#its a good trope even if its been done to death

[only-angel-28]

mastermind, part one - theodore nott

hi omg im back😍🙌

ok so this is part one of a series called "mastermind" (inspired by the song “mastermind” by taylor swift). its a theodore nott fic and starts from the beginning of sixth year until the end of seventh, im literally making it up as i go😍🙏.

academic rivals, enemies to lovers, one bed trope, heavy angst at times and all that so enjoy😋😋

this ones a short one for now but part two is halfway done and should be out sometime this weekend🤞🤞

please lmk what you think: what were your fav parts? anything i should change?

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

warnings: none for now<33

mastermind, masterlist

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“Hey, wait on!”

I turn around to see Hermione running to catch up with me, her suitcases on her trolley and her cat happily meowing in its cage.

“Hermione!” I exclaim as I give one of the trolley boys my trolley and go to hug her.

“Oh my gosh I haven’t seen you in ages!” she sighs as she hugs back tightly.

“I know, you promised to write, why didn’t you?” I say.

“Oh shush, it’s not like you sent me any care packages anyways.” she replies as she links our arms and starts leading us to one of the carriages once we’ve taken our pets off.

Hermione and I have been friends since the beginning of our first year, before we were friends with Ron and Harry actually.

To say that my mother was happy with our friendship is a huge lie.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Even her name disgusts me, much less the things she’s done.

She was mortified. I still remember the look on her face when I brought Hermione over one time.

“A mudblood?” she had exclaimed.

“Why on earth would you want to be friends with the likes of them? You’re surely not my daughter, that’s for one thing.”

Hermione and I both knew what rejection felt like. Her, with most of the pureblood Slytherins, and me, with my pureblood Slytherin family.

My aunts and uncles are probably the worst of the bunch surprisingly.

Lucius and Nesta Malfoy.

Even their names are filled with poison.

Not to mention my cousin. Draco.

What a horrible waste of a family.

My uncle, Sirius, is the only one in the family who understands me. Coming from a highly Slytherin pureblood family, we were the only Gryffindors. God knows why.

I think the neglect from my mother and most family is what made me and Hermione such good friends. We both knew how the other felt.

“Have you seen Ron or Harry around yet?” I asked, settling down in the train cabin in the train with my cat, Alfie, in my lap.

“No, not yet. They should be coming up soon though.” Hermione replied and surely enough the door to the cabin opened and in came a mess of ginger hair, already complaining about God knows what;

closely followed by Harry who tried to say hello before he was cut off.

“Guys you’ll never guess what. Mum made me wear Fred and George’s old jumpers again. As if I’ll ever fit into these, they’re huge! And another thing, she said I’m not allowed to get a new pet so I’m stuck with this old bird.” he finishes his rant as he points to the old caged owl in his hands.

“Hello to you too Ron.” I say after a pause.

“Oh yeah, hi guys!” he says smiling.

Hermione rolls her eyes at him with a smile and pats on the space next to her, motioning him to sit down and Harry sits next to me after hugging me and Hermione.

“So what’s all this about Draco and a weird-looking cabinet? And who are all these people you’re talking about?” Ron asks Harry settling down and rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Don’t you see? It was a ceremony, an initiation.” Harry says, looking over at me.

“Stop that rubbish Harry. I know where you’re going.” Hermione says, trying to ignore whatever Harry and Ron were talking about and looking out the window.

“No guys listen to me, it’s happened. He’s one of them.” Harry says the last part quietly.

“One of what?” Ron asks, confused as I take a sigh and say,

“Harry’s under the impression that Draco Malfoy is a death eater.”

“You're barking.” Ron says as he sits up, ‘What would You-Know-Who want with Malfoy, he hasn’t got any hair to want Malfoy’s bleach bottle.”

“Well then what’s he doing in Borgin and Burkes? Browsing for furniture?” Harry quips.

“It’s a creepy shop. He’s a creepy bloke. Put two and two together and there you go.” Ron responds.

“Look, his dad’s a Death Eater, his aunt’s a Death Eater, most of his family is, whos to say he isn’t following in their footsteps.” Harry says as I look away in shame.

Harry realises his poor choice in words and says, “I need some air.” and walks out the cabin.

“He’s going mad I’m telling you.” Ron says to Hermione and I.

Hermione and I don’t say anything in response but busy ourselves with our reading books while Ron raids the sweet trolley.

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It only took us around half an hour to get settled in our dorms again, this being our seventh year we had a lot more practice and we were all now making our way to the great dining hall.

“Welcome all students…” McGongall’s voice boomed as we took our seats, Hermione and Dean Thomas on either side of me with Ron and Ginny in front. Our table was on the other side of the hall to the Slytherin table but I could still see my cousin's crispy fried blonde hair as he took his seat next to one of his friends.

What was his name again?

Thomas?

Timothy?

“Why are you staring at Theodore Nott? I thought you hated him.” Ron interrupts my thoughts as he shoves a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Theodore. Right.

“And now with the sorting ceremony finished for another year, let us feast!” McGonagall’s voice, thankfully for once, gave me a chance to change the subject before things got weird.

“What? No I’m not, pass the mashed potatoes.” I say shrugging it off as I draw my attention to Hermione.

“Where’s Harry, he’s already missed the welcoming.” Hermione says, looking around in anticipation, clearly worried.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here in a moment.” Ron responds shoving a spoon of jelley in his mouth.

Jelly with chicken? Ew.

Hermione stares at him for a moment before hitting him with her book repeatedly, making me laugh, “Will you stop eating? Your best friend is missing.” “Oi! Turn around you lunatic.”

We turn to where Ron is looking and see Harry walking towards us with a white cloth at his nose, stained in blood.

“Why do you always have to be covered in blood?” I say, taking the cloth from his hands as he sits next to me. I try to clean up his face the best I can.

“Where have you been? And whats happened to your face?” Hermione hisses at him.

“Later, what’ve I missed?”

“Sorting hat urged us to be brave and strong on these troubled times.” Ron replies.

“Easy for it to say, its just a bloody hat innit?’ I say.

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“Y/N! GET UP!”

I open my eyes and see Hermione pacing around our room trying to get ready.

“What?” I say groggily, putting my head back on my pillow.

“I said get up, you’re going to be late and we have potions first thing.” she said as she pulled the pillow from under my head and tore the duvet off my body, forcing me to get ready.

“Eugh no I can’t deal with Snape this early.” I say as I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

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“Attention to detail in the preparation is the prerequisite of all planning. Ah! Hello ladies. Please, please take a seat.” The professor says to us.

Wow. This is a change.

Hermione rushed to take the nearest seat available next to Lavender Brown which left me next to,

“Well hello to you too.” Theodore Nott says smirking up at me from his chair as I drop all my books down.

I took a seat before my knees had the chance to give out.

Woah, what?

“Hey.” I say curtly, drawing my attention to the assignment, trying to ignore Theodore’s piercing gaze and strong cologne.

“Late on the first day I see, not a good impression. If Snape were here, he’d have your heads.” Theodore says as he scribbles down the assignment on the board into his scrolls.

I roll my eyes and ask, ”Who’s this anyway?” as I copy the ingredients for the potion in my scrolls.

“Professor Slughorn. He’s taking our class for this year.” Theodore says as he waits for me to finish writing so we can get the ingredients for our potion from the back of the room. “The whole year?” I say standing up and making my way to the back with Theo, “What’s happened to Snape?”

“No idea love.” Theo says, making butterflies erupt in my tummy but I shove them down before they can travel up to my throat and make me say something flirty back.

Theodore and I never had a reason to dislike each other. Well, not officially. We never had a big fight or any interactions of any sort honestly. I didn’t even take any notice of him until he had beaten me to a question in first year in dark arts and gotten 10 house points because of it. Since then we’ve had something going on between us. The need to one-up one another, to be smarter in lessons and faster in quidditch.

I’m not going to deny that he was attractive, because God he was beautiful.

Beautiful and conceited.

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part one, done!

lmk what your fav parts were!!

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

taglist: @timmytime17 @cherry-hoe @jetblackpayne @ash-tarte @coolestgirlhere

#theodore nott x y/n slow burn #theodore nott x reader angst #theodore nott x reader fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #fanfic #fic #fics #@

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Rebecca Roque’s “Till Human Voices Wake Us”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

"Till Human Voices Wake Us" is Rebecca Roque's debut novel: it's a superb teen thriller, intricately plotted and brilliantly executed, packed with imaginative technological turns that amp up the tension and suspense:

https://www.blackstonepublishing.com/till-human-voices-wake-us-gn3a.html#541=2790108

Modern technology presents a serious problem for a thriller writer. Once characters can call or text one another, a whole portfolio of suspense-building gimmicks – like the high-speed race across town – just stop working. For years, thriller writers contrived implausible – but narratively convenient – ways to go on using these tropes. Think of the shopworn "damn, my phone is out of battery/range just when I need it the most":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIZVcRccCx0

When that fails, often writers just lean into the "idiot plot" – a plot that only works because the characters are acting like idiots:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiot_plot

But even as technology was sawing a hole in the suspense writer's bag of tricks, shrewd suspense writers were cooking up a whole new menu of clever ways to build suspense in ways that turn on the limitations and capabilities of technology. One pioneer of this was Iain M Banks (RIP), whose 2003 novel Dead Air was jammed with wildly ingenious ways to use cellphones to raise the stakes and heighten the tension:

https://web.archive.org/web/20030302073539/http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/11.03/play.html?pg=8

This is "techno-realism" at its best. It's my favorite mode of storytelling, the thing I lean into with my Little Brother and Martin Hench books – stories that treat the things that technology can and can't do as features, not bugs. Rather than having the hacker "crack the mainframe's cryptography in 20 minutes when everyone swears it can't be done in less than 25," the techno-realist introduces something gnarlier, like a supply-chain attack that inserts a back-door, or a hardware keylogger, or a Remote Access Trojan.

Back to Roque's debut novel: it's a teen murder mystery told in the most technorealist way. Cia's best friend Alice has been trying to find her missing boyfriend for months, and in her investigation, she's discovered their small town's dark secret – a string of disappearances, deaths and fires that are the hidden backdrop to the town's out-of-control addiction problem.

Alice has something to tell Cia, something about the fire that orphaned her and cost her one leg when she was only five years old, but Cia refuses to hear it. Instead, they have a blazing fight, and part ways. It's the last time Cia and Alice ever see each other: that night, Alice kills herself.

Or does she? Cia is convinced that Alice has been murdered, and that her murder is connected to the drug- and death-epidemic that's ravaging their town. As Cia and her friends seek to discover the town's secret – and the identity of Alice's killer – we're dragged into an intense, gripping murder mystery/conspiracy story that is full of surprises and reversals, each more fiendishly clever than the last.

But as good as the storytelling, the characterization and the mystery are, Roque's clever technological gambits are even better. This book is a master-class in how a murder mystery can work in the age of social media and ubiquitous mobile devices. It's the first volume in a trilogy and it ends on a hell of a cliff-hanger, too.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/16/dead-air/#technorealism

#pluralistic #books #reviews #novels #mysteries #thrillers #technorealism #gift guide #rebecca roque

[the-smut-analyst]

Making Characters That Make Sense

Walk-through character template & "how to" guide for writing complex, original protagonists.

If you google "character templates for writing", you'll get a lot of very basic examples that read like a grocery list: eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, positive traits, negative traits, etc.

And sure, filling out this kind of template isn't completely useless - but it's also not particularly useful, either. Choosing whether your protagonist has blue eyes or green eyes isn't going to determine whether readers connect with them or not.

Instead, I prefer to use the below template:

There's some fairly left-of-centre categories here, so in this blog post I'll be creating a character from scratch to demonstrate what each section means and how to use the template effectively.

Primary Goal & Raison D'Être

Fantasy Romance is having a bit of a tournament-to-the-death moment right now, with Hunger Games-inspired stories like Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass, The Savior's Champion, and The Serpent and the Wings of Night in high demand - so that's what we're going to work with in today's blog post.

The story premise and primary goal of the protagonist are almost always interconnected. In this case, the story premise is a tournament to the death - and the character's main goal is to win that tournament, obviously.

But where there's room for some originality is in the raison d'être. This loosely translates to "reason for being" or "purpose". It's the why of it.

For example: what motivated this character to risk their life by entering such a tournament in the first place?

It is sometimes helpful to look at similar stories when thinking about this category. Not so you can copy their protagonist's motivations - but so you can do something different.

The whole selfless-self-sacrifice thing, for example - that's done. At least in relation to this particular sub-genre. We can do better for our hypothetical Maera Mystfang character.

Actually, let's really turn the trope on its head and make her raison d'être incredibly self-centred.

Already, this is character is shaping up to be something a little bit different within the niche of tournaments to the death. Which goes to show how putting a little bit of thought can go a long way, even with something as simple as identifying your character's initial purpose.

Primary Obstacle

Every protagonist needs a goal - and every goal needs an obstacle. This is what gives the story some tension and keeps readers turning the page.

An obvious choice of obstacle for this hypothetical character, since we're dealing with a fantasy romance, would be that Maera starts to develop feelings for one of her fellow competitors.

This concept has definitely been done, but that's okay. Not every section of this list has to break the mould. Tropes exist for a reason and it is totally okay to lean into them sometimes.

However, just for funsies, I'm going to try and put a slightly different spin on this one too.

Instead of the obvious "I love one of the people I'm meant to kill", let's make Maera's (previously dormant) conscience be the problem. Her reasons for entering the tournament may have been self-motivated, but as she gets to know her fellow competitors - admires some of them, even - she starts to second guess those reasons.

Core Traits

A lot of character templates will divide personality traits into positives and negatives - but I don't think this is particularly helpful. It is far too one dimensional - not to mention unrealistic. The key components of someone's personality aren't usually so black and white.

In fact, most core traits are both good and bad at the same time - it just depends on the context.

Instead of being wholly positive or negative, try to think of three core character traits that can serve as two sides of the same coin, with both positive and negative implications to each.

For Maera, I've given her these core traits:

Self-reliant;

Rebellious; and

Good-humoured.

Her self-reliance means that she is incredibly capable - but it's also the cause of her selfishness. She's always had to look after herself, so she expects others to do the same.

Her rebellious attitude means she isn't willing to accept the status quo. But at times she is also a rebel without a cause, causing trouble just for the fun of it.

Her good sense of humour means she is fun to be around, but she also tends to not take things as seriously as she should.

Thinking of core traits in this multi-faceted way not only adds realistic complexity, but it also sets you up well for showcasing character development and growth throughout the story.

Fatal Flaw & Character Arc / Growth

You've probably read negative reviews that throw around terms like "Mary Sue" or "Gary Stu". People tend to be over-zealous with these terms, especially for Mary Sue, but the gist of it is that the character in question is "too perfect".

They're the chosen one, they're good at everything, all the boys like them, etc.

Some characters can get away with this just fine. Look at Aragorn. He's the ultimate Gary Stu but I still swoon every time he opens those damn doors. You know the scene I'm talking about.

Ooft.

But for the most part, you want to incorporate a fatal flaw into your protagonists - because this is what gives them room to grow.

And, no. "I was born to be King but I don't wanna" does not count as a fatal flaw.

Instead, think bigger. Think worse. Think about where your character starts versus where you want them to end up. Think about how you want the events of the narrative to change their world view - or even their initial goal.

For Maera, her fatal flaw is pretty obvious, given her initial motivations for entering the tournament. Similarly, her growth/arc is linked to her primary obstacle, which is developing a conscious.

Her journey throughout this hypothetical story might be learning to appreciate how her past shaped her, while also acknowledging that there are things she can do to ensure others don't have to go through what she did. By being shown acts of kindness, she learns to appreciate their value.

First Impression

Now that we've covered all the "big picture" stuff, let's get into some of the smaller details that give your character some texture.

The first impression category is a hypothetical exercise where you image how your character might appear to a room full of strangers. In dual, multi, or omniscient POVs, you might even get the opportunity to include this impression somewhere in the story.

But even for first-person narratives, it is still worth thinking about, because it will help to inform how other characters interact and respond to your protagonist (at least at first).

For Maera, I've written this first impression as: a fun person to have a few drinks with - so long as you keep a close eye on your wallet.

From this description, we can guess that Maera probably likes to have a good time, but also comes across as untrustworthy. Whether that impression is deserved or not is up to you, as the author, to decide.

There's also a lot of deeper directions you can take this first impression category, too. Like if most people react to Maera this way, but one particular character doesn't, then your readers are going to sit up and pay extra attention during that interaction. Especially when that person reacting atypically is the future love interest.

Spirit Animal

Ah, this one is a fun one!

I always encourage my authors to assign a "spirit animal" to their characters - especially when they're doing multi-POV.

There are two main reasons for this:

It will allow you to assign some very distinct adjectives and verbs with that particular character; and

It is an opportunity to flesh out some additional character traits beyond the core traits.

For Maera, I've chosen "spider" because she is solitary by nature, opportunistic, and patient.

But, more than that, I also like the idea of Maera being the kind of person who knows how to watch and wait. While her first impression might be "here for the good times", her joking façade is actually a mask she wears while carefully observing others.

For example:

Her words were laced with venom. She crawled her way across the rooftop. At some point, weaving lies had become more of a past time that a necessity. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She didn't bother to conceal her predatory gaze. Inch by cautious inch, she crept forward. Her sanity was already hanging by a thread. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was spin a good story - truth be damned.

I've never outright compared Maera to a spider in these examples, nor have I made it blatantly obvious that that's what I'm doing. But by peppering these kinds or words throughout the story, I'll be able to subtly create a very distinct kind of impression for her character.

For comparison's sake, let's assign "cat" to the love interest. Examples of possible words to consider in this instance might be:

He clawed his way through the bushes. "What are you doing?" he hissed. The comment had some bite to it, that was for sure. He slunk away into the darkness. His still, unwavering focus was unnerving. He prowled towards her. In a few quick, agile steps, he'd made it across the parapet. He yawned and stretched out beside her.

Of course, not every single word you use in association with a character needs to be related to their spirit animal. But keeping a certain type of animal in mind - and finding opportunities to throw in some subtle messaging through language choice - can be beneficial on so many levels.

It helps to distinguish your characters from one another through the kind of language you use to describe them - but it's also just really, really fun way to add some bonus texture to your characters. Giving your readers some little easter eggs like this is never a bad thing.

Love Language

If you're unfamiliar with the concept of the five basic love languages, then here's a quick visual overview:

Love languages aren't a consideration that's specific to romance. They're important for friendships and familial relationships too.

Because thinking about what your protagonist values most in love is going to tell you a lot about who they are. Especially when you take the question deeper and think about why this is something they value.

For Maera, I've chosen "Acts of Service" because this ties in quite well to her character arc.

In terms of Maera's why, I could easily go with "because this was how she was shown love as a child" - and this is a good enough option most of the time. However, since her love language is very much tied into growing out of her fatal flaw, then I actually want to do the opposite.

Maera winds up valuing acts of service because this is something she craved - and wasn't given - as a child. She had to do things the hard way instead. Hence why she ends up appreciating the kindness of others so much. Such generosity is new to her - and precious.

Conflict Response

This is potentially one of the most overlooked character components. Conflict and tension is central to story telling, yet there is so little attention given to creating authentic, original responses to conflict.

The way I see it, there are three main considerations in regards to conflict response:

How your character reacts in the moment;

The unhealthy methods they use to deal with the aftermath; and

The healthy methods they use (or discover) to self-sooth.

When faced with conflict, Maera's immediate reaction is to antagonise. She doesn't like to back down and enjoys creating trouble.

However, in the aftermath, the conflict affects her more than she lets on. She stews on it - and her solution to that is to get drunk until she can forget about it completely.

But even though she sometimes forgets it, Maera has a more healthy coping mechanism at her disposal. When she is surrounded by nature - in the forest, by the sea, whatever - it calms her.

In addition to identifying your protagonist's various responses to conflict, it is also helpful to think about why. Again, this is a great opportunity to insert something unique into their character backstory.

With Maera, for example, let's think about why she finds nature so soothing. Perhaps, amidst a very bleak childhood, one of her fondest memories is of picking grapes in a vineyard.

Perhaps the elderly woman who owned the vineyard was very rude and abrupt - but also quite kind to Maera in her own way. Maybe she would sometimes stitch up Maera's clothes or feed Maera a hearty, meaty dinner - even though she didn't have to.

If you're struggling to think of a real, tangible, unique memory such as this - then it's always helpful to go back to the old classic of write what you know. Think of a real life moment or memory - something that's stuck with you, no matter how simple - then adapt it to your character.

To create this vineyard example, I simply drew on my experience of picking strawberries with my Nonna after school.

Mentor / Idol

I could write an entire thesis on mentors. Or, more specifically, the "death of the mentor" trope - both in its literal and metaphorical interpretations.

But, for the sake of brevity, let's save that sh*t for another time and focus on what's important for a basic (yet complex) character template. And that is:

The Formative Mentor (past); and

Transformative Mentor (present).

The formative mentor (or idol) is someone who influenced your character prior to the events of the novel. Sometimes they're a character the reader will meet, or other times, they're long gone before the novel even begins.

The transformative mentor is a much looser term. It doesn't necessarily have to be a traditional mentor character, but rather it is a character who heavily influences or changes your protagonist throughout the events of the novel.

For Maera, I want her earliest idol to be a random female sell-sword who she crossed paths with. Prior to meeting this sell-sword, Maera was living without hope for a future, surviving on scraps and petty crime.

But after seeing an independent and moderately wealthy sell-sword in her local tavern, Maera got a glimpse into the kind of life that might be possible if she learned to fight. With the right kind of skills, she might be able to earn some decent money for a change - and travel the world.

This is an example of how "mentors" don't always have to be a wise wizard who oversees your protagonist's training and education. Young minds are impressionable - and even distant figures can have a lasting impact.

Just look at all the women who cite Legally Blonde as the reason why they were drawn to law. Elle Woods wasn't even real - but for plenty of young girls, she made an impact.

Similarly, your protagonist's "present" mentor or idol doesn't necessarily have to be a wise wizard either. It can simply be someone who motivates them to change their world view or strive to be better.

In romance, it is more than acceptable to have the present mentor coincide with the love interest - especially in standalone enemies-to-lovers. I know this seems counter-intuitive, since the word "mentor" implies a power imbalance, but it makes more sense if you readjust your definition of mentor to be "inspires change".

However, for Maera, I kind of like the idea of pairing her up with a love interest who shares some of her flaws. I vibe with the idea of making him a bit self-interested too, although for different reasons.

So in her example, I've listed the present mentor as a selfless secondary character. The way I would envision this going is Maera and the love interest team up early on - but somewhere along the way a secondary character saves them both. They're both heavily influenced by this character before this character sacrifices themselves. The aftermath of this incident rattles both Maera and her love interest, and serves as the spark for growth.

I hope you found this template - and very long explanation - useful!

#writing tips #character tips #book blog #writing #creative writing #character concept #originalcharacter #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer community #writer problems #writer things #original character #fantasy character #romance writing #writing advice #writer tips #writer tools #the smut analyst #raison d'etre #character traits #character tropes

[liquidstar]

wait speaking of getting isekia'd via truck, a couple weeks back me and a friend on were talking abt portal fantasy/isekai tropes (mostly bc i was infodumping abt rz again), and it made me think abt a fun concept for an ocverse. tho its possible similar things have been done obvs with just how inflated the genre is, just hear me out OK

story starts in the normal world, with a typical Nerdy Guy going about his daily life, expositing about how he feels bored and longs for adventure and magic, just like in all of his favorite media. as he's crossing the street, distracted by his mobile game, he doesn't notice The Truck(tm) coming straight towards him. except he's not hit by it- he's pushed out of the way in the last second, saved by a passing girl who gets hit in his place. this is who the story is about now.

mc gets sent to that sort of intermediary dimension that some isekai have, where she meets the Goddess Lady or whatever that was in charge of the whole isekai situation. goddess lady proceeds to freak out, because she nabbed the wrong person, and she's going to be in SO MUCH TROUBLE. she starts questioning the mc, only to find out that this kid has a good social life, does well in school, is in sports, and has barely ever played a video game. basically the opposite of the socially introverted, underachieving, repressed, genre-aware guy she was supposed to have reincarnated. for the sake of fulfilling somekinda hero prophesy or whatever. and the mc kinda bargains to be sent to the fantasy world anyway bc, well, its that or death i guess. so the two of them kinda have to team up to course-correct this mix-up.

mc is kinda given a list of tasks to do that basically mirror how a typical story like this Would Go, expected to fall in line with the tropes in order to achieve the ultimate goal, but kinda ends up failing at all of them... or not? failing backwards, maybe. doing it in a way different from how its meant to go- using the wrong formula, but somehow getting the right solution. while sort of continuing to question the insanity of the whole situation, and the nature of this whole fantasy world. just fucking up all the tropes.

but a layer i'd wanna add on top of all that is the fact that the hero prophesy (or whatever) called for a man. so upon arriving to this new world, the mc is basically put into a "gender swapped" body and... doesnt seem to mind. this isnt an uncommon isekai trope either, but i hardly see it tackled with much care to really explore whole Gender Thing beyond gags about the "mismatch" (which can be in poor taste) or the conclusion that "well because their Body is now this gender, their gender identity changes to match" which i feel is a pretty shallow and binary take-away to draw abt bodies and identity.

but i think there can be more to explore w the prospect if you actually wanna get into gender stuff. in this case, i'd particularly wanna get into the idea of imposter syndrome. the main character was not MEANT to be... the main character. seen as a phony fighting tooth and nail to meet expectations, and constantly fumbling. not a real hero, or a real man. but its meant to be an act anyway, so why does that bother her? it was like that back on earth too, trying as hard as possible to be the perfect girl. a good social life, does well in school, is in sports.... but that good girl thing always felt fake too. or desperate. what was she trying to prove? how long as this BEEN bothering her, actually? why does it feel easier to breathe in this body, despite everything? the way this whole act makes her happy is scary, because its fake isn't it? but wait, which part was fake? the before or after? is it all fake? isn't this all just a mistake?

was it really a mistake? who is more heroic; a guy too focused on a mobile game to pay attention to those around him, or the person who risked their life to save a stranger? but the hero prophesy was for a "man," right? what does that even mean?

#the end is all questions bc if i ever did anything w this i would want to explore them basically #i dont know if i ever WILL its mostly just a concept im throwing out there for rn. brainstorming #but i think it could be fun #the only other isekai/portal fantasy type ocverse i have is the one w the dream traveling ocs. i wanna get back to them also #so many small oc projects that ive posted abt very briefly but i have not forgotten abt any of them i still think abt it #same w this even if i never really elaborate more on it im sure the idea will stay in my head #its obviously very much in its first draft baby phase rn a lot of ironing out the creases to do if i did wanna follow up in some way #like again its basically just a concept i dont have concrete characters or worldbuilding or anything just ideas. thata all

[veliseraptor]

April Reading Recap

Stars of Chaos vol. 2 by Priest. I'm not quite grabbed by this one yet. I'm not not enjoying it, but the main relationship doesn't quite have me compelled, and the politics aren't quite sharp enough to get me either. I'm not totally sure I'll keep buying the published volumes, at least not at this time, and just read the rest online to see how I end up feeling about it as a whole before making the financial commitment.

Medea by Eilish Quin. Listen, I'm a Medea apologist, but I'm a Medea apologist who is very much of the "she absolutely did all the awful things she's accused of and she is valid" and the author here is going "she did all the awful things she's accused of but it's not as bad as you thought it was because she didn't mean it!" and I'm just. I'm not mad, just disappointed (again). I was so hoping for a book that would do something interesting with a Medea retelling but I probably should've known better than to think it'd be this one. Why, you may ask, do I keep reading myth retellings about my problematic faves when all I do is complain about them? Hope springs eternal, I guess.

She Who Became the Sun and He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan. Exceptional. Might be my favorite books I read in April. I'd already read She Who Became the Sun back when it was first published and knew I'd enjoyed it (was rereading to refresh my memory for the sequel), but I felt like I enjoyed it more the second time around, and I might've liked He Who Drowned the World even more than its predecessor. If you're looking for works of just-barely fantasy with delightfully fucked up queer characters, come get 'em here. I won't say most of them are happy (they're not) or that things end well (they don't), but boy is it good reading.

The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling. Decent horror but not particularly outstanding, in my opinion. I liked The Luminous Dead more.

Untethered Sky by Fonda Lee. I continue to struggle with novellas. This was a perfectly good novella but it felt like it could've been a stronger short story, which I guess is better than the other way I usually come out of novellas, which is "this was a fine novella but it should've been a novel."

The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler. I really liked this. It has more of a thriller-ish edge than I expected, but for all that I think it's a thoughtful book with some interesting things to say, and I feel like it's one I want more people to read so I can talk to them about it. It's set in a sort-of spooky, near-future dystopia, but a lot of it is about, like, the nature of thought and consciousness. Anyway, I found myself compelled.

Islands of Abandonment: Nation Rebounding in the Post-Human Landscape by Cal Flyn. I found myself reading this thinking a lot about The World Without Us, a book I read many years ago and would kind of like to reread, and which I think I liked more than this (at least in my memory). I was hoping for more analysis than I got from this book, which was beautifully written but more nature/travel writing than science. One thing I did appreciate was the attention paid to the human cost of the "abandoned" places examined in this book - the pain that abandonment often signifies, and the trauma it indicates, in spite of the beauty that may come after.

Emperor of Rome: Ruling the Ancient Roman World by Mary Beard. I really liked the way that Beard chose to do this one - namely, taking it by theme rather than by emperor, and breaking down different areas of the emperor's life over time rather than trying to tell a linear narrative. It also let her do some of the better "skeptical" reading of sources that I've read in a popular book on ancient history, where she was actually digging into the "rather than what this says about what this person may or may not have actually done, what does it say about expectations, beliefs, and tropes that people had" kind of reading. And after some of the other popular histories of Rome I've read, thank god for that.

Metamorphoses by Ovid, trans. Stephanie McCarter. Continuing on with my "reading new translations (by women!) of classical epics" run (started with The Odyssey, The Iliad is on my list). It was fun to reread Ovid! As usual one of my favorite parts of this was reading the translator's note and introduction, and I wanted about 500% more of that through the text (tell me about the assonance you're preserving in the Latin!) but did get some of (thanks for the information on the penis/pubic hair puns!). Overall would recommend as a good translation of Ovid that very much does not flinch away from - and makes/keeps appropriately uncomfortable - the sexual assault.

Dark Rise by C.S. Pacat. Slightly more YA than I usually like, but I enjoyed it! I was a little :\ about it for a while, very much feeling the YA cliches of it all, but the late hour twist got me interested again, and I will be picking up the sequel. Did miss the full balls-to-the-wall iddy joy of Captive Prince, though, since I probably wouldn't have picked this book up without the author recognition.

Subversive Sequels in the Bible: How Biblical Stories Mine and Undermine Each Other by Judy Klitsner. I really liked this one, particularly for its commentary comparing and contrasting Eve, and the other women of Genesis, with later Biblical narratives. I don't know how much I buy all of her arguments when it comes to intentionality of all of the comparisons she's drawing, but it certainly makes interesting food for thought, and a good sampler for me of what literary-based Biblical scholarship can look like (and an indication that I'm interested in trying more of it).

Use of Weapons by Iain M. Banks. I read most of my way through this book continuing to really appreciate what Banks does with the Culture novels and planning to continue on reading the next one, but not enjoying this specific one as much as I did The Player of Games in particular, and then I got to the very end of it and went "hang on what the fuck???" but in a decidedly good way. And I'm still kind of thinking about That even though it's been a while, which I think is a positive. Anyway, I don't think I'd recommend this as a starting place for anyone to read the Culture novels, or as a must read, but it was on the upper end of a three star rating.

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid. I wanted this to be more gothic horror and less romance and it ended up being more romance and less gothic horror, was my feeling. Not necessarily the book's fault, but if anyone else is eyeing it wondering...now you know.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik. I really enjoyed this one! I was kind of skeptical going in - I'm not a big magic school person, as a rule, and the more I feel like something is hyped to me the more I tend to drag my heels about it - but Naomi Novik is really good at what she does and she clearly had a lot of fun here. It's tropey for sure, but I enjoy the narrative voice (very important, in a first person narration), and the action moves along with what I felt was pretty good momentum. The other thing I was worried about - that it'd feel too much like this was just ~commentary on/against Harry Potter~ without saying anything for itself - didn't materialize for me. I'm looking forward to reading the next ones.

The Monster Theory Reader ed. by Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock. I'm so rusty on my academic/theory reading and I felt it reading this collection, some of which was definitely better than others. Kristeva's essay on abjection was particularly rough as far as "I'm reading words and I know all the words but something about the order they're going in is just not making sense to me." Overall...it was a decent primer? There were a few very interesting essays in there; my favorite might've been the one on tanuki in modernizing Japan's folklore, but there were a couple on "monstrous" bodies that made me wish I had someone to discuss them with. That's probably my main problem reading academic works these days: I want a seminar to dissect them afterwards and I just don't have that.

The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man by Abraham Joshua Heschel. I'm trying to read something Jewish on Shabbat now and finally getting around to reading some Heschel after years of meaning to. I thought "oh, I'll start easy with something nice and short" - yeah, no, Heschel's got a very particular style of writing and there's a lot of theological depth packed into a very short volume. I'm looking forward to reading The Prophets, though.

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun vol. 5 by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou. I think we're juuuuust about caught up now with the official translation to where I started reading the machine translation, so I'm very excited for (a) things I don't remember as well (b) reading it not in machine translation. Also looking forward to everything about what happened with Nangong Liu and Nangong Xu making more sense this time around, on account of not reading it machine translated, because I didn't follow it so well on my first read and I feel like I'm already doing better. (Though that could also be because it's a reread, no matter how different an experience of one.) Still feel real bad for Ye Wangxi, on so many levels. Mark that one down for 'characters I'd love to know more about what they're thinking.'

The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang. I really enjoyed S.L. Huang's other work with the Cas Russell series, and I liked this book a little less than those. It felt like an almost winner, for me. Certainly I read through it quickly enough, and I can say I enjoyed it, but I'm not sure I'd give it an enthusiastic recommendation. It falls somewhere in the middle between "a fun action/adventure story" and "something I can sink my teeth into" in a way that didn't quite satisfy either itch. Still, it did make me curious about the source material, which is one of the Chinese classics (Water Margin) and I might go and find a place to read that, if I can; if I'd had that background going in I wonder if my experience of this work would've been more edifying.

--

I'm currently rereading A Memory Called Empire so I can (finally) read the sequel (A Desolation Called Peace); I also checked out from the library the next two Scholomance books so I'll be reading those. I'm going to try to throw some nonfiction somewhere in there (maybe The Genius of Birds by Jennifer Ackerman, which I also have out from the library, but maybe something else), but I've still got the sequel to The First Sister sitting on my shelf (also from the library).

Outside of that I've got no big reading plans - I'm working my way through some of the unreads on my own shelf (despite what it may look like, about the library books) and eyeing The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky or a reread of Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett so I can continue that series.

#long post for ts #reading recaps #sometimes i read things #sometimes i wonder if i should have more like. summary information on what books are about #but i am lazy and also that's not really the point #important text posts

[imagineteamfreewill]

Gentle and Kind

Title: Gentle and Kind

Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)

Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.

A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.

When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.

You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.

Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 

You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.

“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”

In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.

“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.

You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.

The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.

Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.

“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.

Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.

You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 

You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.

You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.

Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.

“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.

The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.

Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.

“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.

The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.

Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.

“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.

He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.

“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”

You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.

Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.

“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.

Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”

Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.

The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.

“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 

“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”

“You? Not your father?”

Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”

“I see.”

You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.

“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”

He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”

“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.

You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.

“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.

“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”

If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.

“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”

You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.

The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.

“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.

“Very.” You don’t say anything more.

“And handsome, too,” she prods.

“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”

She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.

“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”

You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.

Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.

The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.

Both men stand as soon as they see you.

“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.

“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.

Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”

Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.

His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”

“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.

“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.

“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”

He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.

“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”

Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.

“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”

You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.

The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 

Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.

You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.

“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.

“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”

“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”

You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.

As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 

“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.

“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”

“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.

“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.

There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.

John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”

Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.

“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.

You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.

“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”

She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.

You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.

“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”

He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 

Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”

Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”

A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.

You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”

Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.

You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”

This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.

“Nice?” Charlie teases.

You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”

Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”

She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.

“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.

“Shall we?” Sam asks.

You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.

You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.

“Would you like to skate?” he asks.

“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”

Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 

You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”

He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.

“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.

It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.

“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.

“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”

You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”

Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”

Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”

“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.

“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.

He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.

You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.

Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.

You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”

He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”

Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.

You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”

“I did,” Sam replies.

You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.

He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”

Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.

You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.

After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.

Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.

A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 

“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.

“Do you like to paint?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”

“What would you like?” he asks.

You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.

“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.

The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.

“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”

He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.

“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.

He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.

“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?

Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.

The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”

“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.

“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”

“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”

You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.

“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”

Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.

You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”

John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.

The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.

“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”

The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.

“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”

The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.

“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”

Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”

You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.

The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 

Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.

Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.

“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.

“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.

“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”

Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 

“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”

You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.

Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.

“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”

You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”

He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.

“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.

“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”

“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”

He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.

“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.

“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”

At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.

“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”

John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”

A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.

“You called for me, Father?” he asks.

“I did.”

John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.

“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”

“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.

Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.

You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.

John scoffs. “Samuel—”

“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.

Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”

He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”

John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”

Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?

There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 

“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.

A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”

He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.

“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”

“Did you dream of marrying someday?”

Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”

“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.

“It’s my duty as queen.”

Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.

“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”

Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”

“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 

“I don’t wish to force you—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”

You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.

“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”

Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.

“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”

You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.

“Y/N?”

Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.

“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.

“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.

She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.

“He’s a good man,” she tells you.

“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.

“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.

This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”

She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”

Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.

Finally, you nod and stand.

She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”

“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.

“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”

A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.

Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.

“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.

“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.

Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 

The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 

A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.

“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.

Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.

Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.

“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.

“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.

“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.

“But your father—”

Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”

You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”

He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”

You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”

“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 

Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.

“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”

Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.

John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.

“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.

“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”

Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.

“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.

You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”

Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.

Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.

Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.

The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.

Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.

After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 

The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.

“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.

“Let me go!” you bark at him.

He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.

Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.

You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.

While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,

“Make way! The Queen is here!”

There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.

When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.

“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”

After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.

“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.

You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”

“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 

“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”

“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.

“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”

He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.

Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.

“Let me show you my home.”

Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.

You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.

As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.

Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.

“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.

Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”

You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”

He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 

You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 

Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.

“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”

“And I am prepared to face them.”

“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”

“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”

You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.

When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.

You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”

He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?

“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”

“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.

“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.

Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.

“So it is,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“We’re married,” you murmur.

He hums. “So we are.”

“What do we do now?”

“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”

You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”

Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.

“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.

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[nicomundthered]

Kept Hidden

Injured Trilogy- part one | part two | part three

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: made a mistake, and then you try to hide it.

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood and descriptions of injury, mention of suicidal thoughts, mention of character death, I'm not a doctor, established relationship, no horses you say? no horses I say, soft Joel.

word count: 11k | ao3

a/n: I eat this trope up. Hope you enjoy!

masterlist

So the thing is, you knew that you shouldn’t have gone in without Joel. But in your defense, the door was ajar and he seemed close enough behind. You just wanted to get back to Jackson before it started raining again. You normally didn't mind the rain but this was your last house to check and it was getting cold–you didn't care to be both cold and wet. And quite frankly you were tired. It had been a long day and you were so done.

You opened the creaky door and took four maybe five steps into the home and a noise made you jerk in the opposite direction when a man with a bat came charging at you. Unfortunately for you he was quicker and the bat slammed into your side before you could register what was happening.

You fell over the wind completely knocked out of you. You tried to focus on breathing but that was when the sharp nearly blinding pain made itself known. Cursing at the bat, the man, the fact that you entered the building, and unfairly at Joel where the fuck was he? You let out a pained grunt and flipped onto your back. You tried to lift the arm holding the gun but he hit your hand before you could.

The feeling of your hand shattering made you scream. “Pl-please, please don't.” You desperately wheezed out, gripping your injured hand and raising your arms enough to block your face.

He angrily murmured something that you couldn't quite make out, he lifted the bat high above his head and with a wicked gleam in his eyes brought it down. You rolled as quickly as you could, narrowly missing the descending object.

You were gasping for air as you tried to get to your feet but he jumped on top of you, quickly discarding the bat realizing that it was too slow in this situation. Instead, he put both hands around your neck and gripped tightly.

Tears formed in your eyes as you fought under the compression of your windpipe. You clawed at his hands but they were locked and with one good hand you couldn’t do much of anything.

You started seeing dark spots and knew you were about to pass out. Your last thoughts were of Joel and Ellie. What you wouldn’t give for one more night with them by the fire–Ellie reading her jokes and Joel trying to act like he didn’t find them funny. Then later, after Ellie fell asleep, Joel would snuggle up to you. His deep breaths would calm you and you’d place your hand over his heart to feel its steady beat. This was your happy place. This was home.

As last thoughts go this was nice. You felt yourself calm down and prepared to let go. It was surprisingly an easy thing to do as the blood struggled to make it to your oxygen deprived brain.

Your good hand fell by your side grazing something hard and familiar tucked into your jeans, your knife. What the hell were you doing? Giving up before even trying? If you could have laughed you might have.

With the driving need to see your home again you successfully removed the blade, and with all of the strength left in your body you managed to stab the guy in the chest—once, twice, then a third time.

He yelled an expletive and grabbed at the knife as his blood covered you. He quickly gave up realizing that it was too late for him and decided that his last act on this earth was going to be trying to take you with him.

He got two good punches in, you barely even registered the blows landing on your jaw and then cheek due to the euphoric feeling of air filling your lungs, then he collapsed on top of you, the handle of your knife uncomfortably dug into your shoulder. Which brought your attention back to your injured side. The sharp pain was becoming more noticeable.

You desperately tried to roll him off of you. He wasn't large–smaller than Joel but not by much, but each time the pain in your hand became intense or your vision started to get blurry you’d panic and release him, which caused him to land roughly on your abdomen causing you to yell out.

It felt hopeless.

Just as you closed your eyes while you continued to slowly suffocate, you heard your name. It sounded distant. You looked around and couldn’t see anyone. And when you thought that maybe it was a hallucination, a cruel trick your mind was playing on you, you heard it again. This time closer and loud enough to recognize it.

“Joel?” You barely managed to rasp out.

He turned the corner quickly with his rifle. His brown eyes were intense but barely looked your way while he made sure the room was clear.

“I-I can't…” you couldn’t finish the sentence.

Ideally, he would like to check out the rest of the house for more people, but the desperation in your voice and the trail of blood that slowly pooled by your side almost made him shudder and refocus his priorities.

He swung his rifle behind him and threw the man off of you. Even though the man had enough blood on him to confirm his demise, he still had the urge to shoot him and reached for his gun.

Joel was hyper focused. His vision was clear, his breath was quick but deep, his heart was pounding in his ears making them feel like they were stuffed with cotton. He felt feral.

He found that he couldn't bring himself to look at you yet. He needed to eliminate the threat he needed to make sure no one else could hurt you. He found it hard to switch from protector to caregiver–which were two very different modes. And if he was being completely honest, if you were badly injured, if you were dying then his world would come crumbling down. He had experienced that feeling before and he was in no hurry to feel it again. He couldn't. He didn't think he was strong enough for it.

Caution be damned. If someone heard the gun go off then he’d kill them too. And anyone else that dared to threaten your existence. He’d kill them all. He was no longer thinking rationally. He could barely think at all.

The rifle went off twice, the bullets landed into the already dead man's chest. He felt satisfaction as the blood exploded from his motionless body. Pride came with it, you had killed the fucker.

And as soon as he watched the last bullet land he dropped the gun and fell to his knees beside you. His attention was now on you. His ears cleared enough so that he could hear your shallow-wheezing breath. He saw the fear in your eyes as you gripped his arm begging him for help, needing the air to return.

“Easy, easy. Shhh deep breaths,” he took a deep breath in and out trying to guide you through it. The fact that he wasn't sure what was wrong made his blood run cold.

As if you read his thoughts, you lifted your neck and hand gestured a choking motion with your good hand. He then noticed the red and purple colors discoloring your beautiful throat. His hand delicately touched the darkest spot and blinding anger made the muscles in his jaw twitch. He gently moved his hand higher to stroke your swollen cheek.

“Damn,” he sighed. “Jus- just breathe as deep as you can, ok?” You nodded and he lifted your head to lay on the softness of his thigh.

“You hurt anywhere else?”

You lifted your hand.

His eyes glazed over as he took in your swollen bruised hand. He cursed the dead man as he carefully held your hand in his. It was hot and the skin felt tight. It looked like it hurt badly and if it was indeed broken, which it certainly looked like, it would probably be an injury you would carry for the rest of your life.

He was so fucking mad. Not at you. Never at you. He did his best to calm down.

“Is this any of your blood?”

He held his breath. God help him if it was.

You shook your head no and he released all of the air in his lungs. “You did so good baby. I’m so proud of you.”

Your breathing was slowly returning to a calmer and fuller rhythm which allowed you to speak. “A- bat…he had,” you tried to clear your throat. “A bat,” your voice was quiet and hoarse but he was so relieved to hear it.

Joel looked around for the offending object and when he saw the aluminum baseball bat a few feet away he felt his heart begin to race. He gripped your leg a little tighter than he should and his voice was deep and hateful. “Son of a bitch got lucky.” His thoughts flooded with the violent urge to get the bat and smash the man's face in until it was nothing more than a pile of gunk. That's what the man deserved.

You placed your good hand on his and rubbed gentle circles causing him to ease his grip, you knew him so well. “I’m ok Joel.”

It wasn’t that you didn't love this side of him, you loved him and accepted him with all of his imperfections just as he did yours, but you hated when he did this. Took all of the blame. Put too much on himself. Acted like everything bad happened because he wasn't fast enough to see it coming. And you hated that with these thoughts came aggressively dark connotations. He wanted you to believe that he moved on from that and maybe he had for the most part, but not when it came to his family. It truly wasn't something he could help.

You knew that his daughter- Sarah had died. And although you didn't know what it was like to lose a child and you didn't pretend to, you have lost a lot of people you loved as well. So you didn't pretend to be better than that, you understood.

You could see the fear in his eyes now. Your physical wounds would heal, and you knew that his emotional wounds wouldn't. And this would be yet another scar. The inability to protect the ones he loves–his greatest fear. Everytime he failed he lost another piece of himself to his darkness.

Joel would do anything to keep you and Ellie safe. He wanted neither of you to have to see anymore death. For both of you to have a place where you could take off your shoes, and not need a weapon or a backup weapon or a backup for your back up weapon. He often tried to talk you out of going on runs and taking patrol shifts, but that was an argument he'd never win. You were a team and you weren't going to leave him alone.

The color was returning to your face and your breaths were not full but they were enough for you to want to sit up.

He was still staring at the blood covering your midsection as you abruptly became vertical. You gasped at the sharp pain in your abdomen, which you should probably mention, but there wasn't anything he could do about it here. You’d wait until you saw the doctor in Jackson. There was no need to put more worry and unnecessary guilt on him. He battles with that enough as it is, and if you were being honest you were a little more than a little ashamed. If you wouldn't have been so impatient you wouldn't be lying covered in blood, and more injured than you let on.

“Hey easy!”

“I’m fine,” you gritted out defensively as he helped prop you against the wall.

He looked at you skeptically. His eyes continued to study your body. You had the tendency to tell half truths when you were injured. You didn't like the attention and feeling that you were incapable. One day your pride was going to get you into big trouble.

He also knew that you kept your pain hidden from him, especially from him for a reason he didn't understand. He had caught Ellie helping you with cuts and sprains more often than he liked. And he couldn’t for the life of him wrap his head around that. The two of you had been together for years now. He loved you and you loved him and yet, you still felt too guilty that you were–what, human? That you felt pain and bled? That you made mistakes?

You always seemed so ashamed, so embarrassed. Like you were afraid that you somehow had let him down. Which was insane, he just didn't want you hurt. Even if it was by your determination just a little sprain or scrape.

So no, he didn't believe you when you said you were fine. Despite knowing that, he still didn't want to waste time arguing with you. It would be a losing battle for him anyhow, and it would only make you feel worse. But he did have to believe that you were going to be ok to make it back.

“I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” your voice was pure gravel as it pulled him from his thoughts.

“We’ll stay here as long as you need,” he rocked back on his heels and his fingers were flexing where they balanced him to the ground.

You thought that you understood why he couldn't be still–the fear and his feeling of inadequacy, you knew it was the past haunting him—teasing him it will happen again. He was fighting the impending darkness, trying to distract himself from its reality. It filled you with guilt and shame, because you caused this. If you would have just waited. If you would have been more careful, the haunted look that now covered his handsome face wouldn't be there.

“Joel.”

Even though he had seen you injured before, he would admit that this was different. There was something about the blood soaking your clothes. He had never seen you covered in it before. He knew that it wasn’t yours, he had been looking for tears in your shirt, but the image still shook him. There was a constant thrum in his body—his pulse felt loud and he couldn’t keep his damn hands still.

“Joel,” you said as loud as you could manage.

His eyes shot to yours, they were overflowing. Not with tears but raw conflicting emotions– love and fear.

“I’m ok,” you gripped at his trembling hand.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead gently on your own.

“Scared the shit out of me,” he practically whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

He interrupted you by suddenly leaning back so he could look into your eyes, “Not now, ok? Not now.”

“I shouldn’t have gone in without you,” tears flooded your eyes and you gasped almost frantically trying your best not to sob at your own stupidity and pain.

He pulled you to him tightly and you felt the proverbial dam break. You cried hard and snuggled into his neck, tears wetting his jacket. His fragrance gave you a sense of peace encouraging you to breathe fuller. You finally felt safe.

A massive lump formed in his throat, you weren't the only one struggling to breathe. He tried his best to keep his emotions in tact, but he felt the familiar panic begin to creep. The attacks had been happening more frequently and he had yet to tell you about them. This wasn't the time, if it ever would be. This was about your comfort and it wasn't fair to put his own shit on you. He realized that that was hypocritical of him, but he had to be stronger than that.

The only thing grounding him was your warmth and the sound of your breathing. Your body suddenly felt so small to him and delicate. You were always precious to him but you suddenly felt like you were made of glass. He worried that if he squeezed too tight and that you might shatter into a million pieces right in front of him. He thought about how easy it would be for someone larger to hurt you. How easily he could hurt you.

And yet you weren’t the one laying lifeless.

“I got you baby, I got you,” he wasn't even aware that he was muttering promises and endermanets into your hair.

You don’t know how long you stayed in his arms but you did know you were in no hurry to leave his strong embrace. After a while your tears slowed and eyelids grew heavy. Your head pounded and you just wanted to lay back down.

“I need to wrap your hand,” he said slowly unwrapping himself from you, sensing that all of your remaining adrenaline was dwindling and that it was time for action.

He touched your hand as carefully as possible. It looked worse than it had a few moments ago—almost double in size and a few shades darker than your skin tone. He took out his handkerchief and wrapped it loosely. It wouldn’t do much but he figured that it was better than not doing anything, and that simply wasn't an option.

You hissed and he frowned in sympathy.

“Just until we get you to the Doctor,” he said more to himself than to you.

You caressed his cheek with your uninjured hand. His face relaxed as his bloodshot eyes closed and he leaned into your palm giving a firm lingering kiss.

“Joel-“

“Yeah sweetheart?” He mumbled into your palm.

“Let’s not tell Ellie about this. It’s hard enough to keep her-“ you coughed unexpectedly and it made you wince.

Joel witnessed it all and his eyes narrowed as he observed you, “I think she might notice.” He looked at your bruised cheek and neck. Not to mention your busted hand. You might could lie to her about one of these things but not all three.

You cleared your throat but it didn’t do much good and spoke slowly. “I just…I don’t want her feeling like she needs to do this. I just talked her out of going on these runs until she's a little older and now she's not gonna let us go alone. She's so young Joel and I don’t want her getting hurt trying to- to protect me…or something. You already do too much and-“

He said your name firmly, “Stop. Don’t you fucking dare.” He sat up straight and ran his hand over his face. He didn’t want to have this conversation. It was ridiculous. You were his to care for. Didn’t you know that?

It wasnt that you couldnt take care of yourself and you have done a good job of that your whole life. You just happened to be a little unlucky is all, and to be fair this was by far your worst injury. But given the circumstances you'd say you've done alright for yourself.

“I have told you time and time again, we are a family. You, me, and Ellie.” His eyes searched yours seeing if you were listening. “I would do anythingin the world for either of you.”

You turned, avoiding eye contact with him. The love that he had for you felt too much at times. In fact it completely overwhelmed you. It was hard to accept that someone could love you this much. It took awhile for him to admit his feelings to you but once he did it was like watching a flower bloom. He poured his love out and in doing so got back some of his past self. It made him feel happier like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He absolutely loved loving you, and caring for you. It gave his life meaning, it made him feel human again, something that he hadn't felt in decades.

However, the downside was he still had his thorns–your relationship had only made them sharper and along with that came a protective side that was lethal.

In return, you were afraid that you couldn’t properly convey how much he meant to you. You weren't a flower, you had worn your affection for him with every glance you gave. With his confession you hadn't blossomed, you became grounded–more like the roots of a tree than a flower. Your feelings didn't change outwardly, you still looked at him the same, but on the inside, deep down in your soul everything had become safe and stable since Joel Miller had entered your life. You for the first time since the outbreak felt peace.

You would die for him just as fast as he'd die for you. Even though you doubt he would believe that, or maybe he just wouldn't want to. Of course he knew you loved him but he didn't understand just how much. It was more than just a love, it had become a need. A selfish need to see him everyday, to hear his smooth calming voice, to feel his strong hands on you. Your day felt empty without it. Sometimes you felt like you needed him more than he needed you, and feared that with his past loss one day he’d wake up and realize you weren’t worth the pain. Especially if you kept getting injured.

“Hey-” he said, breaking you out of your anxious thoughts. “Look at me.”

You turned your head slowly. His eyes locked on to yours, “I don’t know what more I can do to convince you. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I know you love me.”

“Do you?”

You shook your head yes.

He didn’t look happy, “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do!” You spoke as loud as your voice would allow. You coughed again, this time it was deeper and sounded wetter. It took longer for you to return to normal.

His brows furrowed, “Easy, hey easy. I believe you.” His hand caressed your shoulder. “Don’t speak just nod, ok?”

You nodded in confirmation.

“Listen- I- I know you. And I know you don't want to believe it, but I…I’m scared of the man I'd be without you.”

“Don’t say...”

“Quiet,” he said firmly with a little rawness. “Don't get yourself worked up- just listen.”

You nodded that you would.

“When I lost Sarah...”

You reached out and touched his hand and with eyes full of fresh tears you shook your head no. God he didn't have to do this now.

“No. I- I-...It’s ok. It’s time, I just need you to understand something,” he turned his hand over and held yours tenderly. “She died because of my mistakes. She was shot and I-” he swallowed thickly. “I- couldn't save her. That was on me, her father. She trusted me to keep her safe. She trusted me with her life and I couldn't even give her that. The most simple thing I could have done.” He shook his head in disbelief, “...and, my one job- and I failed her,” he clinched and then unclenched his jaw.

“After- I went completely…there was nothing. Couldn't cry. Could barely eat–I didn't want to. So I decided that I- had had enough. Enough of it all…I couldn't see a point without her. Without her smile, there was no sun anymore and- and so I- grabbed my gun…”

You tensed and sucked in a deep breath. He lifted your hand so that your fingertips touched the raised flesh on his forehead.

“I missed.”

Tears fell from your eyes.

“Thank god I missed.” He brought your hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to your knuckles. It wasn't a kiss so much as him needing to just feel your skin.

He said your name when you turned away and your hand fell, unable to look at his pained expression any longer. You felt that you had to be strong for him but you found it very difficult. He was finally sharing with you his darkest moment, something that you had wondered about since you got to know him– you never tried to pry, if he didn’t want you to know you could live with that. It was his memory to share and you would die not knowing if that’s what he wanted. It wouldn’t change how you felt about him.

You had just wanted to know all parts of Joel. The good and the bad. Maybe even especially the bad, because that's the part he's let motivate and mold him into the man he is today. Not that you've ever blamed him for that. You didn't know what you'd do if you lost Joel or Ellie–you didn't know who you'd become. But this, this you honestly weren't expecting.

You hated that with this knowledge, it felt like both a relief and a massive burden. He had now bared his soul to you but in doing so he had just unintentionally placed something on you that was unfair. You didn’t want to feel like the catalyst, like the ticking time bomb waiting to explode and kill what he'd finally gotten back. You didn’t want that on your conscience and you were sure he wasn't even aware of what he'd done, but it frightened you.

And as he sat before you now–with those deep brown eyes boring into yours, you all of the sudden selfishly wished that he hadn't shared. It felt too much, too serious, too final. Your head started pounding and the pain in your hand became more apparent.

“And now, twenty years later I’ve been given a second chance- at love, at life. I know accepting that is hard for you- I get it, but even if you can't accept it- don't you ever, ever doubt it.”

He gently grabbed your chin and moved your face so that you were inches away looking up at him, “Because, I- I can’t fail you.”

He pressed his lips to yours. It was quick and gentle, and then he rested his forehead back onto yours.

Whereas he felt a sudden peace you were almost panicking. “You- you won’t. You couldn’t. Even- even if something happened…”

He said your name, “Please…”

“Let me,” you leaned back and he followed only this time he was the one dreading the eye contact. “You would have to keep going.”

He didn't respond.

“Joel you'd have to. If not for me then for Ellie.”

He sighed. “I can't make that promise to you. I- I wish I could but I can't. I’m stronger now, I know I am. You've helped me be that, but if…if you left me- I don’t know.”

“Can you promise me that you'd try?” You knew that wasn't far, but you had to hear it. You couldn't bear the thought of him hurting himself over you and you knew that the next time, if there ever was one, he wouldn't miss.

He nodded yes that he would try.

“Ok.”

“Ok?” He asked not believing that you would just accept him like that. That you would just hear the darkest part of him and still love and respect him. That you understood him, even with all of his darkness, and after his admission you now knew it all.

You nodded but then your cough returned violently.

“I told you not to speak and now look at you,” he frowned, his concern starting to rear its ugly head again, and he stood up deciding it was time to leave.

“We need to get you home,” he walked over and picked up your gun and stuck it in his pants, and then pulled your knife from the man’s chest, wiped it off and tucked it back into your pants. “You ready?”

He was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to get you out of the house. It was too cold and he didn't want you breathing anymore of the musty air.

He slowly helped you up and stilled when you groaned out. The blood rushed to your head and you swayed.

“I gotchu,” he held you steady as your world slowly righted itself.

After a few moments you nodded indicating that you were ready. He took off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders, and swung his gun back onto his back.

“I don’t ne–”

“It's getting colder and it's gonna rain.” You stared at him about to argue when he said, “I’ll be fine. You know the cold doesn't bother me.”

You scoffed knowing that it was a losing battle. He complained about the cold as often as you did.

He helped you to the door and you found that you couldn't stand up straight. That was fine though as long as you could walk you were good. Jackson was only about four miles away. It would only take an hour, maybe two if you had to slow down. You could make it.

You had to.

Thirty minutes later, you were moving as fast as your legs could but your side hurt. And for the first time since the injury you were actually worried. The pain was sharp and deep, and it felt like you had a sack of rice draped over your chest, making it very difficult to breathe. Though what concerned you the most was after your last round of coughing, you had tasted blood.

Joel was a couple of steps ahead, clearing the way, just in case the man in the cabin wasn't alone. You knew that his confession took a lot out of him, hell it took a lot out of you, but now he was focused on getting you home. Whereas before you felt like you had all of the time in the world now you felt pressured to continue.

Each step felt heavier than the last, and your pace was slowing dramatically but you still didn't call out. You had to dig into something deep within you–keep moving, keep moving, you can't be his bomb.

Another few minutes pass and you're still not even at the halfway point. It's beginning to rain, and you believe it's mixed with sleet. You can hear the soft pattering as it hits the fallen leaves.

Despite your chills you're sweating now. You can feel it dripping down the back of your neck. You can no longer feel the pain in your hand, probably thanks to Joel’s wrapping–or at least you hoped that was why. But you did have the worst sore throat of your life. And your side felt too big- swollen with its own heartbeat.

The ground was slick from the rain and you stumbled a few times. You start shaking from fear or shock, you aren’t sure. When you coughed this time you had to bend over. It was loud and intense, it echoed through the trees as it brought you to your knees.

Joel continued ahead. He felt that he had to keep moving. Everything would be fine once you got home. He had to believe that.

He had a feeling that something more was wrong. He observed you, he specialized in you. But the fear within him, the fear that he’d fail someone he loved yet again…it made his chest hurt. It made him want to pick you up and run. He needed to get you to safety.

But when he heard that cough, the one that had taken you to the ground, he turned and ran to you. His heart almost stopped entirely when he saw how you were shaking, and when he saw the new blood beading the arm of his jacket he fell to his knees with you.

“How long?” he barely managed to rasp out.

“I’m f-fine,” you spoke so softly that you almost couldn't be heard over the rain.

Joel sighed in disapproval as your name left his lips. “Why would you lie to me?”

You looked up at him, blood coated your teeth and bottom lip. “There's noth– nothing you can do…I-I didn't want to…worry you.”

The words that your hoarse voice barely managed to rasp out mixed with the sight of you chilled him to the bone. He would rather be eaten alive by clickers than to be in this hell he was in now.

“Baby...”

You turned your head and coughed again, so violently that your face turned a deeper shade and the veins in your forehead protruded. Blood sprayed out from your mouth with every cough and you suddenly felt very tired.

He held onto you from your side and he could feel the effort required for each breath. He could feel the tremors, and scarier still- he could smell the metallic twang of your blood.

When you finally calmed down, it felt like hours to him but it was no more than a couple of minutes, he hauled you up not wanting you to be in the cold mud for another second.

“I'm going to have to look at you, ok?”

You feebly nodded. His hand reached for the bottom of your shirt and you grabbed his hand stopping him. You looked at him ashamed as you mouthed the words ‘I’m so sorry Joel’.

When he watched your beautiful lips make those words he stilled, his eyes shifting between yours. He was stabbed with an intense fear that made him want to collapse. His eyes didn't leave yours. What he was searching for he didn't know, but he needed something. It was like he didn't believe how serious it was, like he was waiting for you to laugh or smile.

He placed both hands on either side of your face and handled you a little rougher than he intended. He didn't hurt you but the intensity was definitely there.

“You are going to be ok?”

Your eyes wandered, you didn't want to alarm him but you were terrified. You were beginning to think that maybe you wouldn't be.

He said your name, “Look at me. I said you are going to be ok. You hear me?”

You start crying again but you still nodded with more conviction this time, for his sake.

“It's not much further, we will go slow and take as many breaks as you need–then we'll getchu home and warmed up by the fire, alright?”

You nodded again. You recognized what he was doing, and appreciated it. But as much as you wanted to cuddle in front of the fire with Joel, honestly all you wanted was a doctor.

He placed a kiss on your forehead and he backed away trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to fall on his knees and scream up at the heavens. This isn't fair, this wasn't right. Though he stayed strong, because for all he knew, maybe it wasn't that bad.

The problem was though, it was that bad.

You reluctantly let him slowly lift your shirt. You turned your head so you couldn't see his reaction. You didn't want to, you knew what was probably there and you didn't think you were strong enough to watch his face as he saw the hidden injury.

You wanted to fuss at him and say you were ‘fine let's go, we are wasting time’ but you physically couldn't. You wanted to jog ahead playfully and ask ‘what was taking so long’ but you couldn't. You wanted to remove the furrow of his brow and the frown of his mouth but you couldn't.

Your shirt was still wet with your attacker’s blood and rain. It was clinging to your skin which made the reveal even more traumatizing for Joel. Last time he’d touched a bloody abdomen that wasn't his own, it was his dying daughters.

“Fuck,” he wasn’t aware he choked out.

Your right rib cage was extended—swollen like a football and so dark of a purple it was almost black. He let his fingertips lightly graze the swollen area. It was hard and felt hot to the touch.

Your involuntary tremors made him snap out of it and he let go of your shirt and put his hands on your shoulders

“We have to get going. Ok?”

You mouthed, ‘how bad?’

“It’s not bad, we just need to get home before dark.”

You looked at him knowingly, it was his serious expression that told you the truth.

‘Joel?’ You silently persisted. Needing to hear it from his own admission. If you were dying you wanted to know.

He tilted his head down and took a deep steadying breath then returned to you, “It’s…it’s not good baby. Some ribs are broken I—I think and it’s so purple, I think it’s internal bleeding but—but I don’t know. I think maybe your lung…” he swallowed and did his best to steady himself, “I think a rib might–might have punctured your lung. I’ve never seen…we need to get you back.”

His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, too weak and soft for the moment. It sounded like he had given up but that couldn't be further from the truth. His chest hurt. His shoulders were shaking from anxiety and his heart was racing dangerously.

Tears were streaming down your face, blending with the now pouring rain. You smiled sadly– 'Told you, nothing you can do.’

He made a sound you never wanted to hear from him again. If you had to describe it, and you really didn't want to, it sounded like a strangled sob.

He pulled your good side to him and held you for a moment, more for him than you. He needed to feel you, as a reminder that you were here, that you were still warm and alive.

The half embrace helped you as well. Maybe you had been walking too fast, because this break had helped you breathe, you hadn’t had the urge to cough in awhile.

“Alright let’s go real slow. You just focus on your breathing,” he put your arm around his neck and put his arm under your arm. He braced you taking most of your weight so that you just barely had to move your legs.

You didn’t struggle for another fifteen minutes after, but then you felt the cough coming and tapped his arm. He stopped immediately and held you up. Your legs wobbled as the cough took almost everything that you had. You felt extremely sore as the sharpness from your broken rib poked at your organs. The blood returned and so did the wheezing.

“I’ve got you…I’ve got you.” His face grew pale as he saw the amount of blood coming out of you.

You looked up at him, blood dripping from the corner of your mouth and mouthed ‘tired.’

“I know baby, I am too but we still have a little ways to go. We need to hurry though because we don't want to worry Ellie.”

He held you tighter and took more of your weight, practically dragging you alongside of him.

You tried honestly you did, but your feet felt like lead and your eyes were refusing to stay open. The struggle to breathe was returning and you started to feel cold.

The rain continued to pour. The mud was starting to stick to Joel's boots making him have to pick up his feet a little higher. If you were to look behind you'd see trail marks from you not being able to pick up your feet.

A few more minutes of struggling, and with a little more than a mile to go, you tugged at his arm.

He slowly came to a stop and looked at you.

The color was gone from your face and you could barely hold your head up. ‘I can't’, you silently stated. You were by now too weak to cough. The rattling in your chest had grown louder and wetter, and the pain in your side was becoming unbearable, irritated by each tug as he pulled you along. You just wanted to lay down. You felt your body give up.

“It's ok.”

You frowned and if you had any tears left they would begin to fall but you were empty. You feared you had nothing left in you, and really didn't want to die this close to Jackson. That would be cruel and pathetic.

You wanted to tell him to go ahead and get help, that you'd wait for him, that you would do your best to stay awake. But you knew that was pointless–he would never leave you.

“I’m proud of you. You made it so far.” He kissed the top of your head. Then he moved in front of you, and turned his back, “Hold on to me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck–low enough to where you don't choke him, and grimaced as you squeezed your bad hand too tightly but didn't let go. You put all of your remaining energy into holding on.

He grabbed a hold of your legs and brought them around to hug his waist, then he wasted no time and started trudging through the muck as fast as he could. He could feel your trembling body and because of how close your mouth was to his ear, he could hear every gasp for air. It sounded scary but it was comforting, he prayed it didn't stop.

The weather was only getting worse and he felt that that fit the mood appropriately, because something this bad couldn't happen on a beautiful day. The rain was falling so heavily now that it affected his visibility. You were both soaked, even his boots sloshed with water.

There was a road that led straight to Jackson. It wasn't usually busy and only really got a handful of visitors a year, most people would turn back before even trying to get in after they saw the armed guards. That was the quickest way back, but both of his hands were currently preoccupied by holding your legs, so he couldn't defend you if need be. So even though it was much harder on him he opted to stay hidden in the safety of the trees.

By his determination, if he could keep up this pace, you'd be home in thirty minutes.

“How are you doing back there?” He asked. He had been avoiding speaking too much because he needed all the air he could get. He wasn't exactly young anymore and although you weren't heavy to him–he still needed to be smart with his stamina.

You didn't respond.

“Baby, if you can hear me move your leg.”

Nothing.

Shit he thought, picking up his pace. He still heard your rattled breathing but losing consciousness was never a good sign.

It began to thunder and the wind started picking up. The temperature was dropping fast.

And just as he was thinking about how the weather was currently mirroring the turmoil within him, he felt your grip loosen. He reacted quickly enough to lean forward so you wouldn’t fall from his back.

The sounds of the storm made it so he could no longer hear your breath and at the loss of that sound, meant he'd lost all signs of your life.

He fell to his knees instantly and as carefully as possible, turned and laid you on the ground. He quickly leaned forward and hovered his good ear over your mouth. It took an agonizingly long time but he heard it there, the faint sound of your sluggish breath.

He sobbed out in relief and did his best to collect himself. He took just a second to look down at you. You were so hauntingly beautiful at that moment. Blood diluted by the rainwater lightly streamed out from your mouth. A few strands of hair were stuck to your face. He moved them carefully like with one false move and you'd be gone.

Now that he couldn’t talk to you, all he wanted to do was tell you how much he loved you, and vowed to himself that if you survived he’d tell you everytime he thought it.

He moved to cradle you in his arms and once he had a good grip, he slowly stood up. His lower back protested with an achy twinge of a past injury, but he could care less. He was getting you home no matter if he was broken in half.

Carrying you this way was more of a challenge. It was harder on his body to do so but also he could see just enough of your face to make him constantly on the verge of breaking down. Despite the paleness of your face, bruising of your cheek, and the blood dribbling out from your mouth, you looked peaceful. And that scared him so bad he almost couldn't deal with it.

Every fiber of his being wanted to run and now after really thinking about it, it was fucked up that the weather was so bad. Winter was a few months away and he had not experienced a rain like this since being in Wyoming. So naturally on all days that it could happen it had to be today.

His arms, back, and legs were on absolute fire but he was getting close now. He could see the buildings in the distance.

With a new found surge of energy he picked up his pace. The motion jostled you and you grunted in pain.

“I know, I know but we are almost there. Just hold on for me.”

When he got you to the entrance he yelled out as loud as he could, “Help! Somebody helppppp!”

Tommy who had been patrolling came running and was the first one to see Joel with his arms full of you. He tried to help his brother by taking you from Joel's arms, but Joel jerked you away from him.

“Get the doctor! Go- GO!” His voice was rough but loud enough to send chills down Tommy’s spine.

He had only heard that voice one other time. He took a giant step back and tried his best not to think of another day long ago. He looked at you and got that eerie familiar feeling. Joel looked ready to yell again so Tommy wasted no more time and sprinted ahead calling out for the doctor.

Just as Joel made it to the old clinic, he could see the doctor running down the street putting her hair up as she yelled out for him to go around back.

She met him there and quickly opened the door which led directly to her operating room. She cleaned her hands as he laid you on the table.

If he hadn't just heard your soft puffs of air he would think that you were dead. In fact the doctor did assume you were and checked for a heartbeat.

Tommy and Maria came barging through the other door, he was panting for air and she was looking at you with such anguish.

“How is she?” Maria asked quickly.

You, Maria, and Tommy really got along. The four of you spent a lot of time together. You'd go to the movies and eat dinner as a double date. They loved you. So much that Joel often found himself feeling like the odd man out. He just wanted to be around you, he no longer cared if that was selfish.

“She has a heartbeat, that's all I know so far.” The doctor's voice was smooth and feminine, though urgent.

Joel then realized that he wasn't being any help. He was just standing there with his arms slightly raised forward like he was expecting for you to be placed back into them. You weren't out of the woods yet just because he got you to the doctor. The next step of your recovery has begun and he needs to get his head on straight. His recuperation couldn’t begin until after you were stable–until after you were home and in his arms.

“She–she um…” His voice didn't sound like his own, too weak and desperate sounding. It sounded like he was about to break down. He realized this and pushed his wet hair back out of his face and straightened his shoulders. He calmed his breathing and his thoughts and spoke much more assuredly. “She was attacked with a baseball bat. Her side is bad and her- her hand. He tried to strangle her, but it's–it’s her side.”

The doctor didn't even look up at him as he spoke. Her sole focus was on you. She had already determined that you had been choked and beaten–your swollen face and neck was more than enough evidence to determine that. She noticed your labored breathing but had assumed that it was from the trauma to your windpipe.

She lifted up your shirt to examine your side, and quickly instructed, “We need to get her clothes off.”

Joel rushed to your side almost protectively and assisted the doctor in removing his jacket from you. Tommy and Maria stripped you of your boots and socks, they both finished and looked up when Joel cut your shirt open. He fought the urge to shield you from their view.

Maria gasped, one hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes, and the other landed on her belly in an unconscious attempt to self soothe. Tommy wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in close.

Joel had to quickly construct a wall around his emotions–or else he would be useless in the moment. His eyelids slightly lowered as he blocked out their reactions. He only waited for the next task that the doctor gave him.

She prodded and poked you, but you didn't respond.

Then she looked up and turned to Tommy. “I need Amber and Michael.” They were her two assistants. Amber had been a nurse and she had been training Michael for a couple of years now.

He nodded and ran out.

Maria had composed herself and reached for your belt buckle. Joel responded negatively to that and pushed her hands out of the way and took over. She took no offense to it and got out of his way. He had your belt undone and your wet pants off quickly–an act that he was now an expert at.

Tommy, Amber, and Michael all came flying in and crowded around you. Joel was glued to the spot but all of these eyes on you made him uncomfortable, it was like he was no longer present in the moment, like some animalistic instinct was begging to take over- protect, protect.

“Joel?”

“Joel!” Tommy shook him and Joel swatted his arm away from him roughly.

Tommy understood Joel and had seen him at his absolute worst so he didn't take it to heart, but he was worried for his older brother. He was acting like he did after Sarah's death and you were still alive.

“The doc wants us out.”

Joel shook his head profusely–not a chance.

Tommy practically begged him but he wasn't listening. He was just watching them working on you. It was like everything was happening in a daze. All of the motions blurred together and any sound that he did hear sounded like it was far away. Time slowed down and he ignored his brother tugging at his arm.

A loud knock made Joel snap out of it. His eyes were dry from staring and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to wet them.

Nobody had responded to the knocking, everyone was either too busy working on you or too busy worrying over you.

The door swung open so aggressively that the door handle loudly hit the wall behind it chipping the painted brick. Ellie came barging in, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

She saw Joel covered in blood, and a look in his eyes that she didn't recognize. “What the fuck happened?” She said as she looked from Joel over to you. Her voice was as strong as ever but her eyes flooded with tears and her mouth slightly opened.

When she looked at him again and saw the mirrored pain in his own eyes. Not knowing what to do, she ran to his arms and hugged him tightly.

His weak excuse of a wall came crashing down as he held on to her for dear life.

It was only then that Maria and Tommy were able to herd them out of the room.

As they waited Joel did his best to fill them in on what all happened, or at least everything that he knew. He didn't really feel like talking. Ellie was livid and full of random questions about your attacker. Questions that he had no clue about. They didn't even really matter but it was her mind trying to make sense of why someone would dare hurt you.

There were two chairs in the now deemed waiting area. Two chairs that neither Joel nor Ellie touched. They simply paced, and paced, and continued pacing. At one point Ellie was overwhelmed with emotion and swiped the contents of a nearby shelf clean off. Joel didn't bat an eye.

Tommy stood solemnly and Maria eventually took one of the chairs. He had told her a few times that they should go home, that she was pregnant and needed her rest, but she didn't say a word–just gave him a look that could kill.

It was mid morning by the time the doctor came out. Her shirt was splattered with your blood and she was drying her hands on a towel. She looked exhausted. Joel and Ellie ran up to her and Maria stood by Tommy.

She explained that it was broken ribs, collapsed lung, and she had tried to operate on her hand, but Joel couldn’t clearly understand anything past she's stable.

She put the towel over her shoulder and stretched her neck from side to side. “They are cleaning her up and then you guys can see her. She’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while, but I do believe she's going to be ok.”

Maria let out a ‘thank god’ and embraced her husband, who also looked quite thankful.

Joel and Ellie though stared in disbelief. Until they saw you they wouldn't get their hopes up. Not that they didn't trust the doctor–they just had prepared for the worst and needed to see you.

After twenty minutes Michael came out and told them they could see you now. Maria insisted that Ellie and Joel go in first. She knew they needed to be alone with you.

The room seemed too bright and the sterile smell was so strong it was almost nauseating. “Oh shit.” Ellie said as the sight before her surprised her.

Joel also couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't know what he had expected but it wasn't this.

You were slightly propped up on the bed, your skin pale and lifeless. Your torso was heavily wrapped all the way down to your pelvis. There was a thin sheet covering your legs and feet. And your hand was placed elevated on a pillow beside you.

But what had caught them off guard was Amber sitting by your side holding a hand held pump, manually pumping air into your lungs.

Amber smiled sweetly at the pair that she couldn't believe were not actual father and daughter. “I know it looks scary, but this won't have to be done for long. It's just making it easier on her lungs right now, she can breathe without it.”

Neither said a word. They just stared.

“I'll give you guys some alone time.”

She stopped pumping and got up to leave when Ellie ran over and started pumping. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“Ellie!” Joel fussed. Even though he felt the same.

“No, it's ok. Like I said she’ll be fine without it��Do you want me to show you how to do it?”

Ellie nodded and listened intently to Amber's instructions.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

And just like that, the three of you were alone.

Joel stood still for a moment, then made his way over to your good side. He took your uninjured hand in his. He fixated on the blood and dirt beneath your nails. He wanted to clean them for you, he wanted to wipe every trace of yesterday from you.

Your hand felt warmer than he assumed it would and that gave him some hope. Even though it didn't seem like you were alive, you were.

Ellie was talking to you while pumping at the precise interval she was taught. Telling you how thankful she was that you were ok and what all you were going to do together when you got out of here.

But Joel found that he couldn't speak. In fact he couldn't think of a single thing to say to you except I love you. And he wasn't going to keep muttering that, he'd tell you when you woke. No, he found the idea of talking to you right now somehow wrong.

A few minutes later Maria and Tommy came to see you. Their visit was very short but they both told you how much you meant to them. Before they left they tried to get Ellie and Joel to go home and rest, especially Joel who was still wet and muddy, but Ellie just said ‘not a chance’ and Joel didn't even bother to respond.

The next day Maria had convinced Ellie that you weren't going anywhere and invited her to stay at her place. She knew that being in an empty home surrounded by your things must be hard. Ellie accepted, because that was what she was thinking as well.

Tommys battle was a little more challenging but he eventually got Joel to go home and shower and change. He still refused food but had gulped down three bottles of water.

Joel had not left you after that.

They stopped pumping air into you the following day. Though they still checked on your lungs with a stethoscope every couple of hours. Your breathing had improved dramatically and the doctor had decided to attempt a second surgery on your hand. It went well and she was able to repair more than she thought she'd be able to.

The day after that she decided that your lungs were strong enough and it was time to cut back on your pain medication, it was time for you to wake up.

On the third day since your injury you woke up.

There was nothing and then there was everything. You slowly blinked open your eyes and were at first very confused. You felt pain and then you felt a warmth in your hand. You lifted your head stiffly, looked down and saw Joel. He was almost half draped on the bed, your hand lovingly wrapped in his own.

He was breathing heavily, deep in slumber but you knew he'd want you to wake him. You opened your mouth to speak but not a sound came out. Your brows furrowed and you tried again…nothing. So you squeezed his hand.

He shot up immediately like you'd just pressed his power button.

He blinked a few times like he didn't trust his eyes.

‘Hi,’ you mouthed and smiled at him lovingly.

“Hi,” he said as warmth and disbelief filled his eyes. He held your hand to his chest and returned your smile.

He stood up suddenly, “They need to check you.”

You gripped his hand tighter and shook your head, ‘stay.’

“They need to make sure you’re ok baby.”

‘I’m fine.’

He choked out a laugh through his sudden relieved tears, “No, no you aren't.”

You frowned, was there something you didn't know?

“...but you will be.”

You sat back in relief, wincing as a pain shot through your side.

“Let me get somebody. You're in pain.”

You didn't let go of his hand, if anything you held even tighter.

He said your name to try and convenience you but first he needed to tell you something. “I- I love you. God, I love you.”

You smiled with tears in your eyes, ‘I love you too Joel.’

You had to stay in the hospital for another ten days. You felt dirty, miserable and restless but the pain was at times severe, so much to Joel’s disbelief you didn't really complain about having to stay. That worried him at first but he was also thankful because he wanted you there for however long the doctor felt you needed to be.

Your side still hurts, in fact it really hurts, each movement makes you gasp out in pain. Joel’s always there to help–it's sweet but at times a little suffocating. The swelling in your throat has gone away but you still struggle speaking. Your voice is hoarse it sounds like a croak, and so you stick to one word responses. You don't do much with your hand. It was the least life threatening of your injuries, though, it does secretly concern you a lot.

On the day Joel walked you home from the hospital the sky was baby blue and the sun was beaming brightly. It was a comfortably warm day which was special because it was normally much cooler around this time of year.

His arms were wrapped around you and it reminded you of a much scarier time about two weeks ago now. He didn't say much the whole journey, much too absorbed by similar thoughts.

He helped you up the stairs and when you entered your home you were flooded by the familiar comforting smell. It smelled of the three of you. You were so relieved to be back, for a while you weren't sure that you'd make it back.

The only thing missing was Ellie. You looked up at Joel and opened your mouth to ask where she was.

He read your questioning gaze effortlessly and before you could speak he said. “She's still at Tommys.”

You shook your head, though you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt you a little. Home wasn't complete without her.

He led you to the shower and helped you bathe. He had Ellie pick you up some of your favorite soap the day before in preparation. It smelled of goat's milk, honey, and wildflowers. His touch was gentle but firm enough to feel like he was really cleaning you, which you were thankful for.

When his hand trailed over the green and blue bruise that still covered your side he sighed and carefully brought your body to his. He pressed his forehead to yours and shut his eyes. Water trailed down his wet hair and ran down your body. Your good hand caressed the back of his head and you shifted, lifting up to give him a kiss on his beautiful lips.

You looked up at him and it almost ended him. You were here in his arms, kissing him, smiling at him.

“Joel.” You were proud of how composed that sounded.

His hands caressed your face lovingly and he kissed you again, much firmer but not at all rough. He lifted his head and looked into your moisture filled eyes and said softly, “I love you.”

He washed your body twice, thoroughly. Not just because he loved the feeling of your soft skin, but because he knew that you had felt disgusting after not being able to for so long. He wanted to make sure that you felt pristine.

He asked if you were hungry and you nodded no that you werent, which was true. You were just physically tired, this was as much as you've moved in awhile and your body wasn’t used to it.

“Cold.” You whispered into his ear as he was placing one of his shirts over your head. You weren't really cold, after the shower you were actually quite warm, you just wanted to be in his arms.

Your breath hitting his neck made him shudder involuntarily. “I got you.” he whispered back.

He picks you up slowly, careful of all of your injuries and carries you down stairs and lays you on the ground in front of the fireplace. Then he gets all of the pillows and blankets he can find and makes a comfortable nest around you. He builds the fire and lights it and then lays down beside you, bringing your good side firmly to his. He sighs contentedly as you lay your head on his chest and he presses his nose into your hair inhaling your scent.

“This is what I’ve been wanting.”

“Fire?” You messed with him.

He chuckled. He felt all of the stress begin to leave his body for the first time in fourteen days. His shoulders lowered in relaxation and the lines on his face softened.

“You. You’ve been what I’m wantin’.”

You looked up and demanded the words to come out. “You have me.”

He kissed your forehead and snuggled back into you. His eyes closed quickly and before you knew it he was sleeping soundly.

You weren’t really tired, not mentally at least. You did feel incredibly content though. His breath and the crackling of the fire soothed you and despite the dull ache in your hand and side, you felt ridiculously comfortable.

You shifted slowly so that you could look at him. He looked so at peace, your guardian angel—your protector—your love. You were filled with so much affection that your chest ached.

Everyday since your injury you often found yourself thinking about what he went through to get you home and what a lonely hell that must have been. It wasn’t completely your fault but you still felt incredibly guilty about it. He saved you, and one day if you were ever put in the situation, you hoped that you could save him in return.

-------------

#not for you Rae 💖 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #my fics

[autumnmobile12]

After the release of the official Nocturne trailer, we're all asking where Alucard is.

Here's my two cents and two theories:

Theory 1: The Years Got to Him

Being effectively immortal, Alucard would have watched Trevor and Sypha die, and then he inevitably would have watched their children die, and then their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

How long would it have been before couldn't bear the thought of seeing another life he'd known since birth age and pass away? How many times did he recognize Sypha's laugh or Trevor's eyes in their descendants before he said, "No more. I can't do this any more."

So he puts himself to sleep with the instructions to the family to wake him 'in their darkest hour' or something like that. Over time, he becomes a family legend and then forgotten. In his absence, the Belmont village crumbles and disappears, taking with it all the knowledge and advancements its people.

Because as we know from the original series, humans forget.

...

Theory 2: The Belmonts Drove Him Out

I know what you're thinking: Trevor and Sypha would never. And you're right, they wouldn't. Their children and grandchildren probably wouldn't either. By the time we get to Christopher Belmont, he probably never met his great-grandparents, but he would know the stories and honor their memories.

But in the two hundred years between him and Richter?

The Belmonts are a long-lasting family, and like any other family, they can adapt and go through changes. They are subject to past traumas and prejudices, can lose sight of original purposes, or can straight up become corrupted by any number of things.

We see it with kings, emperors, CEOs, and even just regular families. All it takes is one asshole who chose to ignore the wisdom of his ancestors to ruin a good thing.

Say some Belmont down the line--Soleil, Simon, or Juste or anyone--lost someone important to a vampire and they swore vengeance on the entire race, as Dracula had once done on humanity. Alucard steps in to stop them and remind them of their history, and his words are met with a cold, "What do you know? You're just an old dhampir we should have done away with decades ago!"

This is just a scenario, but it is a possibility Alucard could have had a falling out with his family. Maybe they tried to kill him and he fled. Maybe they nearly succeeded in killing him and he sealed himself in his coffin to recover as he did in the original series.

He's no stranger to betrayal, after all.

This would depend heavily on the 'dear person' Olrox lost. Was their death warranted? Were they a menace to society and had to be put down?

Or have the Belmonts gone astray and Richter's mother killed them simply for existing? This option might be indicative as to why Olrox spared Richter. Killing a defenseless child would have saved him a lot of trouble in the future, but perhaps he chose to be better (the lesson learned in the original series) than the mother and risk the consequences later. Mother might have killed just because of a vampire, but Olrox refused to kill just because Richter was a Belmont.

...

Unrelated, but this could also be a set-up a 'break the chain of sorrow' trope in which this scenario played out: Richter's father was killed by Olrox's 'friend' for lack of a better word, Richter's mother then kills Olrox's lover out of vengeance, Olrox kills her out of vengeance, leaving Richter to either take vengeance himself or break the chain of sorrow by accepting that if this revenge continues, there will be nothing left but sorrow.

I'm probably putting way too much thought into all of this, but...there you go.

#castlevania #richter belmont #castlevania nocturne #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard tepes #olrox #castlevania netflix #belmont family #predictions for nocturne

[sonicasura]

Let's be honest with ourselves that Transformers Earthspark has its issues. It isn't uncommon for the series to have a few messy iterations throughout the years. However those at least have something going for them.

Bayverse is a junk pile yet there's a lot of material you can build off on and some pretty interesting concepts. RiD15 is an awful sequel to Prime but does decently well as a standalone although there are much needed changes to be had. Earthspark... Well, it's just there.

I can be lenient with the plot holes and poor pacing as Nickelodeon is notorious for interfering with any show that isn't SpongeBob to the point of cancellation. The issues truly land on the characters themselves. I'm gonna try to simplify it without devolving into a rant like the previous draft.

Edit: Gonna add some further edits as I wrote this in the middle of the night. Plus my simplified version skipped some key details.

Robby. Somehow they made a human character I actually dislike instead of be neutral about. In the official Transformers wiki, he's labeled as a big brother who cares for his siblings but his actions so far say otherwise. Robby literally ran away in the first episode because they moved then decided to try and hide the Terrans from his parents.

Yet he rarely gets enough consequences for his actions. I think we don't just need less Emberstone saves not just because of plot armor but force actual character growth on him. Like a life changing to one of his siblings as consequences for his actions and strained relationship until he gets his head outta his ass.

Edit: Yes, I know Robby is a teenager but that isn't a decent enough excuse for his behavior. Seen the trope about big brothers who do act closed off or at some points rude but they haven't done shit that put their family in serious danger. No, I didn't try to purposely forget the times he was injured badly.

There honestly needs to be less of those and his consequences be adjusted to it affects someone else badly. *

Next issue is lacking confrontation with Optimus choices alongside the obvious misplaced trust in the 13 Primes. Quintus Prime literally emotionally manipulated and scarred Mo through a fake bad ending reality because she doubted herself. No good person would do that, much less an actual ally. Even moreso on a child.

I seen this shit in Trollhunters but at least Jim, the main character, was a teenager. (It still was wrong though.) We also got remember that Liege Maximo and Megatronus/The Fallen are Primes. Yet somehow it is best to trust them.

Don't get me started with some of Optimus' choices when it comes to GHOST. He probably did it to protect his Autobots but what about the Decepticons who are locked away? Why are there so little of his companions with him especially since Bumblebee had fucking went into hiding before the show began.

There needs to be tension between Optimus with his Autobots. Someone is bound to snap and Bumblebee would have the biggest impact. The man clearly isn't okay as he's doing things that even Megatron admits ain't like him.

Mandroid needs to be written differently. He has the making of a sympathetic villain but oh boy. First off it is clear that his depiction is ableist aligned since the reason he doesn't like Cybertronians is because he lost his arm. Major thing to change right there.

Give him a narrative where his interest been genuine but slowly declines as the Autobot/Decepticon war increases the number of destroyed lives. Let him become a victim to this than just 'I lost my arm so death alongside experimentation to all Cybertronians'. Also don't make Mandroid ignore the obvious fact that the Transformers parts he puts into his body is slowly poisoning and instead come up with ways to fight the infection. Kinda like in Ironman 2 where Tony's arc reactor began to do the same thing.

Edit: Mandroid's negative views on Cybertronians are about the war and he's aware of the Energon poisoning. It is just that it is poorly portrayed to the point you rarely see it over his Arachnamechs/his ruined life.

Have the man present various evidence of destruction the war caused by both sides at the Malto children or anonymously spread such info around town to sew discontent with the townsfolk. 'These are the people who you consider heroes. Who you see as family and friends. Or should these tragedies be forgotten?'

Do a Baxter Stockman where you frequently see him try to fix the Energon poisoning than just simple dialogue. Even have testing on organic subjects to see how they react and find ways to counter it. Don't keep these key points as simple dialogue. *

I don't think Karen needs much changes either. 'But her taking over Cybertron doesn't make sense!' It actually does for one reason: hubris. Have you ever seen what happens when you give a control freak power? Their behavior becomes more erratic as they begin to think they deserve more. She is xenophobic in nature so imprisoning Decepticons and ordering around the Autobots is a drug to her.

Karen wants to treat them like slaves so the next step in her mind is Cybertron. Her death is well deserved and well played. Just like Icarus, the bitch flew too close to the sun.

I think the last major issue, other than out of character racist Shockwave, is the Terrans. No offense but they need a bit less screentime so the rest of the cast can shine. We barely see Alex and there's unclarified issues involving Bumblebee with Arcee if he's uncomfortable around her.

I also want their flaws to be at the forefront. Thrash is the only one who gotten such character development from his encounter with Swindle. We need more of that! Like Hashtag's overreliance on the Internet biting her back as she is forced to use real world skills.

Edit: I accidentally put in Terrans when I really meant Twitch. The screentime for everyone needs to be balanced mainly for the Malto family. Alex alongside the three younger Terrans rarely get involved or their characters further build upon. Twitch needs to get benched more.

Also the Dad Number 2 should really be addressed. Wheeljack was clearly uncomfortable when it been brought up. Plus it is way too fast to even consider such ideas unless you plan to have it addressed properly. Like 'Kid. We barely know each other yet somehow I became a father figure in an instant? It's best not to do that until you truly certain "Dad Number 2" doesn't mean harm or feels comfortable with it.' *

Earthspark clearly has potential but these problems need to be handled better. Addong the deleted scenes help add some clarification but canon needs to present it. We are supposed to get a second season so hopefully some of these are addressed.

#sonicasura #maccadam #transformers #transformers series #transformers earthspark #tf #tf series #tf es #tfes #personal idea #rambles #tv shows #slight rant #personal review #fixing canon #canon divergence #character flaws

[wataksampingan]

Very long Chapter 96 feelings/thoughts below cut coz I saved my hard-earned Naver cookies for this and I'm going to react while it's fresh dammit.

Spoilers in every possible way, as always.

Oh my God its their first official date and of course it doesn't go Theo's way at all coz he's fighting a lost cause against an author with a sense of humour I share. Thank God his people love him

Nearly 100 chapters later and only now do we start steering towards Therdeo "My angel" Lapileon from the prologue (which I still find it difficult to fathom; the road is long and arduous from Therdeo 'Face as Red as My Eyes' Lapileon we see right now)

I have yet to translate the dialogue properly, but that last panel of him honestly unnerves me (and judging from Google Translated comments in Korean, I'm not the only one.) I'm not really one for the kind of ML who is madly obsessive over their love interest to extremely difficult extents coz I'm too old and cynical to see this as a good thing in a relationship, fictional or otherwise (This is purely a personal preference; no judgement if that's your jam and jelly)

But the thing is that it makes sense. Of course Theo would get dangerous over the first woman he's fallen in love with. Of course he'd do anything to keep her now that, yknow, she's actually made her feelings known. After 90+ chapters of angsting, literally watching her die a few times in front of him, holding such huge feelings of guilt for what his blood has done to her, quietly despairing over keeping anyone close to him coz he's a Lapileon and they succumb so often to death -- this overwhelming fear of losing her is understandable. The idea of her leaving now must be intolerable, like "not after every damn thing I've been through. Everything we have been through. Over my cold dead body".

...I've had the thought quite a few times that seungu succeeded in convincing me that Theo is scary, and this chapter - while also very sweet - is really laying that fact out again in no uncertain terms: Therdeo Lapileon really shouldn't be messed with.

The thing is, meta-wise, there is no end to cold, stern dukes of the frozen North with fearsome reputations, black/dark hair and red/dark eyes - it's one of the most longstanding fantasy romance tropes in manhwa after all. Throw a stone and you'll hit a milord with a chest so wide you can fit a full dresser sideways between his shoulders and a face so stony Medusa is taking notes. And of course, his grace is going to have the reputation of Ultimate Warrior and Sovereign of His Land, Tamer of the Terrain, Reviver of the Barren Soil Now Made Fertile under His Leadership, because only such a powerful man with a heart of ice and terror would have the wherewithal to bend the unyielding north to his will. He isn't emperor/king simply because of circumstances (TM), character and/or choice.

To name just a few: Prince (...kinda? Sorta? Its a long story) Killian from Like Wind on a Dry Branch, Hades from I Married the Main Lead's Dad, Riftan from Under the Oak Tree, Kandel from I Thought My Time Was Up, Milian from Karina's Last Days; heck, even the other Killian from Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story is about to inherit a territory that isn't so great but which he will no doubt develop into a thriving land coz he's Capable that way. If you remove the hair and eye colour conditions, there are even more examples. 99% of them are said to strike fear into the hearts of men just by being mentioned in a room.

...ngl, putting my gigantic bias aside, Theo truly is among my top three scariest ML. Not even Killian (Rieta's) gives me pause the way Theo does, and I have immense respect and admiration for the way Like Wind on A Dry Branch is told (and translated). I know Killian is a powerful man; I feel Theo is threatening. (Brief aside here to acknowledge that Killian has game for days, while Theo is....... look, he's trying.)

Take this opinion with many grains of salt, but few MLs that I've seen so far (and admittedly my repertoire is probably very limited compared to others) has come close to the time Theo plain snapped during Celphi's bullying arc, and when he nearly decapitated a wholeass princess in front of the entire court because she killed his wife (again. And yes, justifiable but still, in front of the EMPEROR HIMSELF.)

Also, the man looked like THIS when the servant who poisoned her begged him to "go back to the princess":

I say this with all love: Theo is not a balanced individual.

We already know this is a world where medieval torture is par for the course, but so far it's been reserved for Gen, who tortured and experimented on a child, and this dude who's been an accessory to Dodolea's crimes since the beginning. Theo does not give a single fuck about trivial things like consequences when it comes to Celphi and Perry's wellbeing. The world will burn if it must, just so he can find out who hurt them.

I said before that Saoirse is a true Lapileon, and Theo was the softest hearted of the siblings. I still maintain it's true, but with the addendum that Theo isn't far off in ruthlessness. You just need to make the mistake of hurting his wife or his son.

Granted, the obsession is only a problem if he restricts Perry just because she's "His". And she's proven a few times that she will Do Shit She Wants regardless of the Lapileons, Princess Dodolea or even herself (god, the way she second guessed herself so hard, only to bust back into the room with those shackles and physically FIGHT MIA OFF in ch 92 - Phineas owes her impulsiveness his life literally). I don't think the story can logically progress that way unless Perry has some sort of personality transplant. And I trust seungu too much for that. The fear is in more what he'll do behind her back (please don't Theo, we've been through this, you know what happened the last time you did things without telling her first - and even if other things went well (like suppressing ugly false stories in publications) that doesn't guarantee you're doing the right thing by not keeping her informed, you walnut.

...yes I know she also has the same bad habit of Not Telling You Her Business but she's LEARNING. I think.)

...also, tbf, Theo doesn't need his obsession to make him a danger to his own love life. Romance or not, he's still Socially Awkward and Fucked Up so lord only knows how many awkward mistakes he's going to make trying to actively court his wife 🥲

Then again, it's not like she's any better considering her last serious relationship was so awful, she literally died and went back in time. I'm not surprised, and in fact quite glad, it took her this long to admit to her finer feelings. However, now this is slightly uncharted territory, and this woman bottles up her feelings and lies to herself just about as much as Theo does. (Why are you so bothered Mia spent so much time around him? Why are you so upset that you can't do more to help him? Why are you so worried whenever he's seemingly avoiding you? Why do you look away each time he gives you puppy dog eyes, Pereshati? HMMM? WHY INDEED)

And now they have to return to the capital with all these revelations, and be within reach of the imperial family again and I AM AFRAID FOR THEM, PRECIOUS, I TRULY AM.

On a completely different tangent: I am truly not a fan of the novel ending where Theo ends up being crowned emperor. So if this manhwa ends with the coronation of His Imperial Majesty Emperor Therdeo Lapileon and Her Imperial Majesty Empress Pereshati Jahardt, I will be heartbroken. Like, I would have the same reaction to it the way Game of Thrones fans reacted to Season 8. That's how bad I would take it. I hope to all things good seungu deviates from there as well. It feels like the romance is following the novel just a smidge more - a soupçon if you will - in this season, so I'm a little trepidatious about what other aspects might follow. I remain a big fan of how different the manhwa direction is, so... GO SEUNGU!! FOLLOW YOUR STAR!!

P/S: my train of thought while reading ch 90:

Seungu is just bringing all of Phineas' personal trauma in full technicolor when he flashes back to his younger self witnessing his parents fight while his older brother sustains a severe eye injury, oh my god. This poor boy - no wonder he wanted to run so badly.

Oh god, Gloria having to try and save her children from this insane man.

Okay, so this cements that it was Theo's grandfather who was tyrannical as fuck and abused everyone including his youngest grandson? not Theo's father who also looks like he was just Trying His Best? But Gen's dialogue mentions "abeoji" (father)? Did Phineas' older brother neglect his kids or grow up into another abuser??? oh GOD THIS FAMILY

PPS: I cannot WAIT to see how the English translators handle that panel in ch95 when he finally finds enough braincells to return her embrace (that's not just any hug, cmon - that's a full on, no holds barred, literary Embrace)

I'm fairly sure she said "It's/I'm cold", but I also got overexcited because I thought she said "I like you" (???) It's easy to overlap/overhear either phrase as each other coz they sound fairly similar if you say it quickly (same energy like saying "suki" in Japanese but you need context to know if they mean they like a person or something else entirely).

Either way, it was definitely NOT "saranghae", which let's face it, IS FAR TOO DEEP for where they are right now. These two doofuses have only just begun to find out what their feelings mean, tho Theo may be too quick a study , eomma help.

PPPS: Ep 87 comes out in English tomorrow morning (for us in GMT+8 anyway) AND I WILL HAVE WORDS ABOUT THAT CONVERSATION, VJFHDJSKSKSL I CANNOT WAIT

PPPPS: it just occurred to me that all the examples I mentioned about the other comparable dukes of the North have more or less Definitively gotten together with their love interests, emotionally and/or physically. I mean if someone came up with a gantt chart/comparative timeline/line graph of when each duke finally kissed/tumbled into bed with their love interests to prove me wrong/right, that'd be fantastic but anyway

Theo has only just hugged her in ch 95.

They have shared a bed for over 90 chapters and it is ONLY JUST NOW that there is prolonged bodily contact apart from holding (often gloved) hands.

...I keep saying this because it's true: I love this slow burn so much.

#MILAOWM #my in laws are obsessed with me #my in-laws are obsessed with me #spoilers #so spoilers up in here #spoilers every which way everywhere all the time

[physalian]

A Case Against “Redemption = Death”

“Redemption = Death” is, in my opinion, one of the laziest “telling not showing” cop-outs you can write, and it happens over and over and over again. It’s manipulative, it’s cheap, it kneecaps the character’s development, it undermines the meaning of a true redemption, and it promotes a message that some people are so evil, the *only* redemption for them is the ultimate sacrifice.

**Taking an aside here to plainly ignore religious connotations and focus on the success or failure of a satisfying character arc**

I hate this trope. I have never seen a flawless execution of this trope in its basest form: Evil bad guy is evil for 99% of their story, and in the 11th hour has an out-of-character realization that they’ve done wrong and sacrifices themself for the heroes, whom they don’t actually care about, for ~drama~.

Today’s writing advice is pretty straightforward: Please stop doing this. It tends to happen in action movies like the superhero genre, but also in action-heavy sci-fi and fantasy where rich character development is sacrificed for spectacle and cool battles. I love action movies, even the stupid ones, and I firmly believe that they can do better.

1. It’s manipulative

A malignant evildoer who shows zero remorse for their entire story, commits heinous acts of violence and abuse, who murders, steals, beats, cheats, betrays, and uses other characters does not earn any shed tears over their ultimate sacrifice.

Time and time again, the big bad will do a 180 and leave the protagonist distraught over how to react to this, often with lines like “maybe he was a hero all along,” or “you know he really wasn’t that bad”. (a la Snape before we all woke up and realized he's a whiny Nice Guy)

Nope. He was actually that bad, and his final act of terror was convincing you to give a damn about him and regret not being able to save him (and it is always male characters. It’s always men. Find me a story where it’s a woman and I will gladly read it and complain about her, too).

This character has only themselves to blame for their Tragic Backstory. They were never a tragic hero, they didn’t fall from grace. There was never any hope or expectation that they could do better, the hero isn’t even trying to redeem them, it just happens in an attempt to engineer depth where there isn’t any.

2. It’s cheap

A hastily-written “redemption” tips the author’s hand, showing that they didn’t plan for or can’t conceptualize how to fix the mess they’ve made. Now, maybe the villain dies in the last chapter of the book and the story has no room for the aftermath anyway—that’s fine. It’s only a problem when the villain gets an unfounded “he wasn’t so bad” reflection by the survivors to scribble a deeper meaning and message for the story in the final lap.

If you’re planning from the start to have your villain be “not that bad,” provide any evidence other than them deciding maybe they don’t want the world to burn as the clock on the nuke counts down to zero.

This would be like if Gandalf told Pippin Denethor was actually a decent guy as the man flings himself off Gondor's tallest tower after nearly burning his son alive.

3. It kneecaps the character’s potential

Character deaths, whether they’re permanent or not, are generally treated by the other characters as permanent and final in the moment. There’s tears, there’s funerals, there’s grief and regret over what could have been, what might’ve been, what should have been.

And all of that development goes straight to the surviving characters, not the one that died.

Your dead evildoer can’t prove they’re trying to do better once they’re dead. They can’t show their remorse, they can’t show how they planned to fix all their mistakes, they can’t follow through with choosing the path of “good”. They’re dead.

You killed them to avoid the hard work of having to write them as a good guy.

4. It undermines the meaning of a true redemption

Self-sacrifice is a noble end, but self-sacrifice because a character can’t imagine actually committing to the long and bumpy road of fixing all their mistakes is cowardice. The people they hurt are still suffering, the wrongs they committed still need answering for, the damage they’ve done still needs rectifying and dying leaves all that work to those who survive them.

They’ve done nothing to prove they’re worthy of redemption except to stop digging their hole deeper and at that point they’re not “redeemed” they’re only marginally defined as a “tragic hero” by the skin of their teeth, depending on what catastrophe they prevent with their death.

5. It argues that some people aren’t worth redeeming

Ironically, “redemption = death” proves the exact opposite of the case you’re trying to make. They die because they’re convinced they must, because not a single other character could either talk them out of it, or cared enough to show them death wasn’t the only option.

“Redemption” is only for those who everyone thinks aren’t worth redeeming. But he’s irredeemable! Is he? Or do you just want to see him punished and have zero faith that he can’t at least try to right his wrongs?

This would be like if Zuko showed up at the Western Air Temple and instead of becoming Aang's fire bending teacher, he died fighting Combustion Man or Azula in a blaze of glory, all because Katara would not budge from her "he's evil and always will be" stance.

Or, if Zuko died in the last agni-kai, taking Azula down with him, as if the story said "yeahhhhh, we just gotta go clean slate here and expunge the whole Fire Family, but hey, Zuko did stop Azula in his blaze of glory".

—

But what happens when “redemption = death” is actually satisfying? Aka, not a redeemed villain, just a tragic hero. So let’s look at a famous example: Darth Vader.

This is a character that checks two boxes: He has one pillar of light determined to save him, and he’s shown before his moment of sacrifice to have some remorse. It doesn’t come out of nowhere.

He’s not redeemed, though, because his one act of murder-suicide may end the war (ignoring the sequel trilogy) but doesn’t undo all the damage and lives lost and planets destroyed. He’s just a tragic hero.

Sometimes, however, this character knows the only way all the evil ends is with their death. They know they’re doomed because by their continued existence, evil persists, and they literally cannot live on to fix things because things will never be fixable so long as they’re still breathing. Or, they’re terminally ill and incurable through their own machinations with the Big Bad and will die no matter what they do, might as well go out swinging.

Greed, from Fullmetal Alchemist fits here. He spent more time as a reluctant good guy occasionally doing bad and selfish things because his essence is chained to a good guy, but he cannot survive the story, because by his very nature, he’s a piece of the main villain.

But even then, Greed’s redemption comes *before* he dies, we all already love his character, this is just the tragic icing on the cake. His realization that, in his final act, he becomes the most selfless character in the show—the antithesis of his entire being.

Your mid-redemption character redeems themselves as much as they can while they still breathe. They help the other heroes, they teach the team everything they know, they show their plans for a better future and have even built tools to help the survivors thrive. They’ve dreamed about being a part of this future that’s barred from them. They’ve fully understood and accepted the consequences of their actions. They understand that their final punishment is never living to see the paradise they nearly destroyed.

Even if they can’t change the world with their actions, they’ve done all the emotional and personal labor they can manage with those that they’ve hurt. They’ve made friends, allies, even romantic endeavors.

And when they die and the heroes mourn, they mourn the hero that this redeemed villain became, not who they imagined this villain could be if they tried, if they'd made different choices. At that point, redemption didn’t even equal death for them, redemption was the short road to recovery before the consequences of their actions finally caught up with them.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #character design #redemption arc #character arcs #last airbender #atla #zuko #fullmetal alchemist #greed fma

[romione-trope-fest]

Finish

Fic Title: Finish

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione find time on the horcrux hunt to finish what they started at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Word Count: 1859

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

It feels like she has packed and repacked this bag a hundred times since the start of the summer. Even with magically infinite space to bring whatever they need, Hermione has second and third and fourth guessed this book and that potion and everything in between. Sometimes she worries that the beaded bag and its contents are all she’s contributing on this mission, and she wants to get it right.

As she reaches in again, her fingers snatch onto floaty fabric that she recognizes by touch alone and after a moment’s hesitation, Hermione pulls out her dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, letting the chiffon unfurl toward the dark and dingy floorboards. What a perfect day that might have been if not for—well, everything. Spending the reception dancing with Ron was a bright spot in an otherwise mostly dreary day, from the Minister’s visit that morning to the uninvited guests that crashed the post-wedding party. But even that…

She thought she knew how Ron felt about her, thought that they were making strides toward something more than friendship. But even though he had snagged her away from Viktor to dance, showcasing a jealousy that reminded her of fourth year and the only other time he had seen her so dressed up, there had been nothing more. He hadn’t kissed her, he hadn’t told her how he felt. Of course, she hadn’t done those things either. There’s a war coming—it’s here, really—and what the hell are they waiting for?

Hermione tosses the dress over the back of the sofa and reaches back in for Ron’s dress robes. She’s not sure why they’re still in the bag anyway, why she hasn’t hung them up in a closet somewhere under a preservation charm to keep the dust off. Of all the things that they might or might not need hunting horcruxes, she thinks it’s fairly safe to assume that her dress and his dress robes are a do not need. But they’re also the only things they have with them that remind her of a happier time. Everything else in the bag is so…tactical.

“Hey.” Ron’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts, and he raises a quizzical eyebrow at her as he enters the room. “What are you doing?”

“Packing. Unpacking. I don’t know.” She motions to the pile of clothing draped over the sofa she’s been sleeping on every night, her fingers entwined with Ron’s. That means something, doesn’t it? “I don’t suppose we have any need for these anymore.”

“Probably not.” Ron trails his fingers down the sleeve of his robes. “It’s a shame that we didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

Hermione shrugs. “It was a lovely ceremony. Fleur looked beautiful, and at least we made it past the cake and everything before the Death Eaters showed up.”

“Oh, er…I meant us,” Ron says, and Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

What is he saying? Did he have plans for them that evening? Was that going to be the night, before everything fell to pieces and they were running for their lives?

He smiles at her, that lopsided grin that’s been melting her heart since she was fourteen, and suggests with a laugh, “We could always get dressed up again, and have our own little celebration here.”

Hermione chuckles too. As much as she would love to do that—to know what exactly they didn’t finish the night of his brother’s wedding—they have more important things to focus on. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Yeah, alright.”

“I just meant with the mission—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Ron gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m gonna go see what I can round up for dinner.”

He leaves her alone in the drawing room without another word, and Hermione sighs, wondering how she always manages to say the wrong thing to him.

She gathers up the clothing, but rather than put the pieces in a closet, she folds them carefully and places them back into her beaded bag.

Maybe one day we can finish what we started.

***

Ron’s feet are heavy as he trades places with Harry, who’s about to finish out the night watch. The winter air outside is nothing compared to the frostiness inside the tent. Not that he’s surprised. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. But he and Hermione are both as stubborn as they come, and her resolve is stronger than his.

She’s barely said five words to him since he returned to the hunt, so the sight that greets him behind the tent flap hits him harder than a stunning spell: Hermione, wearing that tantalizing lilac dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Obviously, she’s gone completely round the twist.

Ron takes a step forward into what he now realizes is a suffocating heating charm on the tent, mimicking that same stuffy August evening. Before he can raise any questions, Hermione thrusts a bundle of fabric into his arms. “Put these on,” she instructs, her tone clipped as her lips set into a thin line.

“My dress robes?” Ron asks as he examines them. “Hermione, are you feeling alright?”

“Peachy,” she snaps, the only response he’s apparently going to get. After a loaded moment without further instructions, Ron takes a step toward the loo.

“Uh…okay. Be right back.”

Hermione’s request makes absolutely no sense, but he’s not really in a position right now to deny anything she asks of him. If putting on his dress robes will get her to talk to him, it seems a very minor sacrifice to make.

He puts the robes on as quickly as he can and then heads back out to the main area of the tent, where Hermione is waiting. They’re a pale echo now of themselves from that night—clothes hanging loose from months without proper nutrition, both a bit scraggly and in need of a haircut, and a shave in Ron’s case—but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her expression is one of grim determination, but her brown eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at him.

“You said we never got to finish the wedding,” Hermione says softly.

“You want to now?” Ron asks incredulously, shock winning the battle against common sense. He had suggested this, only sort of joking, back at Grimmauld Place and she had shut him down. The conditions now are even less ideal, and he’s flabbergasted that she’s bringing it up.

“I need to know if I’m crazy,” she answers, and though Ron has some thoughts on that at the moment, he wisely keeps them to himself, “or imagining things. I need to know what we didn’t finish that night.”

“Hermione—” She holds a hand up, silencing him instantly.

“Show me.”

Stubbornness grips them both again as they stand frozen, eyeing each other across the room, neither willing to look away. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. She doesn’t know that he had every intent of pulling her out to the back garden to tell her how he felt, to maybe finally steal a kiss, but a combination of having fun dancing and debilitating nerves at the idea of taking that step had kept him putting it off for one more song. One more glass of champagne. Until there was no more music and no more champagne, only fear and chaos, and their focus had been forcibly shifted to other things.

She doesn’t know any of that, so what does Hermione think they’re finishing?

Sod it. She’s the brightest witch of their age. Maybe she does know.

Ron crosses the room to the wireless and gives it a couple of taps with his wand until it’s playing the soft, slow song that had been the last one they heard at the wedding. He turns back to Hermione, who holds her hand out in invitation. “Come and dance?” she whispers his own words back at him, her voice shaky as her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her in close, and Hermione’s head settles against his chest as they barely sway to the music. Even before he left, they haven’t been this close since the wedding, and Ron never wants to let go again.

“Do you really want to finish this the way I wanted to at the wedding?” Ron asks softly as the song ends and then starts over. “You’re hardly even speaking to me, let alone—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Despite Hermione being the one to initiate this, kissing her feels like a boundary he shouldn’t cross. 

Hermione pulls away to look up at him, but holds onto his hand. “When you left, it made me question everything I thought I knew about you. About—us.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “So yes, I want to know. I need to know. Unless—”

She stops, and Ron braces for her rejection. Maybe he should’ve just kissed her and not second-guessed himself. Hermione bites her lip anxiously and drops his hand, and his fingers dangle uselessly between them, still half-reaching for her. “Unless what you want has changed since the wedding because in that case there’s no point in pretending that—”

Whatever else she’d intended to say gets swallowed up by Ron’s lips. What he wants hasn’t changed at all, only gotten stronger, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to show her.

Hermione melts against him, her hands finding their way into his hair, and kissing her feels like coming home. Every brush of her lips against his is a taste of forgiveness, and he drinks it in like he’s dying of thirst.

He doesn’t stop kissing her until he tastes salt, and he pulls away to find tears streaming down Hermione’s cheeks. She leaves her hands tangled in his hair to keep him close, though, and presses her forehead to his to whisper in anguish, “Why did you leave, then? If that’s what you wanted, Ron, why did you leave?”

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He never expected it to be. Ron sighs. “That’s a story for a different night, I think,” he replies, and at that Hermione does let him go with a hollow laugh.

“Of course you’re not going to tell me,” she scoffs. “Why would this change a damn thing between us?”

Ron reaches for her again, tugging at the chiffon that hugged her body like a glove four months ago but is now loose enough for him to grab an entire handful. “I just meant—not this night.” He motions to their outfits, to the purple dress and the navy robes that aren’t yet tainted with thoughts of the locket. “Let’s get changed, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Hermione trails her fingers down his lapel as she looks up at him. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. All he’s wanted to do since he got back is tell her the truth; he’s just been waiting for her to want to hear it. “I promise.”

#submission #weasley weddings #romione trope fest

[scatterbrainedart]

Izzy Hands’ inability to get a single fucking win in any given situation has captivated me. He’s so SAD. Brother literally cannot catch a break for the life (or death) of him. I wanna be silly about him, but he’s such a sad goddamn character that I just can’t. It just feels wrong. Like, who am I to kick at someone who is already down? And who pretty much has been down since ep 2 at BEST? Sigh.

I adore inner conflict in a character, I eat that shit UP. Outer conflict is nice too, but ohhh. Love me a good worst-enemy-is-oneself trope. Realistically, that’s more so Ed than Izzy, but still. I think it’s the contrast that does it, too.

Izzy is so terribly loyal it hurts. He just has so much bottled up for the entirety of the first season, so many things that he’s repressed that all feeds into his bitterness. That, within itself, is really interesting in a character. Let’s start with his feelings of Ed. He starts of the series smug, confident. He looks up to Ed, as pretty much everyone do. He’s the one person he doesn’t mind being “inferior” to. He’s built up this image of Blackbeard in his mind (which is precisely what Ed struggled with the most part. The way his reputation has outgrown him in a multitude of ways) which he puts on such a high pedestal. Working together with the mighty Blackbeard is an honour. He adores him, and he’s very much pleased with the role he’s serving beside him.

Then in comes Stede, who is everything Blackbeard and Izzy is not. Or at least so it seems, until his whole fucking world has been turned upside down and everything he treasured has been snatched right out of his grasp. Then, to make matters worse, when Stede finally is out of the picture and things should be able to go back the way they were, they don’t. For a while, he could at least hold onto the idea that there was hope, that time would work its magic and things would revert back to normalcy. But it only gets worse, and worse, until it’s undeniably so much worse than it was at the former worst moment.

And the barriers start to melt away. Izzy isn’t dumb, he’s always quite aware of the situation he finds himself in. Even he, the former worst enabler of Blackbeards pirate shenanigans, knows when it’s time to stop. And so he takes on a somewhat more caring role, because he cares. He cares more about Ed than most, and he knows him better than most. Even when he’s unpredictable, and when Izzy himself thinks of him as a stranger. He still knows him better than most of the crew, to the extent in which Ed has allowed it. There is a lot of Ed that Izzy doesn’t know, but I’d imagine he knows the way he functions off by heart. The way his brain works, the way he plans, his mannerisms, stuff like that. Stuff you learn by paying close attention to someone as you spend every day together for years. And stuff you need to learn to survive in an abusive relationship, or in a relationship with someone unstable, in order to keep the water’s calm.

Izzy cares. It comes naturally to him, at least it probably did once. And now, after all that has happened all of him that has been broken down, it shines through again. It seeps out of the cracks of his crushed self, where every part of him is on display in a way he can’t or doesn’t bother to control anymore.

Despite everything, he shows mercy to Ed.

Despite everything, he teaches Stede how to survive (when it wouldn’t have been unexpected of him to want him dead at this point, again).

Despite everything, he lies about the ruined portrait to protect Stede’s perception of Ed.

Despite everything, he tries to move on and move forth.

Despite everything, he helps. He tries to make amends about things that were or weren’t his fault.

And despite everything, despite how much he pushes it away and tries to act like he doesn’t, he wants nothing as much as he wants something gentle. Something kind. He has gotten so much harm done to him by people he trusts, people he trusted and people he doesn’t trust at all. Every touch he’s ever received, to our eyes, has been one with the means of harm.

In season one I enjoyed seeing his homophobic homosexual messiness unfold, and his misery was all good fun. This season? I just wanna lay him to be cozy in a bed somewhere and give him some soup and a kiss on the forehead and tell him it’s gonna be okay. What the hell man.

#my memory of past seasons is always. well #it’s famously not great #so sorry if I got things wrong #and this is generally just so all over the place #but I have Thoughts and I need to just get them out somewhere #I’m obsessed with him I really am #ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #scatterbrained rambles

[sixstepsaway]

i've had some thoughts bouncing around for a while about ofmd s2, and in light of the news, i'm going to brain dump some of them. if you don't feel like listening to me complain about HBO and would rather just go cry about OFMD not getting season 3, that's chill, go ahead, no hard feelings

so.

season 1 was absolutely the definition of lightning in a bottle. it had great acting, great writing, gorgeous set and costume design, it was great, and not only that but it was unabashedly queer

jim had a whole episode dedicated to "actually i'm not a woman i'm just jim" and then everyone - even the bad guys, even the antagonists, even their nun nana, everyone - referred to them as they/them after that, no questions asked

the main character went through an arc that was basically figuring out his sexuality and going "oh shit, i love a man" on a show that was not directly advertised as "OUR QUEER MEANS DEATH" like a, y'know, Queer Show would be

and stede and ed's romance felt like it was important. It felt like the pirates of it all was mostly incidental, background, filler, just fun to pad out the situation and give them things to be challenged by (the badmintons!) while also being fun on its own. it's the kind of show where if you pulled all the characters out and slapped them into a whole other situation like space agents or time travellers or everyone lives together in a loft runs a bakery... it'd still work. sure, the badmintons would be less murderous and run a competing bakery or something, but it'd still work, because the focus was on the characters, and on the romance between stede and ed

the first three episodes of season 3 felt that way too. the love between stede and ed was paramount and if you swapped to a mafia au or a bakery au it'd still work (with some gentle adjustments for ed's Behavior™ to be fair)

but.

season 1, they kept saying it was a rom com, and it felt like one. it was just a rom com that was set at sea! how fun!

now, rom coms have tropes. they have genre-specific things that you kind of expect from, well, a rom com. you expect mess. you expect things like ed fucking off with jack because he doesn't feel good enough

(i've recently been rewatching new girl and although some of the humor makes me cringe, it's still a great show, and one of the main things about it is that everyone is messy. no matter how much schmitt loves cece, he's going to make mistakes. no matter how obviously nick and jess are going to end up together and belong together, they're going to sleep with the wrong people, make mistakes, break up etc. it's as much a rom com as ofmd.

one of the things that makes new girl so good and makes me love the main couples so much is how hard they work to be together, how they fight adversity and the mess of their own flaws and toxicity and still get together because they love each other most, in the end)

i remember in s1 thinking how if stede had been a woman, jack would have been too, and ed would've had at least one romantic/sexual scene with jack when he ran away with him

but i also remember thinking, "yeah, but the show hadn't explicitly done the his name is ed reveal and the kiss on the beach yet, and the reveal hits so hard, it makes sense not to do that earlier", and tbh i stand by that

which brings me to s2, after the first three eps, where they tried to go back to rom com and it just felt... forced.

rom coms usually have adversity. they have other characters that directly and truly threaten the main pairing by being interesting to those characters! no matter how you feel about izzy, he was framed as a love interest or as an ex that was still complicated, but the show very much tiptoed around that

does "i have love for you" and "i loved you best i could" make sense for the characters? yeah.

do i feel like if ed was a woman, she and izzy would've had a messy rebound relationship for stede to have to contend with, for the two of them to come out the other side of wanting each other from? yeah.

ofmd s1 felt unabashedly queer. s2 felt like they didn't want to be too gay.

they put olu with a Woman™, they put jim with a woman almost like it was less queer and more acceptable this way than queering olu, they completely waved off olu and jim's relationship and dropped any concept of polyamory because that would've made it even queerer, not less queer

(i'm using queer here as a definition more of breaking boundaries and being outside of the norm to the extent it makes cishets deeply uncomfortable and the queer in question aren't conforming to society's standards. and this reading of s2 (and s1) is entirely subjective, it's just what's been bubbling here for me)

pete and lucius went from "we don't own each other" to marriage, with no footnotes of what marriage meant to them specifically, whether they were, in fact, conforming with the 'norm' of marriage (exclusivity, labels, definitions etc) or whether they were still chill about these things or whether this now meant no more penis drawings

the queerest episode was probably the party episode (which was so good), but even that was especially queer because some cast members fought to make it so (con wanting izzy's drag to be beautiful not funny has HAUNTED ME, because that means it was originally supposed to be played for laughs!!) not because it was that way naturally

the fact i read somewhere that the party and the drag was originally lupete's wedding makes so much more sense to me because yeah, they WOULD have a wedding like that, but instead they got a lame final episode wedding because it would have been way too queer to do it at calypso's birthday with drag and queer joy everywhere

it also would have been more realistic to the lucius and pete we got in season 1.

there were a lot of things in season 2 that felt... weird. we've talked about it. we have all talked about it.

the final episode, even outside of the thing i hated most, was just horribly written imo. there's big sweeping gestures and no kind of real emotional pay off for the main relationships (lupete included), and everything got tied with a neat little bow at the end

i remember when we were told s2 was 8 episodes and how much the budget had been chopped thinking, "ha, we're so not getting a season 3"

i remember when i realized how weirdly rewritten most of season 2 had been thinking, "yeah, there's not going to be a season 3"

i remember when bitching about ed's arc being totally truncated and handwaved thinking, "mm, we're not getting a season 3"

and i remember when the Revenge sailed off into the sunset with everyone but ed and stede on board thinking, "oh yeah, we're done."

just enough was left open that a season 3 could happen.

just enough was left open that if a miracle happened, there'd be something to do with season 3.

but i genuinely, 100%, hand on my heart, think djenks knew he wasn't getting a season 3

and don't get me wrong, i'm not absolving him of the poor writing choices he made in season 2, but i am saying it makes a lot more sense if you think of it from the perspective of corporate meddling and having everything taken away while he was actively trying to make season 2

we already know HBO cut the budget a ridiculous amount so they just had to make everything work with what they had. we already know HBO cut the episode number.

season 2 plays out like they prepped a good chunk of it, ready for 10 episodes, and then HBO cut the budget and cut the episodes

and so things had to be changed and chopped about. ed's arc got lots of screen time and focus for three episodes (before the cuts) and then things got quicker, and fast

characters were cut for time and for budget reasons.

and then i think towards the end of production and the end of writing, djenks learned the odds of season 3 were minimal at best, and he panicked

i think the original plan was probably for ed's arc to go for the majority of season 2. maybe a middle piece where he and stede tried but it still wasn't Right (last night was a mistake) because ed had so much to work on and so much to heal

i genuinely wonder if the finale was completely rewritten at the last minute because to me it makes way, way more sense from a narrative standpoint for things to have been more staggered out. let's consider ten episodes instead of 8:

episodes 1-5: same as they were when aired, including the gravy basket giving us set-up for what ed's dealing with internally, giving us something to latch onto and prepare for his redemption. NO KISS AT THE END OF EPISODE 5. episode 6: ed is still wearing the bell. he's sort of done his amends with lucius, but now he needs to do amends with the rest of the ship. stede is still learning his piratey ways, so there's hijinks in the background. jim and archie and olu try to decide what their relationship is after the garlic and all, and debate room arrangements. lucius and pete announce their engagement. stede and ed nearly kiss. episode 7: more ed redemption arc. he's still working at things, he's shying away from violence because violence is what took him down this dark path to begin with. maybe we get some discussion of his father. stede, blind to ed's flaws, insists he's nothing like his father! ed tries to make amends with izzy but somehow this is the hardest of all because he hurt him the most of all. izzy gets chance to apologize for what he now sees as his part in pushing ed down into the darkness (trying to drag blackbeard back) and izzy's apology makes ed feel worse somehow and gives him some absolution when he finally figures out how to return his own. ed kisses stede but says he wants to take it slow. episode 8: wedding episode!! calypso's birthday!! ed uses his loot to bankroll lupete's wedding. stede reacts with violence to ned and we know from everything before that ed is actively trying to distance himself from the violence of piracy because, yeah, of course he is. is it a good idea? nope. does it make sense to his character for him to still be putting a good chunk of the blame on piracy for his actions, rather than accepting the parts of his whole and learning how to regulate those parts healthily? yes. anyway, stede reacts to his own violence by clutching for ed, ed feels after like his boundaries were pushed. same as show. episode 9: ed is having a meltdown. he and izzy have started to heal, so izzy watching him stare at fishing boats and just chatting to him like nothing happened actually makes a lick of sense. lupete are on their honeymoon at jackie's. olu gets to hook back up with zheng and archie and jim want to go along because they're not super happy on the ship still because although ed is doing better, the past of what he does still hangs over everyone. olu, zheng, jim and archie do not discuss the poly of it all properly, and it's hilarious and a mess, and gives us something to look forward to handling in season 3. ed freaks out about stede being violent when he's the one thing he felt like wasn't violent (and thus safe for him to be with), and about taking it not at all slow, breaks things off and runs away. izzy gets stede to come back to the ship. stede gets into a fight with zheng, the bombs go off, whatever (not a fan of this for her sake but if it has to happen, it can happen) episode 10: ed is off fishing but it's not going well and he's pissing pop-pop off all the time because he's not good at fishing. stede and co are handling the ricky of it all. the episode is mostly the same at the start, but instead of ed immediately going "omg, i gotta save bae" he doesn't find out about the attack until right at the end of the episode. stede and co make it back to the revenge and escape safely, and when ed retrieves his leathers and returns he thinks they're dead! he threatens/tortures/whatever some english and they say no, stede escaped! they all escaped! the season ends with ed, all decked out in his leathers, with his sword, now in the position stede was last season: staring out over the water, planning to find the man he loves.

this sets season 3 up for ed to be on his own for a little while, for him to handle and figure out how to channel his violence into something 'good' (wanting to find his love, wanting to protect his crew etc).

maybe season 3 flashes back to baby!ed again and the fact his first act of violence against his father wasn't motivated by anger or spite, it was motivated by wanting to protect someone he loved: his mum.

then season 3 they find each other again, and maybe they meet in the moonlight for the parallel to hit even better, they finally get back together properly, for good, with maybe some comedic issues along the way, and ed finds his place in the world to be less "blackbeard, the terror of the seas" and more "ed protects those he loves."

i honestly think this is probably how the show was originally meant to go, or at least something close.

i think midway through season 2, djenks heard it was over and he (rightfully) panicked and threw together a finale that tied up as many loose ends as he could because he knew.

and i dont think there's anything that could've been done about it. i think it was dead in the water (no pun intended) the moment all the MAX/HBO/whatever reshuffles happened, I think it was too queer and I genuinely think executive meddling made a lot of the more queer elements go away, possibly right down to trying to wipe away the exes/love interests of it all with that whole father figure thing

and, again, i'm not absolving djenks of some of his more baffling writing decisions. he's a grown man and he makes his own choices. but i am saying i think it explains a LOT about why the finale we got is what we got, and i'm not sorry stede and ed ended the show together rather than apart or with their lives hanging in the balance or something

anyway these are just a bunch of thoughts i've been having, tied together by the cancellation.

#ofmd #our flag means death

[the-gateway-to-madness]

the writing of Jack Frost

(And why it works so well)

Jack Frost is one of the most notoriously well-known animated protagonists out there. I'm on Tumblr, so I don't even have to defend that stance, you all know it already.

Why is that?

The story he's placed in is entirely simple. It's a light vs. darkness conflict. There are all of seven characters who get real screentime. The main character has amnesia. This movie is almost Shadow of the Colossus in its simplicity.

It's the details and the context and the design of the world that make that simplicity work here. Each character is visually based on a color and a shape, but then details got worked in that made them intriguing to look at, and that "design with a center in mind, then make it feel complete" ideology succeeds in making each character feel grounded and rounded out personality-wise, too.

Jack is the main character, so we're privy to extra complexities with him- let's look at those.

That amnesia. This trope has been done to death; why does it work well here? Because his character has developed for so long in-universe without him even knowing he had amnesia. Sure, he doesn't know why he's here, but he's also not aware of what he is missing, so he's gone ahead and lived for 300 years as best he could.

He's confident in his powers; he's confident in his own body; he's confident in his control. The conflicts that are most common in both coming-of-age plotlines and amnesia plotlines are not there. Jack's natural upbeat attitude and the immaturity he chooses to nurture in himself make him seem like he's a teenager in his head, too, but he is not. He knows all his own patterns, he knows how the world around him works, and the audience is incapable of understanding how exactly he must think because of just how old he actually is, and how much he's done and seen.

Jack gets reduced for simplicity in a lot of fanworks, and I think that's because trying to put oneself in his head and trying to then see his world through the mindset of anything but a child or teen is like trying to comprehend something eldritch. He's not still human and relatable because of his innate humanity leftover from his mortal life, he's still human because he has chosen to be human. Heck, Jack doesn't remember his past life, his only reason to believe he's even a little human is his appearance.

And that idea that he chose humanity, that he chooses goodness, is compelling, because it means his human self and his incomprehensible circumstances have meshed into something cohesive.

Then the amnesia shows up! If you're watching this movie for the first time, you guessed he has amnesia because duh, but you're just as in the dark as he is as to what he's missing. You only know as much as Jack does on that first watch- you're as curious and even desperate as he is to know, if you're invested. Because what could create this man? What could cause such a strong connection to humanity in him despite 300 years trying to whittle it away?

Even after seeing his memories, it's! Still! Jack's! Choices!!! This movie sets him up to be a tragic character, but it's not a tragedy because he chooses to be happy and help other people and refuses to back down and stop trying to fix things, even when only one child believes. They take a tragic character premise and turn him into a walking feeling of triumph because the good, kind, happy person who fell in that pond survived- and he did it because he chose to.

And- people want to hate Manny for never talking to Jack except to drop in and tell him what to do, but that's not what he did! Jack asked him to tell him why he was put in the world, and he was put in the world to be a Guardian. After he had already spent both of his lives choosing to be one without the Moon's direction, all Manny did was formalize it. He let Jack make his own choices, already knowing from his sacrifice what he would choose to be. From that freedom, from never being told who to be and what to do by the Moon, Jack learned how to choose to be human, to be good, to be a Guardian- under any circumstances -because he wanted to, and not because Manny told him to.

Manny did Jack more good by letting him learn how to be himself than he ever could have done by explaining to him who he was and what he was meant to do.

Anyway, I'm realizing most of this as I'm writing it, back on topic now.

Most amnesia plots cannot make the concept of "the person you were pre-amnesia shines through after amnesia strikes" work like Rise of the Guardians does, and I believe that it's because of that 300 year gap. That's the key. Jack has been the pre-amnesia person for 300 years without knowing where that person came from. He's refined being that person without ever realizing that's what he was doing; he's given that person confidence in his powers and skills. He's been that same person the entire movie already. Jack wasn't chosen because he was a Guardian in his past life; he was chosen because he was and still is a Guardian.

... anyway I'm out of thoughts

#rise of the guardians #jack frost #rotg #rotg jack frost #writing #this movie did such a unique thing with jack

[lryghe]

MXTX thoughts; conventions

The long awaited (not) analysis of MXTX conventions is here! I’ve literally been meaning to talk about this for months but it got sidelined in favour of vicious arguing on PDB about MBTI. Anyways! Obviously this post will contain spoilers, and something I wanted to touch on was 3rd person limited in MXTX, but I already have a post on that here, so feel free to check that out for a better explanation of it. Beware of mediocre analysis ahead, I’m a little rusty (also shoutout to the person who liked some of my posts this morning, you reminded me to actually write something!).

THE AGENDA since this post is long:

Non-linear storylines

Dying and resurrection

Colour symbolism

Character tropes

NON-LINEAR STORYLINES

An interesting thing that follows MXTX’s more thought out works, is the non-linear plotlines she follows in them. This itself is a really good convention of writing in general, especially if it’s done well, and I can safely say that MXTX did it astoundingly well in TGCF. The clear cuts between time periods in relation to each book is an incredible feat, and is something that easily trumps MXTX's other examples of non-linear storylines. Through the use of the jumping back and forth in time, specifically in TGCF, creates an excellent cause and effect, something that is definitely central to the novel. Everything done has an effect, whether that be on the continuation of the plot, or even as a characterisation point, so the non-linear narrative cements that sense of foreboding hanging over everything. A simple sentence said when Xie Lian 17 somehow amounts to a complete upheaval of the heavens 800 years later, unveiling a conspiracy well over 2000 years old. A friendship group dissolving due to difficult circumstances results in a really horrific friendship confession later in the novel. Shi Wudu trying to save his sibling ends his own demise, the crippling of said sibling, and a vengeful ghost with nothing to do anymore. This nonlinear storyline is definitely used in MDZS as well, but I found it a bit more complex, and actually, now that I think about it, is a really good reflection of Wei Wuxian in general. The thing with MXTX, is that all her novels are in 3rd person limited, so they follow our protagonist in 3rd person, but it’s tinged with their own personal views and biases that limit the omniscience of 3rd person. And with MDZS it would be a fair assessment to say that the unordered mess of time leaps in the novel are an excellent indication of Wei Wuxian’s bias leaking through the 3rd person. The incessant jumping is difficult to follow in places (don’t say otherwise), but it’s actually a genius idea because it’s an accurate assessment of the thought process that Wei Wuxian probably follows anyway. I wouldn’t say that this was definitely on purpose however, as MDZS was written before TGCF, so it could just be MXTX growing alongside her writing, but hey, maybe it is a stroke of complete and beautiful genius! Don’t bother mentioning SVSSS, it’s definitely an interesting novel, but it’s not non-linear, at least not as wholly as MDZS and TGCF are. The most you’ll get in SVSSS is like a two line flashback, plus the extra’s, but I think that’s a reflection of when MXTX wrote it.

DYING AND RESURRECTION

Moving on from serious conventions, MXTX’s trope with one of the main characters dying and then coming back later is a really funny kind of convention, because it’s not funny in the moment obviously, but the fact that it’s done at least once per novel is hilarious. Wei Wuxian’s initial resurrection after 13 years of being dead, Shen Qingqiu’s return in his plant body 5 years later, and then his return back to his ‘original’ body, and Hua Cheng’s little death defying stunt at the end of the novel. Then there’s the use of cliffs and such, like Binghe’s fall into the Abyss, Hua Cheng’s fall off that wall (forgive me its been like 3 years since I read TGCF), and if we’re being inclusive, then there’s always Wei Wuxian’s death in The Untamed. Maybe there’s a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but it’s fine to look at it from a surface level, which amounts to ‘MXTX got bored and needed some drama’. A perfectly reasonable deduction. 

COLOUR SYMBOLISM

Another thing I wanted to touch on was the colour symbolism that MXTX uses because I think it’s pretty cool, AND it has the added benefits of adding symbolism and contrast to each novel's main character and their love interest. It’s mentioned in the novel’s obviously, but it really shines in fan content and fanarts. I like the symbolism of Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu’s robes both being green before the time-skip, because Luo Binghe was a disciple at the time and a little white lotus, so the green was used to directly align him with Shen Qingqiu. After the timeskip he’s obviously got his big boy pants on and swapped to a stunning black and red ensemble, fitting of the protagonist, and that itself contrasts Shen Qingqiu’s majestic and lofty green robes, because Binghe means business with this fit. A fun thought is how green and red fit together on the colour spectrum, because they don’t, they’re contrasting colours which is some real obvious symbolism. Do I really need to spell out Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian? I feel like this one is rudimentary. White equals noble and virtuous, pure and holy, and black is evil, demonic, cruel, and scary. Simple! And Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s red and white are a very cute mixture, because although it gives them a Bingqiu style christmas tree vibe, it’s interesting in comparison to the previous two love interest and main character dynamics, considering red and white are a lot more complimentary than black and white or red and green. And it’s a testament to how similar Hualian are with their complimentary robes, how like-minded they are throughout the novel, especially considering their predecessors. Or maybe I’m overthinking it, who knows?

CHARACTER TROPES

In regards to tropes of MXTX, I think her character tropes are incredible and have the addition of being really funny. She’s consistent enough with her conventions that clear links can be drawn with her side characters across all 3 novels. To begin with, there’s Mr Angry. I think you can guess who that is, but it's Jiang Cheng, Liu Qingge, and Mu Qing. All have a really close relationship with their related main character, all are angry or harsh where they probably didn't need to be, and all three are good fighters. Then there’s the guy who’s always smiling, like Yue Qingyuan or Lan Xichen. Complacency is a key part of their characters, and excuses aside, it’s interesting how it played out. You could argue for Jun Wu to be a part of this circle, but I’ll keep that to myself. Finally, there’s the fodder characters, only useful to further the plot in a miniscule way. Gongyi Xiao (MAY HE REST WELL), Xiao Xingchen, and once again, I don’t have a very good TGCF equivalent. Gongyi Xiao dies after the events of the water prison, and Xiao Xingchen was really just there to highlight how fucked up Xue Yang was. Rest in peace our beloved fodder, especially Gongyi Xiao, MXTX should have treated you better…

I think I’ve typed myself out honestly. Kudos to whoever reached the end of this post, I haven’t written this much since my Team 7 analysis when I got back into my Naruto phase briefly.

Word count: 1271

Reading time: 4 ½ mins

#mxtx #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #cql #the untamed #svsss #scum villains self saving system #ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #lan wangji #wei wuxian #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #xie lian #hua cheng #bingqiu #wangxian #hualian