushes to embrace Theon.  It’s a very sweet moment but also, I’m immediately worried that the writers are going to try and make something romantic happen here.  Ew, not Theon. I’m just going to chalk this up to him and Sansa sharing a strong mutual survivor bond.  Also, my death prediction: Theon is sooo gonna die.  And they've been making Daenerys super unlikeable these past two episodes that it has me a little nervous they might off her, too.
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In the courtyard, Davos is running a soup kitchen and gives a short pep talk to some of the men who have arrived.  Gilly is telling some girls how safe the crypts are – the safest place at Winterfell, actually.  You guys, make sure you write this down:  The crypts - where they keep all the dead bodies which have not been burned - are the safest place in Winterfell.   So if you have zero fighting skills, you really totally without a doubt need to head to the crypts where no dead bodies will suddenly come to life and attack you because the crypts are S-A-F-E, you got it?  
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A little girl asks where she should go when the battle starts because she wants to fight, too. Gilly advises her to go to…you got it. The crypts. Le sigh.
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A horn blows and Jon turns the corner to see who it is:  The Night’s Watch from Castle Black have arrived and as he goes to bro hug Dolorous Edd, he’s tackled by Thormund Giantsbane like an overjoyed Saint Bernard pup. Beric Dondarrion is there, too.  Yay, Jon’s happy to see them all and probably is even happier that he has more legit reasons to avoid Daenerys.  His friends inform him they met up at the Last Hearth - everybody was dead and gone.  It’s safe to assume anybody who hasn’t made it to Winterfell by now has been claimed by the Night King’s army.  Jon asks how long until the Dead will arrive and Thormund replies:  Just before sunrise. Also, Thormund would really like to know where Brienne is.  Oh me, oh my – will my Brienne, Jaime, Thormund troika dreams come true? Unlikely, but I do love Thormund’s interest in Brienne, if only for the comic relief it provides.
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In the war room, all the important peeps have gathered to talk strategy.  The Night King’s army is too big, and they never tire, so Jon & Co. won’t be able to beat them in a straight fight.  Their best chance at survival is to kill the Night King – if they kill him, they kill his army.  But how? If he’s that important, the Night King won’t risk exposing himself – when they say this, I just imagine the Night King in a long trench coat.  Yeah, I’m mature.  Bran volunteers to be human bait, because the Night King is after him.  But why, Bran, why? We discover that the Night King’s ultimate goal is an endless night and he wants to wipe out all trace of men and their memories.  Bran is basically a human hard drive with the entire history of their world and the Night King wants to erase it all.  I don’t know…it’s kind of a weird reason to me.  I mean, if the Night King is gonna kill everybody anyway, why is it so important that he kill Bran first?  Sam waxes poetic about death and how when we die our memories are forgotten and we are forgotten, blah, blah, blah, but I still don’t get it.  What is the difference between wiping out all of mankind’s history and killing everybody vs. just wiping out mankind?  Wouldn’t wiping out mankind just, like...wipe out mankind and its history?  I don’t know folks.  Clue me in if you understand. Or is it just a matter of getting rid of any evidence on how to stop the Night King? In that case, just say so, Bran.
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Anyhoo, Bran will wait for the Night King in the Godswood – he has a GPS tracking device on him, so the Night King always knows where he is.  His siblings are vehemently against it, but Theon volunteers to be there with his guys to help protect Bran.  Why do we think this is a better idea than Bran’s own family protecting him?  I mean, other than simply using this as a plot device for Theon to die while defending Bran and thus somehow redeem himself for all the shitty stuff he did to the Stark kids when they were younger? Obviously, I’m not a big fan of this scene.
Dany tells Tyrion he’ll have to wait in the crypts during the battle because: a) they are super safe and b) Dany needs his mind because her faith in him has been restored. Yeah, after hearing what everybody told her so far, she also polled 28 whores about his character and realized she shouldn’t fire him after all because he’s a good dude and actually really smart.  Except for when it comes to trusting his evil sister, whose superpower is stabbing people in the back, who has always hated him, and has never done anything in her life to prove herself trustworthy in his eyes.
Oh, and one more thing: They’ll need to have the dragons close by to save Bran if things go bad.  Not too close to give anything away.  Just close enough to probably be completely useless and get one more dragon killed.  M’kay? Sounds like a plan, team!  
As they wrap things up, Thormund points out the silver lining: They are all going to die, but at least they’ll die together.  He flashes a winning look at Brienne.  Jon hastily leaves, expertly avoiding Dany once again, and everybody except Bran and Tyrion exits the room.  Tyrion tells Bran he wants to hear all about his stories and they both settle in next to the fire.
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One Last Waltz
And now…get ready for the showrunners to check off all your hopes and dreams for all your favorite characters so you can have one final lovely memory of them all alive before everything goes to hell:
In the courtyard, Grew Worm and Missandei share a special moment where they make plans for the future. Once Grey Worm has finished securing the throne for Daenerys, he’s gonna retire with Missandei and she can visit her home again.  And he’ll keep her and her peeps safe with his Unsullied pals as they live happily ever after. So…he’s gonna die, right?
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On the ramparts, Jon and Sam hang together with Ghost nearby.  Yay, finally we see a direwolf again!  Sam asks Jon when he is going to fill Daenerys in on the revelation of Jon’s true parents.  Edd arrives and declares “And now our watch begins.” Gilly and little Sam will be in the crypts (wanna know why?) and Jon tells Sam he can go, too – to protect them – but Sam scoffs and asks his buds to give him some credit.  He was, after all the first of them to kill a white walker and discover other ways to defeat the Dead.  They take a moment to remember their fallen friends from the Night’s Watch and Edd grimly states “Last man left, burn the rest of us.”
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In the Great Hall, Tyrion and Jaime sit by the fire and enjoy a cup of wine as they ponder how much they’ve changed since their last visit to Winterfell and Tyrion bemoans the perils of self betterment – gone are his days of excessive drinking and whoreing.
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Brienne and Podrick arrive in the great hall – oh hai, guys!  They were looking for a place to warm up, and Jaime insists that they join him and his bro. Brienne agrees – obviously. Is she going to pass up the chance to be with her hunky unrequited love? Never.  Oh, and would you look at that!  Davos and Thormund pop in as well to join some theater in the round. Thormund regales them with a hilarious story of how he got the “Giantsbane” moniker. Truly, he is the shining star in this episode and certainly in this scene. I’m feeling extra manipulated by the show – now that we’re more emotionally invested in him, I’m 100% sure that he’ll be killed off next week.
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Up on the ramparts, Arya sees the Hound and sits next to him.  They have a nice moment when she questions why he’s even here fighting with everybody.  “When is the last time you fought for anybody?”, she asks.  He replies gruffly, “I fought for you, didn’t I?” And that is the line that wins the night.  Awwwww, I love the Hound.  Then Beric Dondarrion shows up and ruins the moment.  He apologizes to Arya for the way they parted the last time they saw each other – ya know, when he sold out Gendry to Melisandre to do her voodoo magic.  When he starts talking about the Lord of Light, the Hound tells him to shut his trap and Arya is all “Peace out, I’m gonna find something better to do than spend my final hours with you old farts.”
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Next, Arya whiles away the time with some archery practice when Gendry arrives with the weapon he’s fashioned for her.  It’s a spear and she gives it a whirl – not bad at all.  As she shows off her fancy spear twirling skills, Arya asks Gendry what Melisandre did to him after she took him, and he tells her about the blood magic.   She assumes (correctly) that Melisandre had sex with Gendry and suddenly Arya is grilling Gendry about all his past partners, presumably calculating her risk of contracting syphilis.  Apparently, Gendry’s number of former lovers is satisfactory and Arya reveals that if she’s going to die in the battle against the dead, she wants to at least know what sex feels like and they get. It. On.  Oh my stars!! I’m equal parts stoked that Arya and Gendry hooked up, and also intensely worried now that one of them will die – maybe even both of them. Gah!  I wish I wasn’t so traumatized by GOT to assume that any time a good moment happens, it will be yanked away, but such is the life of the Game of Thrones fan:  We can’t have nice things.
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Call Me By Your Name
Back in the Great Hall, Tyrion remarks how all of the people in the room had at one point fought the Starks in one way or another, and now they are united in fighting together at Winterfell.  As Tyrion gives them all a verbal pat on the back for surviving so many battles, he accidentally calls Brienne “Ser” and corrects himself.  Thormund is confused that Brienne isn’t a knight, and she tells him women can’t be knights because sexist traditions are alive and well in Westeros. When Thormund tells her he’d make her a knight if he were king, Jaime points out that you don’t need a king to be knighted – another knight can do it. And so, with a little coaxing everybody encourages Brienne to get knighted.  She’s always wanted to be a knight and she accepts the honor with all the grace and reverence it warrants.  Ser Jaime Lannister taps her shoulders with his sword, reciting the words and at last proclaims her a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.  As the men in the room start a slow clap and cheer for her, Ser Brienne of Tarth rises with tears in her eyes and a luminous smile.  Oh God, she’s toast now!!!!
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In the courtyard, Ser Jorah Mormont and his little cuz Lyanna Mormont argue.  He thinks she should go to the crypts –I really don’t want to say this, but I must…because they are the safest place to be—and Lyanna insists that she vowed to fight, and that’s precisely what she’ll do.  She wishes him well just as Samwell Tarly shows up. He presents his family’s sword to Ser Jorah.  It’s called Heartsbane and it’s made of Valyrian steel.  The sword is too heavy for Sam to wield himself.  He shares that Lord Commander Mormont – Jorah’s father – was a wonderful mentor who taught Sam to always do what’s right, and Sam would be honored for Jorah to have it.  Ser Jorah accepts the weapon, and then Sam has to go and say something like: “I’ll see you when the battle’s through.” F#$K!!!! So now Jorah’s gonna die?! I can’t take it, you guys!
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Aaaand we’re back at the Great Hall, where the wine has run out and the karaoke portion of the night has begun.  Podrick, it turns out, has the voice of an angel and treats the group to a lovely and haunting melody.  It’s a perfect tune for a montage scene and we get one last glimpse of all the characters we’ve come to love as they have one last tender and bittersweet moment of togetherness.
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In the ever-so-safe crypts, Jon stands at Lyanna’s coffin and statue, and Daenerys approaches. She asks who the statue is of, and Jon simply says “Lyanna Stark.” Dany knows the story of Lyanna’s abduction – she tells Jon that she grew up hearing such good things about her brother Rhaegar, who was known to be kind and decent, and yet, he raped Lyanna.  Jon corrects her “Oh, but he didn’t,” and all the details spill out.  Dany is shook by the revelation that Jon is actually Rhaegar’s legitimate son and asks how he knows this – she is not impressed by Jon’s sources and points out how convenient it is that his brother and best friend are the only people who can corroborate the story.  Her thoughts immediately go to the Iron Throne and the fact that Jon would have a better claim to it, if what he says is true. Before they can go into things further, a horn sounds: The Dead are here.  Jon and Dany give each other a look of agreement and both storm off – presumably to ride some dragons.
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In the dark, a horse’s hoof stops in the snow and as the camera pans up, it reveals the Night King’s lieutenants all lined up in formation, ready for the attack, their gaze fixed upon Winterfell in the near distance.   Roll credits.
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Holy moly so many people are gonna die next week, and I am losing my mind over here!  This episode was a lot of things, and while I feel like I got all the moments I technically wanted, I also feel weirdly placated by the writers for actually giving those moments to us viewers.   I’m not sure how true some of the actions were to the characters, and it seemed more like the last 20 minutes were purely catering to the audience’s wishes before the showrunners kill off all the people they shone a spotlight on in this episode. It’s hard to truly enjoy something when you feel like you’re being set up for a fall, ya know?  But overall, it was a fine episode to set up the epic battle next week.
The takeaways for me were: Jaime has an important role to play in ending the long night.  Dany’s whole worldview is going to have to be reconsidered unless of course she (or Jon) dies, making the whole “Who deserves the crown more?” a moot point.  Maybe she’ll even screw Jon over?  Tyrion will likely survive and I’m wondering if Bran shared something important with him during their chat.  That way, if Bran should perish, Tyrion will have some trump card of knowledge to share with the others.  Arya is probably toast – if not, then Gendry is. Brienne will die – for SURE!  Oh, and the crypts are the least safe place to be and some freaky deaky stuff is gonna happen down there next episode.
I would like to point out that we didn’t actually see the Night King standing outside Winterfell with his homies.  Like I mentioned earlier, I am reading so many different theories and one is that the Night King is splitting up his army, and he is heading straight to King’s Landing with his ice dragon to torch the city and turn its 1 million inhabitants into an army that nobody can match.  
Will all my death predictions come true?  Will the Night King fool us all and fly to Essos to kill the fire priestesses? Or will Melisandre suddenly pop up at the 11th hour to save the day?  Are there any other important theories I have yet to discover? I’m sure by next week we’ll know a lot more, and also be bawling our eyes out as Jaime tenderly holds a dying Brienne in his arms, who it turn holds a dying Thormund in hers.  It could happen, you guys.  I’ll see ya here next week for a grief group therapy session!
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